Chapter 1 #2
Drew opens the door to reveal a blonde woman who looks like she stepped out of a catalogue for "Sorority Girls Who Definitely Weren't the Problem, Officer." Her expression is all wide-eyed concern, but there's something calculating underneath.
"Tyler, can we talk? Alone?"
Right. Because that's not suspicious.
Drew crosses his arms, blocking the doorway. "That's not happening."
Good man.
She insists it's between her and Tyler, voice dripping with false sincerity. Tyler, surprisingly, agrees to hear her out on the porch. Drew leaves the door open, smart move, and most of the frat hangs near it to watch.
Turning back to Caleb, who's still standing awkwardly in the living room. His attention is fixed on the front door, shoulders tense.
"That's her, isn't it?" Quiet enough that only he can hear. "Cher."
He nods, jaw tight. Those blue eyes have gone cold, focused. Whatever he's feeling about being here, about helping us, it's getting overridden by something else. Anger, maybe. Or maybe he now knows exactly who he helped and what she did.
On the porch, Cher is in full performance mode. Can't hear everything, but the body language screams manipulation, the hand reaching for Tyler's arm, the lowered voice, the wide, sincere eyes that probably work on every straight guy she meets.
Wow, she's good at this. If I didn't know what she'd done, I might almost buy it.
Caleb's hands have curled into fists at his sides. Watching him watch her is more interesting than watching the performance itself. His expression has shifted from wary to something harder.
"You okay?" The question surprises both of us.
He glances at me, startled. "I hate people like her."
"People like her?"
"People who manipulate everyone around them and then play victim when they get caught." His voice is low, bitter. "People who think money and status mean they can do whatever they want."
Interesting. That's not what I expected from Caleb Huntington the Third.
Before responding, Gavin is moving toward Caleb with that golden retriever enthusiasm. "Come with me. We're going to need you to identify her."
Caleb's eyes widen. "What? No, I just need to give you the files—"
"Nope!" Gavin is already steering him toward the front door. "You're our star witness!"
Poor bastard looks like he's being led to his execution.
But then they step onto the porch, and everything changes.
Gavin, in his cheerfully brutal way, asks if Cher is one of the people who hired Caleb. The woman's face drains of colour.
"I've never seen this person before in my life," she says, voice shrill.
And the quiet, angry but reluctant, I-just-want-to-give-you-the-files-and-leave, Caleb, straightens his spine and looks her dead in the eye.
"Yes," he says, voice carrying across the porch with unexpected strength. "That's the woman who paid me to set you up. She came to the design lab with that guy."
Well. Didn't see that coming. He actually identified her.
Cher tries to deny it, but she's already lost. Drew bans her from the house, from all frat events. She threatens them with her father, which is predictable. Tyler delivers a quiet, devastating line about regretting ever thinking she cared about him.
She storms off, and the porch empties back into the living room. Everyone's talking at once, but I'm still watching Caleb.
He's shaking slightly, adrenaline or nerves or both. That defiance from the porch is already fading, replaced by something more uncertain. Tyler thanks him, and Caleb shrugs it off, but there's pride there, too. Good. He should be proud. That took guts.
Then Gavin asks about Caleb's comment, "someone like her," and Caleb's response stops me cold.
"Rich, entitled people who think they can buy whatever they want. Including people."
The bitterness in his voice is real. Raw. And coming from someone whose full name includes "the Third," it's... unexpected.
Maybe I've been making assumptions. Maybe Posh Boy isn't quite what he seems.
Drew's already suggesting they work on building the case, and suddenly everyone's moving toward the living room, pulling out laptops and phones. Caleb hesitates in the doorway, looking like he's still deciding whether to bolt.
"You coming?" The question comes out before thinking about it.
He looks at me, eyes searching for... something. Mockery, maybe. Or another cutting remark.
"Yeah," he says finally. "I'm coming."
And just like that, he's part of the team.
Working with him flows more easily than it should. He's familiar with his design tools and knows how to present digital evidence effectively. Despite the friction, our workflow is almost seamless.
Two hours in, and we've assembled a compelling case that will be impossible to deny. It has more than just what Caleb was a part of because Cher and Ryan were damn idiots who made comments online, as well as talking in front of people who then commented. They left a whole trail.
And also, bloody hell, the way Caleb's fingers fly across his keyboard, that focused furrow between his eyebrows when he's concentrating...
No. Absolutely not going there.
This is professional. This is damage control. This is definitely not noticing how his hair falls forward when he leans into the screen.
"See here?" Caleb points to one of the photos, leaning close enough that I catch a faint scent of mint.
"This is actually Cher with her ex from last year.
I just replaced his face with Tyler's. And this one—" he points to another, "—is from a completely different party.
Look at the lighting difference when you know what to look for. "
"The editing's good work." Might as well admit it. "Too good, actually."
"Thanks, I guess?" His response is dry as a bone.
That almost makes me smile. Almost. Crap, remember what he did to Tyler, you idiot. That this guy created the problem we're now solving.
By the time Jessica from Kappa Beta arrives with news that Cher has been expelled from her sorority, we've assembled an airtight case. The evidence is organized, documented, and ready to be presented to the Dean if necessary.
Tyler and Gavin leave to search for Ethan, while the rest of us clean up the evidence scattered across the living room. Caleb helps silently, the adrenaline from the porch confrontation clearly wearing off. His movements are efficient but mechanical, as if he's retreating into himself.
"So," Drew says once we're finished, "about your pledge status, Caleb."
Caleb visibly tenses. "I helped you with the evidence. We're even."
"Not quite.” Drew is refusing to let him off the hook that easily. "You're still joining Delta Psi. In fact, James here will get you set up with all the information you need."
"What?" we both say.
Drew's smile doesn't waver. "James knows all the pledge requirements, house rules, everything. He can get you up to speed while Tyler and I handle the administration issues."
"I have classes."
I really don't want to spend any more time around this guy.
"And I have work," Caleb adds.
"You'll figure it out," Drew says with the calm certainty of someone used to being obeyed. "Caleb, classes are done for today, right? James can show you around the house, get you the basics."
Before either of us can object further, Drew is gone, leaving us in uncomfortable silence.
"I don't need a tour guide," Caleb says stiffly.
"And I don't need to waste my afternoon showing you where we keep the dish soap," I reply. "But Drew's not going to let this go."
He sighs, resignation replacing hostility. "Fine. Let's get this over with."
The tour is perfunctory, tense. I point out rooms with minimal commentary: "Kitchen. Living room. Laundry in the basement. Don't mix colors." He follows silently.
When we reach the upstairs hallway, I wave vaguely. "Bedrooms. You'll be assigned one when you officially move in."
"Move in?" He stops abruptly. "I never agreed to live here."
"It's part of being a pledge." Wait, does he seriously not know? "Wait, did Drew not tell you that?"
"No," Caleb says, looking genuinely distressed. "I can't, my apartment lease—"
"Talk to Drew. Maybe you can be an exception." Not like his problems are particularly heart-wrenching. An apartment lease. Right. Because that's the real tragedy here, not manipulating photos to destroy someone's relationship. Priorities.
He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face briefly before letting it fall forward again. "This is such bullshit."
For a moment, with his hair pushed back, I get a clear view of his face. He's actually... blast it, he's fucking gorgeous. High cheekbones, full lips, large dark eyes. Then his scowl returns, and the moment passes.
"Welcome to Delta Psi. Where bullshit comes with brotherhood."
He looks at me hard, maybe trying to figure out if I'm making fun of him. I keep my face blank.
"I should go," he says finally. "I have a shift at the library in an hour."
"One more thing," I say as I lead him back to my room. "You'll need access to our shared drive and calendar." Grabbing a sticky note, I scribble down login information. "Password is case sensitive. Don't share it."
He takes the note, careful not to let our fingers touch. "Thanks."
"If you have technical questions, fine, ask me. Pledge questions? Literally anyone else." Why is offering help so bloody awkward?
"Noted." He pockets the paper, already turning to leave. "I'll try not to bother you at all."
"That would be ideal,"
As he leaves, I return to my computer, telling myself I'm relieved to be rid of him. Caleb Huntington the Third is exactly the type of person I've spent my life avoiding: privileged, entitled, morally flexible. The fact that he's now part of Delta Psi is just one more complication I don't need.
And yet, as I get back to my system update, I keep thinking about how quickly he pulled that evidence together and how good he was at explaining everything. For all his faults, Caleb Huntington isn't dumb.
That might make him more annoying, not less.
With a sigh, I push thoughts of our newest pledge aside and immerse myself back in code.
Those cornflower blue eyes, though. And the way his jaw clenches when he's annoyed, which seems to be basically always.
Bloody hell, stop it. He's posh, pretentious, and probably considers slumming it with frat brothers a temporary inconvenience before he runs off to join Daddy's law firm.
Gorgeous is irrelevant when someone's that far up their own—
Right. No. Absolutely not going there. Caleb Huntington is a complication I don't need, with a family that would eat someone like me for breakfast. People are complicated and unpredictable. Computers make sense. And right now, I need things that make sense.