Chapter Seven
MILA
The moment my mom slid the cream-colored envelope across the table, I knew something was off.
She didn’t say a word at first. Just sipped her coffee, nails tapping against the counter as if the rhythm could fool me into thinking this was a normal Tuesday. But her posture told on her—too stiff, too controlled.
I stared down at the Blackwood Academy seal pressed into the flap. Raised lettering. Heavy cardstock. A letter that carried both expectation and dread.
“What is this?” My voice came out flat, already braced.
Her lips pressed together before she answered. “It’s a committee assignment. You’ve been asked to help plan this year’s charity gala.”
I blinked. “By who? And why do you have it?”
“A few of the parent sponsors.” Her words were even, but her shoulders ticked tighter.
“It’s a joint effort this year—Dunn Industries and King Enterprises are co-hosting.
” She paused then added with forced lightness, “Someone in HR reached out. My boss made it clear it wasn’t optional. They want me involved. And you too.”
My stomach dipped. Why me? Why now? The second both names hit the air, every instinct screamed set-up. This wasn’t coincidence. It was placement. I leaned back, eyes narrowing. “So I was asked… or told?”
Her silence was all the answer I needed.
This wasn’t a choice. It was a calculated move. And it had been decided without either of us in the room.
“It’s expected,” she said finally. Her voice softened but not enough to hide the tension in it. “And it’s good optics. For both of us.”
There it was. She didn’t have to say the rest—I heard it anyway. We weren’t invited. We were maneuvered. Back in Blackwood on terms. Don’t break them.
The envelope sat on the counter long after I left the kitchen, its weight still dragging at me through the morning. School passed in a blur I barely registered. Teachers droned. Notes filled margins. Whispers floated. I went through the motions, but my head wasn’t in any of it.
Every glance felt loaded, every hallway too narrow. I couldn’t shake the thought that this was another chess move—Dunn and the Kings dragging me onto a stage I didn’t ask for, pulling strings through my mom until I danced by default.
By lunch, I’d already rehearsed three different ways to get out of it. Pretend sick. Claim overcommitment. Ignore the invite entirely. Each one unraveled the second I thought it through. There was no way out—not without consequences.
So by the time the committee met after school, all I had left was resolve.
The conference room reeked of perfume and catered cookies, the kind someone thought passed as “hospitality.” A long, polished table stretched down the center, lined with stacks of papers and clipboards—and little branded tote bags stuffed with glossy brochures and overpriced floral samples, proof that even charity came gilded in Blackwood.
Tori sat near the middle, fidgeting with her pen until it clicked.
Quinn, one of Elise’s outliers, leaned forward, eager and bright-eyed as though she was auditioning for extra credit.
Stefanie, puppet number two, twirled her dirty-blond shoulder-length hair, her expression flat with boredom.
Two other girls giggled and scrolled through their phones at the end.
And at the head of it all was Elise Dunn.
Front and center. Smiling as though her exile had never happened.
As though she hadn’t been iced out recently for crossing lines no one should’ve.
Elise thrived on second chances she didn’t deserve, and somehow, she always slithered back in before the door slammed shut.
Her eyes landed on me instantly. “Oh. Mila.” Her smile spread slow, deliberate, saccharine dripping from every syllable. “Surprised to see you here.”
I didn’t bite. I just took the clipboard one of the moms slid across the table and scanned it. Venue. Tables. Décor. PR. Entertainment. My name wasn’t listed. Not once.
I raised a brow, the corner of my mouth tightening.
When I looked up, Tori’s gaze darted away, Quinn pressed her lips tight, and Stefanie smirked.
Elise was already leaning forward, tapping her pen against the table like she was chairing the whole thing, talking over one of the moms about how the silent auction should be structured.
Acting as if this was her committee to run.
Acting as though her social status had been restored.
That was enough. “Elise,” I said, tone cool, deliberate. “I thought I was supposed to be part of this committee.”
She blinked, faux innocence painted across her face. “Really? Huh. That must’ve been an oversight.”
“Convenient one.”
Her head tilted, glossy hair catching the light—weaponizing charm in motion. “Don’t look at me. Maybe people just don’t like you.”
My grip tightened on the clipboard until the edge cut into my palm. Rage rippled beneath my skin, begging to be unleashed. But I didn’t flip the table, didn’t storm out. Not here. This wasn’t just sabotage. This was a message.
So I sat. I listened. I pretended to take notes while Elise dictated centerpieces and Quinn scribbled silent auction ideas. Every laugh Elise let out made the coil inside me wind tighter.
By the time I walked out, I knew two things: Elise had her claws back in. And she wasn’t going to stop until she buried me.
The fallout started before first bell the next morning.
My phone buzzed. Unknown number. No contact photo. Just a message: Bold move talking shit to the wrong people. Screenshots don’t lie.
Cold slid down my spine. My thumb hovered over the screen, pulse hammering. Screenshots? Of what? For one beat, I almost didn’t open it—as if not looking could keep it from being real.
Then I tapped. Attached was a screenshot. My face in the DM header. The message:
Quinn’s such a try-hard. Can’t she take a hint and shut up?
I froze. Not because I believed it, but because I knew everyone else would.
Another buzz.
Stefanie’s nothing but a knockoff. Wish she’d get the memo.
Then another.
Avery only hangs with me because she needs someone to make her look better.
Each one burned hotter than the last.
By the time I reached the locker bay, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—pings stacking one after another as screenshots flew.
Girls forwarding them. Group chats lighting up.
By the time I shoved it into my pocket, the damage was already everywhere.
The screenshots made it look as though I’d trashed reputations.
Sent threats. Spread lies. Elise’s name was carefully absent from every single one.
The whispers started before I even rounded the corner.
Several pairs of eyes cut toward me, wide then narrowing.
Conversations dropped low, punctuated by stifled laughter.
A group by the lockers broke into quiet giggles, one girl holding her phone out as a spotlight, angling it so I would see.
My face glared back at me from the screen.
My jaw locked. Fury burned low and steady. Not fear. Not shame. Rage.
I shoved my books into my locker harder than necessary, the clang echoing. If Elise thought this would make me crumble, she hadn’t learned a damn thing.
But the circle tightened anyway. Girls pressed closer. “Guess she thinks she’s untouchable again. Some people never learn.”
One of them reached out, nails catching the light—claws aiming for my arm.
“Hey.” Luke’s voice sliced through the noise. He didn’t shout, but every head turned.
And then he stepped in beside me, tall, steady, all command.
“If any of you believe that crap,” he said, calm but edged in steel, “you’re dumber than I thought.”
The silence was immediate. They froze then peeled away one by one, unwilling to meet my eyes.
I exhaled slow, the rage still simmering in my chest. I wanted to swing back on my own. I didn’t need saving.
Luke’s eyes locked on mine. “You good?”
“I’m pissed,” I said flatly.
The corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Better answer.”
We moved farther away from some of the students. When we stopped, he was a few feet away. Not touching but close enough I could feel the heat rolling off him.
I tilted my head back, staring up at the sky until the words scraped out of me. “I don’t need a knight. I need someone who won’t throw me to the wolves.” My throat burned. I knew I was lashing out, but I couldn’t stop myself.
His voice came low, steady. Softer, but heavier for it. “I’m trying to be both.”
That made me look at him. His eyes didn’t waver.
He meant it. Every word. And that was the problem.
Because I believed him. And believing him was worse than doubting—because if he broke that promise, it wouldn’t just hurt.
It would gut me, the way it had my mom when trust turned into blood on the blacktop.
The star charm at my throat pressed heavy against my skin, a reminder of every promise we’d whispered under the stars. No secrets. No power plays. No running.
But promises didn’t survive long in Blackwood. They broke. They shattered. And this one was already bleeding at the edges. Because Dunn Industries was circling. Because Elise wasn’t finished. Because the Kings had their own secrets—and Luke was tangled in all of them.
This wasn’t strategy anymore. It wasn’t even just survival. It was him. It was me. It was dangerous.