Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
One advantage of mid-semester exams was they forced Bea’s brain into survival mode. There was no space left for overthinking. Not about her dinner with Gage, not about the way he’d fed her, or touched her wrist like he had every right to.
At St. Ives, exams weren’t just academic. They were proof of legitimacy.
The grand exam hall was vast and silent, the kind of silence that crushed distractions and suffocated second-guessing. Rows of legacy students sat, looking bored and assured. No one fidgeted.
They belonged here.
Bea drew in a steady breath, pushing away the thought.
So did she.
The exam booklet sat in front of her, pristine. The weight of expectation settled over her shoulders. She was a scholarship student. She could not fail.
She flipped open the first page.
Question One: Using empirical research and economic modeling, discuss the short-term and long-term implications of the UR’s latest corporate tax reforms on foreign direct investment.
She picked up her pen.
Definitions came first. Then structure. Then the argument—layered, rational, exact. She cited sources from memory, drew comparisons between past reforms, and referenced three case studies. Her hand moved on instinct. The discipline carried her forward, even when her confidence stuttered.
Minutes passed. Then an hour.
She paused, long enough to stretch her hand. Observed her neighbors.
On her left, a girl in a silk scarf and ruby studs highlighted in neat strokes, every movement practiced, like she’d been trained for this moment.
To her right, a boy in cufflinks and a tailored blazer tapped his Montblanc pen against the table.
He probably already had a parking spot with his name on it in Northgate.
But the thing was…she wasn’t just competing with them. She was competing with the version of herself that needed to be enough. Enough for two. She thought of what Gage had said.
That’s a heavy burden to carry.
She lifted it anyway. And kept writing.
By the time the final bell rang, Bea’s brain was wrung dry.
She turned in her booklet, stepping into the bright afternoon sunlight, feeling at once dazed and relieved. Her first set of UR exams was over.
Around her, students were already in post-exam debrief mode. Clusters of them sprawled across the manicured lawn, designer backpacks tossed aside, breaking down their answers like it was a competitive sport.
“I structured my argument using fiscal elasticity projections, but I should’ve focused on regulatory loopholes—”
“You did elasticity? Oh, man, that’s a risk. I used incentive-based models. More defensible.”
Bea hurried past them.
She didn’t want to analyze yet. Didn’t want to relive every answer, every possible mistake. She wanted to believe she’d done enough.
Her phone vibrated.
GAGE KING: How was the last one?
Bea read the text while maneuvering through the crowd.
She didn’t know why she was surprised he’d remembered. Gage never forgot things.
BEA CRUZ: It went fine.
GAGE KING: Just fine?
BEA CRUZ: I didn’t fail. Probably.
GAGE KING: You’re too smart to fail.
Bea huffed a laugh, barely more than a breath.
It wasn’t a compliment. Not really. But there was no hesitation in his reply, no space for doubt. It felt like a hand at her back, steadying her.
Bea shoved her phone into her bag, but the words stayed with her.
You’re too smart to fail.
Not, you probably did fine. Not, you’ll scrape through. Just certainty.
She kept walking, the sun warm on her back, the weight in her chest a little lighter than before.
It wasn’t confidence. Not yet. But it was something close.
Bea never thought she’d be grateful for exercise, but apparently she was that girl now. She pulled her hair into a loose bun as she stepped into Havoc, absorbing the sereness of the studio.
She had been coming twice a week for a month now, long enough that the movements no longer felt foreign. She still struggled with the deep core holds, the slow, controlled transitions that required patience rather than force. But she was getting better, and so was her range.
She set down her bag, rolling her shoulders back as she made her way to the mat.
This was routine. Order. Something she could control.
Her body moved through each stretch. A slow inhale as she lifted into a teaser pose, holding the balance, letting the pull of her abdominal muscles anchor her. Then, a measured exhale as she lowered back down, vertebra by vertebra.
Each movement grounded her into the present.
She pushed up into a plank hold, her muscles trembling slightly, but less than they had a few weeks ago. Her endurance was improving.
Breathe in. Hold. Exhale. Count through the burn.
For the next hour, nothing else mattered.
Her mind, for once, was blissfully blank.
No exams. No expectations. Nothing but her mind and body learning to be in sync.
Bea stepped out of Pilates into the thick hum of St. Ives at night.
The town was alive with heat and sound, crackling like it had something to prove.
Students wandered in loose clusters, laughing too loudly, jackets shrugged over loose shoulders.
The stress of exams melted into overpriced cocktails and late-night gelato, as the soft strum of a street guitarist serenaded them.
She tightened her grip on her tote bag and pulled her sweatshirt tighter. Her body ached in that honest, hard-worked way that made her feel human again.
Twenty minutes. That’s all it was. She walked it all the time.
She paused at the edge of the sidewalk. Pulled out her phone. No Ubers nearby. She refreshed twice. Still nothing.
Guess she was walking.
“Long night, little Bea?”
She whirled, butterflies in her stomach instantly taking flight.
Rafael was dressed casually, in a hoodie and jeans, but he still looked expensive. Still looked dangerous.
“What are you doing here?”
“I live here.”
“In the town?”
He looked at her like that was a strange question. “Did you think I’d live on campus?”
“I figured you had a secret billionaire lair somewhere.”
Rafael’s mouth twitched. He nodded toward the curve of the hill, just beyond the bookstore and the church spire. “My place is up there. Ten-minute walk, if you’re slow.”
She glanced in the direction he indicated. The first question that came out of her mouth was, “You live alone?”
“I don’t do roommates,” he said, eyes glinting. “What if someone wanted to visit?”
A current buzzed through her at the implication. Her imagination was jumping to way too many conclusions.
“Want to see?” he challenged.
She was reckless enough to imagine saying yes. Because the truth was, she did want to see. She wanted it like she wanted to be someone else for a day. Or even an hour. Someone less sensible.
But she wasn’t.
“No, thanks.”
His head tilted. “Do you ever say yes?”
She let out a little puff of air. “If I said yes, you’d never let me forget it.”
“If you said yes, you’d never want to leave,” Rafael corrected, all wolf.
He was standing too close. Or she was breathing too deep. Or both. She needed air that didn’t smell like him.
“I need to go home,” Bea managed.
“I’ll walk you.”
“I’m fine.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
“You live here.”
“I also have legs.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You always this persistent?”
“No.”
That surprised her. “No?”
“I don’t usually have to be.” His response was a touch wry.
Of course he didn’t. A reluctant smile tugged at her lips.
She turned and started walking.
Rafael stayed close, but not too close. His hands were in his pockets. His steps matched hers. She could feel him. The heat of him. The gravity.
They didn’t talk at first. She didn’t know what he wanted. Not really. But she remembered what he’d said. And three weeks later, her body still remembered the way it sounded.
Careful, little Bea. Curiosity is how things start.
The town drifted behind them, laughter and music softening into silence. The street narrowed, streetlamps casting long shadows between old buildings. A breeze tugged at her sweatshirt.
“You know, you only look at me when you think I’m not watching.”
A flush crept up her chest, heat blooming beneath her skin. She knew better than to get caught in the trap of denying it. But she wasn’t about to confirm it.
So she went with brazenness. “It can’t be new to you.” Might as well admit he was gorgeous. He couldn’t not know it.
He smirked. “Usually looking means you want something.”
“What kind of something?”
“You tell me, little Bea.” His voice dripped with temptation. “What do you want right now?”
She stole a glance at him. Was this sincere? Or strategy? She couldn’t tell if he meant the question, or just wanted to see how she’d answer.
The word slipped out before she could talk herself out of it. “Certainty.”
He paused. “Big ask.”
She shrugged. “A lot has changed recently.” Too much. New country. New school. New rules.
He went quiet. As if he were deciding what to do with that response.
Mayfield rose into view, lights spilling from the arched windows. Bea breathed out, mostly relieved. The tiny part of her that wished her apartment wasn’t so close? Yeah—that part needed to shut up.
“Thanks for walking with me.” She stopped a few meters away from the black gate.
Rafael didn’t answer. His gaze swept her face, then dropped.
Without a word, he stepped forward. The backs of his knuckles skimmed her collarbone. Stillness claimed her before she could think to step back.
Slowly, gently, she felt him flip the pendant of her necklace back into place. It must’ve twisted at some point before or during the walk. His fingers lingered—warm and intentional. He knew exactly what he was doing, and that she’d remember it later.
The contact was brief, but it rewrote her pores. She told herself it was only proximity. Air displacement. Physics. But her pulse thundered against the delicate chain as though it were trying to tell on her.
Rafael’s green eyes glowed. “You say you want certainty,” he murmured, “but there are different kinds.” Then he turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the static.
Trying to figure out what kind he was.
And telling herself it wasn’t the type she needed anyway.