Chapter Eight
LUKE
By sixth period, Elise’s little rumor campaign was already bleeding out. Blackwood never ran on truth—it thrived on perception. And Elise had bet wrong on who still owned the school.
It started with Jax. Loud enough for half the row behind him to hear, he leaned back in AP Physics and asked Mr. Carson if a phone’s IP address could be faked.
He didn’t even wait for the answer before muttering, “Guess it’s easy for burner accounts and petty girls to look the same,” his eyes sliding to Elise’s table.
The ripple started there.
By lunch, Chase dropped into the senior group chat with a gem: Crazy how the fake DMs stopped sounding like Mila halfway through. Someone forgot to keep the insults specific. He even added a shrug emoji. Subtle as a hammer.
Phones buzzed across the tables—one ping, then another, then a flood. Screens lit up. Heads bent low, whispers spiking as the messages ricocheted through the room.
The cafeteria erupted in noise and whispers, the story spreading faster than anyone could stop it.
No one cared about fake screenshots anymore.
They were too busy picking apart Elise’s history with surgical precision—every cover-up, every spin job, every stitch in her airbrushed life suddenly fair game.
Later, drifting through the hallway, Theo sealed it. He let it drop for anyone listening, “Didn’t Elise disappear sophomore year? What was the excuse that time? Nose job or leadership retreat? Hard to keep the cover stories straight.”
Mila’s name? Already dropped from conversation.
I waited until the courtyard thinned and Elise sat alone at one of the stone benches, stabbing at her salad as if it might fight back. The stone looked too polished, too pristine—like everything in Blackwood, perfection on the surface, hiding the cracks underneath.
Her friends had scattered. Even Nina. That told me more than anything else.
She spotted me immediately. “Here to gloat?”
I stopped in front of her, shadow spilling across the table. “No. I’m here to warn you.”
Her mouth curled tight. “You think you’ve won something?”
“I’m not playing a game,” I said evenly. “You are.”
She tilted her head, her usual smugness creeping back in. “People forget fast. Mila’s still the girl who left without notice and then waltzed back in. You didn’t exactly welcome her with open arms, Luke—so don’t act like she belongs.”
I leaned forward, voice low. “You ever wonder what would happen if people found out why you disappeared sophomore year? The truth. Not the nose job excuse. Not the retreat.”
Her fork froze. Everyone knew Elise had vanished sophomore year, but no one knew why.
“Remember your roommate?” I asked. “The one who couldn’t handle what she saw—the cracks behind your perfect mask? I don’t need to invent anything.” My voice dropped as I leaned in, steady and biting. “I just have to remind people that perfection doesn’t mean untouchable.”
Her throat worked, but she forced the words out anyway. “You wouldn’t.”
I bent closer, the words a blade. “Try me again. Touch Mila—publicly or privately—and I’ll show you what happens when everyone finally sees the cracks you hide.”
She gripped her phone as though it might save her. “You think this makes you strong? Blackmailing me?”
“No.” I straightened. “This is me protecting someone who’s done being your punching bag.”
Her composure faltered—just for a second. That was enough. I left her sitting there, nails digging into her palm, pretending she wasn’t shaken.
Logan passed as I stepped into the hall, laughing with a couple teammates, voice too loud on purpose. His eyes cut sideways, smirk crooked, like he’d been waiting to see if I’d bite. I didn’t. Not here. Not with an audience.
Theo waited near the back wall by the gym, hands shoved in his hoodie, eyes tracking me.
“She gonna crawl under a rock now?”
“Hopefully.”
He smirked, tilting his head. “Tori’s cousin was her roommate in the treatment clinic back then. That’s how I heard it.”
My jaw ticked, but I didn’t engage.
“She’s been carrying that secret a while,” Theo added. “She looked wrecked walking out of there.”
“Good. Can Elise get to Tori through her cousin?”
Theo shifted. “Tori’s pulling back from her, but she hasn’t torched the bridge. Elise might still try.”
“And you?”
He gave a short laugh, but it didn’t hide the tension in his jaw. “Don’t start.”
“You like Tori.” Not a question. A fact. “Make sure it doesn’t become about that. She’s still straddling sides.”
Theo muttered something under his breath, but I let it go.
This wasn’t just about Elise. This was about all of us.
About Dunn positioning themselves to bleed King stock dry.
About my dad and brother circling, trying to lock down shares before the floor dropped.
About Mila—back here under a leash she didn’t choose, her mom’s job already tangled up in the mess.
Protecting the company mattered—but protecting her mattered more. King Enterprises could survive a hit. I wasn’t sure I could survive losing her again.
I leaned against the gym wall, closing my eyes for a second. The cost of choosing her over everything else pressed down heavier than any practice bruise. I’d held back when every part of me wanted to pull her closer. I’d chosen her safety over the one thing I wanted most.
And still—when the gym went quiet, when no one was watching—I let myself wonder. Did I still love her? Did I deserve her—after everything? Or was I just setting myself up to break when she left again?
The thought gutted me. Because the truth was, I wasn’t afraid of Elise. Or Dunn. Or even my father. I was terrified of losing Mila a second time.
Later, by the lot, I stood next to my SUV and watched her leave the building.
She didn’t see me. Didn’t see the way the star necklace caught the last edge of sunlight, silver bright against her throat.
A reminder she was still tethered to me—but not mine.
Not anymore. Not until it was safe for us to be together.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a message from her, no name attached—just the encrypted app we’d set up.
Mila: You looked way too pleased with yourself in sixth period. Try not to enjoy being right too much.
A grin broke across my mouth before I could stop it.
Me: Watching me now? Should I be flattered?
Three dots appeared. Then:
Mila: Don’t flatter yourself. You’re just hard to miss—and impossible to ignore.
I typed back, fingers hovering for half a second before hitting send.
Me: Good. Don’t miss me.
Her reply didn’t come right away. But when it did, my chest tightened.
Mila: I won’t.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket, the echo of her words humming through me long after she was gone.
Not together. Not apart. Tangled somewhere in the middle—dangerous territory. And I was already in too deep to crawl out.