Chapter 23 #2
But the space between them was heavy—because the third piece of their trio wasn’t here. Sevyn should’ve been walking beside them, arm linked with Dorian’s, laughing at Harper’s latest mess, dressed to kill and ready to take over the yard like she always did.
Instead, she was gone. And no one knew where.
The pain sharpened Dorian’s focus. She blended in easily, dressed in a black Memphis hoodie with “TIGERS” stamped across the chest in bold navy, shorts hugging her hips just right, and blue and white dunks on her feet.
Her hair was slicked into a half-up, half-down style, catching the light with every bounce.
Harper walked beside her, looking like a poster girl for Tiger pride in a crisp white University of Memphis crewneck, a pleated tennis skirt that danced with every step, and white socks bunched above her Jordan 1s.
Her soft curls framed her face, falling down her back in a wild, effortless flow.
They looked like they belonged—like they were just here to enjoy the celebration.
But every step they took was calculated. Every smile, a mask. "Aye Harper, can y’all hear me?" Von’s voice came through the earpiece, low and steady.
"Yea, we can hear you," Harper said, touching her hair like she was adjusting a curl, but really checking the mic.
Dorian caught the smirk tugging at Harper’s lips and bumped her playfully. "Girl, what was that?" she teased.
Harper tried to play it cool but couldn't help the grin. "His voice just sound... too damn sexy."
Von came through the earpiece again, smooth as hell. "Thank you, love."
Harper’s eyes widened. Dorian burst out laughing.
"Bitch, you forgot he could still hear you?" she said under her breath.
"I hate you," Harper muttered, cheeks flushed.
But despite the laughter, their eyes scanned the crowd like hawks. They weren’t here to flirt. They were here for war. And Carlos DeVille’s precious granddaughter didn’t even know she was the first pawn.
"Aight, blend in. Celine’s still in her dorm gettin' dressed with her friends," Von’s voice crackled through their earpieces. He was watching the dorm hallway cameras in real-time, every second accounted for.
Harper scanned the crowd, the sea of students moving like a wave. “Wouldn’t it be better if we caught her in the dorm? Less eyes, less people?”
“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Von responded quickly. “Celine has two guards outside her door. Big dudes. Secret Service energy. You’re not gettin’ in that dorm without a badge or a miracle.”
“Dorian, you got your nail kit?” Harper asked, her eyes already tracking the nearest entrance.
Dorian smirked, patting the blue Hermès bag on her arm. “Do I ever leave home without it?”
Harper smiled. “Perfect. Come on.”
Von cut back in, voice low but tight with worry. “Harper, don’t do this. That dorm is a fortress. We don’t have eyes inside. If something go left—”
“Avoni, chill.” Harper’s tone was smooth, calm, disarming. Dorian glanced at her, brows raised. “Avoni?”
Harper chuckled, eyes flicking to the building. “Cute, right? His mama named him that.”
Dorian cracked a grin. It was the first time she’d seen Harper genuinely interested in someone since her healing started. “I guess popping a bullet in your trauma really do open space for some romance.”
“Cute is for puppies, love. I keep tellin’ you that,” Von replied, voice rich with amusement.
Harper smirked. “Blah blah. Just get some eyes on her dorm window. Let us women do what women do.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. With her back straight and her head high, she led Dorian toward the dorm building like they owned it.
“What the fuck are y’all doing?” Hassan’s voice boomed in their ears, low and dangerous. Cold. Sharp. Dorian literally shivered at the vibration in her ear.
“Damn. It just got cold,” she muttered, her skin prickling. Harper laughed under her breath.
“No wonder Sevyn be stuck. That nigga’s voice got side effects.”
“Hassan, relax,” Harper said, cool and steady. “We got this.”
A pause. Then his voice came back, still ice. “Aye. You niggas better keep four eyes on them at all times. Don’t let nothin’ touch them.”
Harper cut her eyes toward the dorm. “Let the games begin.”
Harper and Dorian stepped into the dorm building, riding the elevator in silence to the fourth floor—the level Von confirmed as Celine’s.
When the doors slid open, they were greeted by two tall men in black suits standing rigid outside the door like statues.
Not even blinking. Just staring straight ahead like the wall was telling them secrets .
“She the president’s daughter or some shit?” Dorian muttered under her breath, making Harper chuckle despite the nerves.
They walked side by side, confidence in every step until they stood directly in front of the guards.
“Hey, can you let us in?” Harper asked casually, her tone light. The bigger one shifted slightly, eyes narrowing as he scanned her.
“And you are?”
“Celine’s friend. Hazel. We have dance class together.” Harper kept her face smooth, unbothered, like she'd done this a hundred times. Her voice didn’t waver, not even a little.
The guard squinted, clearly trying to read her, but Harper didn’t flinch. Just smiled.
“And you?” the second one asked, turning to Dorian with the same scrutiny.
“I’m her cousin,” Dorian said coolly, tilting her chin toward Harper. “Just here to do her nails, get paid, and dip. That’s it.”
The guards exchanged a skeptical glance but eventually stepped aside. One of them knocked on the door three times. A few seconds later, it cracked open—and Celine appeared, already irritated.
“What do you overbearing pieces of shit want now?” she snapped at her security, not hiding her annoyance. But her attitude shifted the second her eyes landed on the two women standing behind them.
Celine was beautiful—flawlessly so. Her skin a warm cinnamon brown, her long curly hair pinned up as she worked on her makeup.
She had on a cropped University of Memphis jersey that slid off one shoulder, paired with a pleated tennis skirt and blue-and-black Nike Dunks.
Her lip gloss shimmered in the low hallway light.
“Oh—hey?” she said, a little unsure, a little curious.
“Hey girl! You remember me, right? Hazel from dance?” Harper chirped brightly before Celine could think too long.
Celine’s brows furrowed slightly, clearly searching her memory, but Harper kept going.
“Well,” she said with a smooth smile, “I overheard you were looking for a bomb nail tech in Memphis to hook you up before the game tomorrow. This is my cousin, Dior—she’s the best. Got magic in her hands, I swear.”
Dorian waved, sweet and casual, as Harper held out her hand, flashing the fresh set Dorian had done for her just days ago to distract from the stress of Sevyn’s disappearance.
“Ouuuu, those are bomb!” Celine lit up, reaching to admire the nails.
“You know them?” one of the guards cut in again, tone flat, as if still trying to find a reason to say no.
Celine rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. “Didn’t your bird- brain ass just hear her say we have the same dance class?” she snapped, then turned back to the girls with a glowing smile. “Come in! Come in.”
Harper and Dorian shared a quick glance—mission step one complete—and walked inside like they belonged.
Dorian glanced around the space, her brows lifting slightly.
This was nothing like the dorms they remembered.
Either Celine was living in a secret penthouse suite, or the college had done some serious remodeling since they graduated.
The place looked more like a luxury apartment than a college dorm—smooth furniture, granite countertops, floor-to-ceiling windows—it felt way too grown.
Celine led them farther inside where her friends were sprawled across a plush sectional, taking shots and laughing loud over the music that filled the space.
The energy was vibrant, carefree, and for a moment, Dorian and Harper were both pulled back in time.
Back to nights with Sevyn, when the three of them would pregame in their shared apartment—dancing, drinking, hyping each other up before stepping out like they owned the night.
Now, one of them was missing. And neither of them could say it out loud, but that ache sat heavy in both their chests.
“These are my roommates,” Celine introduced with a smile. “That’s Melanie, Tyler, and Kameron.”
The girls all waved, already tipsy, dressed in tight tops and short skirts, blush on their cheeks, ready to be seen.
“This is Hazel and Dior. Hazel’s apparently in my dance class, and Dior’s her cousin,” Celine added.
“How come I’ve never seen you in dance?” Celine asked Harper curiously.
Harper chuckled, playing it smooth. “Girl, I hate that class. My mama used to be a dancer so she forced me into it. I’m more of a gym girl, but I had to show up to the last class or they were gonna fail me for attendance.”
Dorian was impressed. The lie rolled off her tongue so effortlessly. Then again, Harper was raised in the streets—lying, surviving, and adapting were second nature.
“Oh, girl, same! That’s how I am with calculus. That class is kicking my ass,” Kameron groaned, earning a chorus of laughs.
“Anyway, Dior does nails—and she’s about to bless us with some bomb sets for homecoming,” Celine hyped, clapping her hands like this was the best part of her night.
The girls whooped in excitement. One of them reached for another shot.
“Wait, Dior—you go here too?” Melanie asked, eyes curious. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around. Y’all too fine not to be noticed. ”
Dorian smiled through the guilt tugging at her chest. Celine was sweet. She was bubbly, smart, polite—everything Sevyn would've vibed with. But no amount of charm could change their mission. Sevyn came first.
“Nah, I graduated early. I actually run a nail salon not far from campus,” Dorian said casually, and just like that, their eyes lit up like she was holding a golden ticket.