Virgin 4 Life
Description
Evie Harper was Westbridge High's perfect good girl-until the day they branded her "V4L: Virgin for Life." Desperate to kill the nickname that's killing her reputation, she does the unthinkable: blackmails the school's most dangerous bad boy into fake dating her. Caleb Voss has one condition for their deal-when she breaks, she has to beg. On her knees. But as their game of pretend turns into something real, Evie discovers that losing control might be the only way to find herself. And Caleb? He's about to learn that good girls don't always play nice.
Chapter 1
Dec 4, 2025
POV Evie
"Perfect scores aren't luck, they're a choice," I whisper to my reflection in the girls' bathroom mirror, practicing the smile I'll give Noah when I tell him his test results.
My fingers find the pink rosary in my backpack's front pocket—the one Dad gave me for confirmation—and I kiss it quickly before tucking it under my modest white blouse. Same ritual since middle school, same prayer for strength.
The bathroom door swings open and Madison Sinclair struts in, her skirt rolled up so high it's basically a belt. Our eyes meet in the mirror and she smirks at my ankle-length cardigan, at the way I'm clutching my calculus textbook against my chest.
"Still dressing like a nun, Harper?"
Something snaps in me, sharp and unexpected. "Still dressing like you charge by the hour, Madison?"
The words shock me as much as her, but I don't take them back. My spine straightens even as my hands shake against the cold porcelain sink.
Madison's laugh cuts through the fluorescent buzz. "At least I'm not dying a virgin."
She leaves me standing there, my brief moment of defiance evaporating into the antiseptic air. The bathroom suddenly feels too small, too bright, and I push through the door into Westbridge High's main hallway.
The crowd parts around me, everyone absorbed in their own dramas, and my heart races with pure joy despite Madison's words. I've just seen the math test results posted outside Mr. Peterson's classroom. Noah scored an 89.
Every Thursday afternoon in the library paid off—all those hours going over derivatives and integrals while he played with my hair and called me brilliant. I spot him by his locker, surrounded by his rugby teammates, golden hair catching the morning sun streaming through the tall windows.
I run to him. Actually run, my sensible flats slapping against the linoleum.
"Noah!" I call out, breathless and glowing. "You got an 89! I knew you could do it."
I reach for his hand, the one that usually intertwines with mine during our walks to class. "I'm so proud of you. With scores like this, we're both getting into Yale for sure. Our future is—"
He yanks his hand away so fast I stumble forward. "Yale?"
His laugh is sharp, performative, meant for the gathering crowd. "Jesus, Evie, you really are too stupid to get it, aren't you?"
The hallway tilts. Everything goes sideways. "What?"
Noah steps closer and I smell the mint gum he always chews, the cologne I bought him for his birthday last month. "Those study sessions? I didn't want help with math, virgin. I wanted to fuck."
The word hits me like a physical blow. My textbook presses harder against my chest.
"But you just sat there with your legs crossed, talking about equations like some robot," he continues, his voice getting louder with each word. "One month, Evie. One month of holding hands and listening to you talk about God and grades."
The laughter starts small, rippling through the crowd. Marcus claps Noah on the shoulder, grinning.
"That's pathetic, man. A whole month wasted on V4L?"
The nickname slices through me. Virgin for Life. I'd heard it whispered before but never to my face, never from him.
"Study sessions aren't for... that's not what..." My voice cracks as I clutch my textbook harder, knuckles white. "The library is for learning, not for..."
I can't even say the word, which makes everything worse. Someone snickers behind me.
"That's exactly your problem," Noah announces, playing to our audience now. "You think everything's about rules and being daddy's perfect little girl. You probably schedule your prayers."
"Bet she schedules her showers too," someone laughs.
"Thirty minutes maximum," another voice adds. "Any longer would be sinful."
The bell rings, sharp and sudden, but Noah raises his voice over it. "We're done, Evie. I'm done being known as the guy dating V4L. I'm done pretending your frigid little hand-holding is enough."
He turns to Madison, who's been watching with barely concealed delight, and pulls her against him. "Want to show her what a real study session looks like?"
Madison's giggle follows me as I stumble backward. The crowd parts with their phones out, already recording my humiliation. Someone starts chanting "V4L, V4L," and others join in, the sound chasing me down the hall.
My rosary burns against my chest. Vision blurring with tears I won't let fall—not here, not for them—I run past the cafeteria that reeks of reheated pizza, past the trophy case where Noah's rugby photo grins mockingly, past the chapel where I pray every morning before first period.
The emergency stairwell door slams behind me, my feet hitting each metal step in a desperate rhythm. Three flights. Four. Five.
The roof door sticks but I shoulder it open, gasping as October air fills my lungs. It tastes metallic, like rain and rust and endings. The courtyard sprawls six stories below, and for one wild, terrifying moment I understand why people jump.
Not to die, but to stop feeling this crushing weight that makes my skin feel too tight, this humiliation that's eating me alive from the inside.
I step toward the edge, my sensible flats scraping against loose gravel. One hand still clutches that stupid calculus book I'd been so proud about ten minutes ago. The wind whips my long skirt around my legs as I move closer, closer.
My toes find the ledge. Tears finally fall, hot and fast.
Then I hear it—a low, guttural moan that makes me freeze. Another follows, deeper, rawer, wetter. A girl's broken cry pierces through the wind: "Harder, please, harder."
The sounds don't belong in my world of study sessions and rosaries and Yale applications. They're foreign, dangerous, wrong. I should leave. Should run back downstairs and pretend I never heard anything.
Instead, my heart hammers against my ribs as I step back from the ledge. My feet move without permission, drawn by something dark and magnetic I don't understand but can't resist. I creep toward the shadowed corner behind the air-conditioning units, each step taking me further from everything I thought I knew about myself.
Virgin 4 Life
30 Chapters
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