He Used Our Sex Tape To Blackmail Me Out Of Harvard Chapter 04
And she could sit there acting as if none of it mattered, treating shamelessness like a punchline.
Something flickered uneasily across Preston’s face. He murmured a warning: “Chelsea, that’s enough.”
Chelsea rolled her eyes. “What’s the big deal? Luna’s not a stranger.”
She smiled as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’ve got it all figured out. After you two are married—weekdays are mine, weekends are yours. How’s that sound?”
There’s a level of speechlessness that turns into laughter.
Maybe I’d already seen the depths of her audacity too many times.
In that moment I didn’t even feel a pang. My head was numb, and an icy hollow spread through my chest.
It wasn’t until the car stopped and Preston took my icy hand that I realized every muscle in my body was drawn taut to the point of snapping.
He rubbed my fingertips with an expression full of tender concern. “My little moon, don’t listen to Chelsea’s nonsense. The one I love most will always be you.”
I pulled my hand away and gave him a mocking smile.
When we walked into the private room, several of Preston’s friends were already there.
Watching how comfortably they greeted each other, it finally struck me.
Everyone had known. Everyone had known that Preston and Chelsea had something going on.
Only I—like an idiot—had been drifting along, lulled by every “Mrs. Ashford” that fell from his lips.
A few rounds of drinks in, Chelsea collapsed into Preston’s arms, sobbing that she had finally made something of herself.
I couldn’t stand another second. I stood to leave.
But her eyes reddened. “Luna, why won’t you congratulate me? I worked so hard for this Harvard acceptance. Why do you have to look down on me?”
Earned it?
Even if I’d given up the Ashford legacy spot, with Chelsea’s grades and background, no Harvard admissions officer would have handed the seat to her. The Ashford family’s fingerprints were all over this—it might as well have been stamped on her forehead—and she still had the nerve to say she’d “earned it.”
I nearly laughed out loud.
Before I could speak, Preston’s voice cut in, cold as steel.
“Luna. Tonight is Chelsea’s celebration. Don’t ruin the mood.”
I looked at his hardened face, then thought of the flight confirmation Mom had just sent to my phone.
I took a deep breath and sat back down.
Chelsea’s lips curled with satisfaction. She shot a glance sideways.
Immediately, someone suggested Truth or Dare.
I was about to refuse, but someone was already shuffling the cards.
The first “truth” landed on Preston.
Amid a chorus of catcalls, the others leaned in with knowing grins. “Come on, Preston—tell us. Best time you’ve ever had?”
Preston crossed one leg over the other and leaned back.
His fingertips were still tracing lazy circles in my palm, but his half-lidded gaze slid over to Chelsea.
He smirked. “My apartment. Master bathroom. Great water pressure.”
The room nearly exploded.
Chelsea flushed and pounded her fist against his chest, gently, twice. “You’re the worst.”
Preston caught her hand and pulled her onto his lap.
Their eyes locked, and Chelsea’s arms went around his neck.
To a rising crescendo of jeers and whistles, they began kissing—deep, unhurried—as if no one else were in the room.
I was sitting less than two meters away.
The heater in the private room was blasting, but I could feel the warmth in my veins ebb away, degree by degree.
I don’t know how long it went on. Eventually Chelsea lifted her head from Preston’s chest, breathless.
Her smile carried a thick, deliberate malice.
“Luna, I kissed your boyfriend. You’re not mad, right?”
Preston chimed in, his tone almost indulgent.
“You can strut around now, but once I graduate and we’re married, my body and soul belong to my little moon and no one else.”
Listening to him, as though he were doing me a favor, I felt only cold laughter rising inside.
Preston had never asked me.
He’d simply assumed—with breathtaking confidence—that I’d already swallowed their filth, digested it neatly, and would wait obediently until he was done playing so he could come home and marry me.
But he didn’t know.
Once he was tainted, I would never take him back.
A flash of venom crossed Chelsea’s eyes—brief, gone in an instant.
Then she pouted, pointed at the crescent-moon necklace at my throat, and cooed, “Since we’ll be apart, can I have that necklace Preston gave you? As a keepsake?”
Instinctively, my hand flew to my throat.
I looked at Preston.
He knew. He knew this necklace was the token of our promise—that he’d apprenticed himself to a jeweler and shaped it, piece by piece, with his own hands.
The day he’d fastened it around my neck, I could still see the depth in his eyes. “My little moon, you are sealed and signed to me. As long as the moon rises, my love for you will never change.”
The moon still rose. But his heart had already set.
“Luna, let Chelsea have it.”
The moment he said it, he must have realized he’d gone too far, because he added, “We have a long future ahead of us. It’s just a necklace. I’ll buy you plenty more later.”
I’d expected the answer. But my heart still twisted, sharp and unrelenting.
I lowered my eyes, forcing back the sting of tears, unclasped the necklace, and set it on the table. “Enjoy the game. I’m heading home.”
Preston watched me walk toward the door.
A sudden, disorienting unease bloomed in his chest.
As though, the moment I crossed that threshold, we would be past the point of no return.
Instinctively, he rose to go after me—but Chelsea grabbed his arm and pressed herself against him, her voice pitched low and sultry. “Preston, tonight’s my celebration. I have round two waiting for you at home. The black lace—your favorite.”
Preston’s gaze dropped to the half-open collar of her dress. His throat worked.
He hesitated. Then his feet retreated.
She’ll be fine.
—