Chapter 27
Who needs therapy when you have a man willing to kill for you?
It takes everything in me to peel myself out of bed and get ready for class, making sure to apply extra makeup to cover the dark circles under my eyes.
I had a nightmare last night. Then I proceeded to toss and turn after getting another unknown message—this time in the form of a red-inked note lying on my fucking kitchen counter.
Unknown:
Lock your door. Call your friend. Sleep with the lights on. It won’t matter. You’re not safe. Not in your dorm. Not on campus. Not with him. I can get to you whenever I want. This is your last warning before you’re the next to die.
Needless to say, I didn’t sleep after that.
Instead, I ended up sitting on my phone for hours staring at Oliver’s name, then Detective Wright’s.
Back and forth, debating my next move. It has to be Serena, right?
I mean, she proved she can get into my room.
Is this just adding to the jealous act? If it is, it’s creepy and making me on edge.
Or Molly? She hates me, always has, since I started dating Blaine. Has her jealousy boiled to new heights?
The storm last night was relentless, matching my on-edge mood.
Umbrellas bloom around me as people head to class.
I keep my head down, my brown leather jacket tight around me, as I climb the hill.
The murmuring doesn’t stop. Not when the professor walks in, not even when they raise a hand for silence. It’s louder than usual.
I glance around, uneasy, then lean back toward the girl sitting behind me. “What’s going on?” I whisper.
She leans forward, eyes wide. There’s something in her expression that sends a chill crawling up my spine before she even opens her mouth. “You didn’t hear?”
I shake my head.
“Apparently, Leo Zanders committed suicide last night.” I stare at her, heart thudding dully in my chest. “It has to be because of Amelia. I mean, they dated for three years.” I nod, but it’s automatic.
I remember Leo two days ago. He wasn’t exactly torn up about Amelia then.
I face forward, barely registering the professor’s voice as it cuts through the room.
The words blend together. I was scared Leo might come after me.
The threat he made, whether empty or not, felt real.
Relief spreads in my chest, and I’m not going to feel guilty about that.
I won’t.
Now I need to figure out who the fuck is threatening me.
The news spreads across campus faster than the storm clouds above. The mood shifts, weighed down by whispers and wide eyes. The day is somber and gloomy, and the weather matches the depressing tone. By evening, the campus feels like it’s holding its breath.
I grab a coffee on the way, knowing I need the boost to counter this nagging feeling and the foggy mind from sleeplessness, trying to shake the unease trailing me like a shadow.
Ashford Hall looms ahead, its silhouette half drenched in mist. I wander inside, the heavy wooden doors groaning shut behind me. Small rooms now line the halls; most are used for storage or departmental overflow. But a few are accessible only to specific majors.
Like where I’m going now, my professor gave me a key early in the semester. It’s a quiet space with a wall of rare books and access to databases that most students only dream of. But just as I round the corner, I stop dead. I step back, flattening into a narrow alcove beside a tall window.
Oliver stands next to Serena. I peek around again, but I don't make out anything they are saying. She’s talking.
He’s just standing there with his arms crossed, face set in perfect stillness.
Serena takes a step toward him. He shakes his head, then turns, heading straight in my direction.
I go to round the corner, and when I do, they both have entered the room I was about to go into.
Oh, hell no.
I walk straight to the door. I don’t knock; instead, I try the handle. Locked. Yep, there goes my stomach to my fucking feet. I brace for what I’m about to walk in on. I unlock the door and push it open.
Serena sits on the small couch, blotchy and damp-cheeked. Oliver leans against the long desk, arms folded. They both snap their heads toward me. For a heartbeat, he looks surprised, then something else. Not fear. Closer to…worry, aimed at me.
For me?
I look at Serena. She’s wiping her face, but when her gaze meets mine, there’s no vulnerability left, just rage simmering behind red-rimmed eyes.
Serena stands. “We were in the middle of something.”
“Well, if you are in the middle of something with my boyfriend, I think I should be here.” I stare at her head-on, done with being pushed around, hurt, and done with mean fucking people.
I switch on the desk lamp. “If you have more to say, then say it, but if not, get the fuck out, Serena.” My tone is almost as flat as Oliver’s when he’s talking to someone he’s bored with.
“You'll get what’s coming to you.” I hear her walk to the door, then her footsteps pause. “Oliver—” Her words are cut off by the door shutting in her face. I turn to see Oliver locking it, Serena shut out on the other side.
“What was that about?”
He steps into my space. “Serena had something I needed.”
I slam my backpack on the table. “Stop fucking around with me for just a second, please.”
I turn to watch Oliver go over and sit on the couch where Serena had just been. “Ask, Lyra. Instead of jumping to conclusions.”
I hesitate. “How do I know you won’t lie to me?”
His eyes blaze. “I don’t lie to you.”
“I saw you standing in the hallway.”
He smirks. “Spying again, are we?”
I scowl. “No, I was already heading in here, and you guys were in my way.”
“Come here.”
“No. Not until—”
He cuts me off. “I will tell you everything. Get your fucking cute ass over here before I make you.”
I walk over to him, huffing. He pulls me down onto his lap so I’m straddling him.
His hands grip my hips, pushing me down onto his already hard dick.
“That’s what your jealousy does to me,” he murmurs.
“I get hard knowing you might be as insane for me as I am for you. How you just told her off was the hottest thing I’ve seen in my life. ”
I catch his right hand, pressing it to my heart, where it is beating too fast and too loud in the quiet room. “That’s what my heart does when you don’t tell me things.”
He studies our hands. When he meets my eyes, his brows furrow, and he looks to be deep in thought. “I told you weeks ago it was only you. I meant it.”
“I have trust issues,” I admit.
“Understatement of the century.” I shift, causing my jeans to rub against him. He groans, steadying my hips. “I found out the man she was fucking in the video was the head of administration.”
My mouth gapes. “No way.”
Vienna’s boss?
Gross.
“I don’t even want to know how you found that out.” I wrinkle my nose. Oliver seems to have secrets about everyone.
“Serena messaged me saying she had information about Leo’s death.”
“And?” I pull back just enough for his hand to drop from my chest.
“She lied.”
I scowl. “That doesn’t explain why she was in here with you.”
“She alluded to some things that, if the wrong ears heard, could start unnecessary problems.”
“That is very vague. So, what? You threatened her again, as you do with everyone else?”
“Yes.” So to the point.
“Of course you did.” I roll my eyes.
He grabs my chin. “Remember what I said last time you rolled your eyes. I love when you’re a brat, but I’m already at my wits’ end with you right now. I don’t need your attitude on top of it.”
I try to jerk out of his grip. It’s no use. “Well, I’m tired of you keeping me in the dark.”
“When were you going to tell me about your run-in with Leo the other day?” Shit…
I break eye contact, looking at everything but his handsome face. “I wasn’t.”
“Why?” he asks.
There are many reasons why I didn’t tell Oliver. Hundreds. Thousands. I pick the truest one. “Because you’d lose it,” I say. “And it wouldn’t be worth it.”
“You told Callan, though.” It’s a question yet laced with accusation.
“Yes.” I don’t mention how I told Vee and Roxy as well. That would tip him over the edge.
“Trust goes both ways, Lyra. You want me to trust you, yet you keep things from me.” I open my mouth, then close it. He’s right after all. “Which is why—” he grabs my hip with his hand. “I have to punish you.”
My face flames, and my body breaks out in goose bumps. “No. You’re not going to distract me. What exactly did Serena say?” He hesitates. Oliver hesitating is never good. “Oliver. Tell me.”
“She thinks you had something to do with Leo’s death.”
A startled laugh breaks out of me. “Why would she think that?”
He gives me a look. He doesn’t know I’ve thought about killing him hundreds of different ways. I would’ve done it by now if I weren’t so afraid of jail. I wouldn’t survive it.
“Did you leave your room last night?” I recoil as if he slapped me.
Scrambling off his lap, I back away a few steps. “No, I thought it was suicide. Even then, why would you believe her?”
“Suicide with no note and no reason?” He counters by standing slowly, not approaching.
“Maybe you did it,” I snap back.
He crowds me against the desk. “Well, I didn’t.”
“She’s lying. Or confused. I didn’t leave. After I got home, I got the note and locked myself in…” I clamp my mouth shut, but it’s too late. He hears my words and hooks onto them like a blade that has found its target.
“Excuse me.” Oliver’s head tilts slowly. “What note, Lyra?”
My eyes go wide. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
Shit…
Shit.
Shit!
I force a laugh that sounds wrong even to me. “Okay, Oliver, you can’t freak out. I was going to tell you yesterday, but with everything else we talked about, I just…”
“Lyra.” One word. A word that has me meeting his eyes and sucking in an uneven breath. One word that pins me in place.
“Promise me you won’t freak out.”
He doesn’t promise anything. He looks at me, that stare that feels like he’s stripping the lie off my skin and laying the facts out in neat rows.
“I’ve been getting these…weird, threatening, unknown texts and notes since the forgotten party,” I say, the words coming faster now.
“At first, I thought it was Jade, but then she died, and they stopped. Then they started up again…now I think it’s Serena.
And last night, there was a note on my kitchen counter. ”
Oliver goes utterly still. Not a blink, not a flinch. But something in his face changes. The air around him tightens. “What did it say?” he asks.
“I don’t remember exactly. It’s in my room.” Lies. I remember word for word, but I would rather show him in a controlled setting.
“Did you save them all?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He nods once, then steps closer, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“You’re not mad,” I whisper, searching his face.
“Mad?” he repeats. His expression doesn’t harden like I expect. If anything, it goes scarily blank. “No.”
“Then what are you feeling right now?” I'm surprised he isn’t…I don't know exactly. I was expecting a different reaction.
His eyes hold mine, unreadable for a long second. “Violent.”
I swallow. “Violent?”
His hand stays at the side of my face, thumb resting there. “That someone’s been in your space. That you dealt with it alone.”
“Oliver, I didn’t want you to—”
“To what?” he asks. “To become exactly what you’re imagining?
” I don’t answer. He leans in, mouth brushing my ear.
“We’re going to your room. You’re going to show me the note and the texts.
And then I’m going to make sure this person understands what happens when they touch what’s mine.
But before that—” He makes his way back to the couch, dropping down, legs open, palms on his thighs.
“Strip, Dollface.” My pulse stutters. Anticipation, relief, and hesitation all tangled so tightly I can’t tell them apart.