Cornelia's POV
This club was the last place I wanted to be tonight. All I craved was staying home in my pajamas, curled up with a book like the hermit Harlow always teased me about being. But Harlow had refused to accept my protests. She'd even gone so far as to pick out this dress and practically drag me here herself.
Now I sat surrounded by pounding music, the stench of sweat and cheap cologne, bodies pressed together in ways that made my skin crawl. Every fiber of my being screamed to escape this suffocating nightmare. Then he appeared, some guy from my old classes whose name I'd never bothered to remember, sliding into the seat beside me with what he probably thought was charm.
At first, his jokes weren't terrible. I even managed a polite laugh or two. But then his hands started wandering, finding my thigh, my waist, places I didn't want him touching. My protests fell on deaf ears as his grip tightened, his fingers digging into my skin.
