Chapter Ten
LUKE
In my locker was a piece of paper folded with surgical precision. There was one line in black ink: She shouldn’t be here. Fix it.
My jaw clenched so hard it felt like bone cracking. The handwritten note felt heavier than paper. Loaded.
I didn’t need to guess who sent it. Elise had been circling me for days—smirking, provoking, waiting for me to finally snap and drive Mila out of Blackwood for good.
But Elise didn’t give orders. Not to me. I crumpled the paper, shoved it into my pocket, and headed down the hall.
I found her exactly where I expected—leaning back against the lockers near the senior wing, French-manicured finger scrolling her phone.
“Elise.”
She looked up, smirk ready. “Luke. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I extracted the note and held it between two fingers.
Still nothing in her eyes. She scanned the paper, voice casual: “A reminder. You’ve been… distracted.”
My response was quiet, cold. “You think I need help handling Mila?”
She shrugged, stepping closer until her perfume was choking me. “You seem to.” She paused, smile slipping just enough to expose a flash of greed. “You’ve got too much on your plate. Your father. The whispers. The company. Let a little scandal hit, and everything folds.”
I blinked. “What are you talking about?”
Her tone stayed syrupy. “You forget—my dad has a front-row seat to the cleanup crew. Dunn Industries might not wear the same crest as King Enterprises, but they’re in the same bed when it matters.”
She leaned in, voice dropping to a purr. “Mila’s mom already made waves once. Disappearing only bought her time. If she starts poking around again… someone might decide she’s a risk to overlook.”
Cold crawled down my spine. “Elise,” I growled.
“Pull it back. You’re digging your own grave.
” I took a breath—and dropped the bomb. “Family business isn’t part of this.
And you? You were a mistake—just someone I used once or twice, nothing more.
” The play nice mandate from my father didn’t apply here.
I drew the line at encouraging a relationship between us.
There never had been one, nor would it ever happen.
Her eyes darkened. Rage showed for a heartbeat, then she swallowed it. Instead, she dragged a fingertip down my chest. “People remember what I tell them. A twist here, a lie there—and suddenly, we’re history again.”
I grabbed her wrist before she could pull back. My grip was steel, controlled. “Don’t drag me into your games. Or you’ll regret it.”
Recognition flickered in her eyes. Not fear—but respect. She slid back, saying, “Fine. But… if I didn’t write the note?”
I leveled my stare. “Then we’ve got a bigger problem.” Even as I said it, I knew she was lying. Or someone else was pulling her strings. Either way, she was the one that dropped the threat into my locker because I recognized her handwriting.
Later, I found myself outside, leaning against the iron railing near the athletic quad after school and before practice. Mila walked across campus, bag slung over one shoulder, the wind tugging at her dark hair. She paused, brushing it away with a flick of defiance.
Her fingers brushed the hollow of her throat, as if reaching for something long gone. For a second, I almost asked her why. Then I remembered—I already knew. I’d been holding the reason in my hand the night she walked away.
She didn’t know I watched. And this time, I wasn’t tracking her to figure out how to break her. I was keeping tabs because she might be in deeper trouble than even she knew.
Between Elise’s threats, the note, Dad’s warning, and what I overheard last week—mentions of money, damage control, someone cleaning up—I saw a pattern. I knew too much to ignore it.
I went inside and took it to the ice, hoping the cold would carve the noise from my head. But after two hours of drills and contact, the only thing I managed to shake was the skin off my knuckles. The storm stayed.
Later, I headed home, mind scrolling through scenarios. I walked through the front door aimlessly until I found myself in the kitchen. I paused, the dark feeling heavier here. Barefoot, water glass in hand, I stared through the window at empty streets.
I didn’t hear Drew until he was already moving in—sparkling water in his hand, face calm.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Just thinking.”
He twisted the cap off the water and leaned against the counter. “Thinking’s a dangerous game at 2 a.m.”
I thought again of the note. “You ever wonder if we don’t know everything about Dad... about the company?”
He took a slow sip, eyes steady. “Dad built this from nothing. That kind of power always leaves blood behind.” He set the chilled bottle down.
“You sound like him.”
He shrugged. “I used to hate it. Now I get it.”
I put my hands on the counter. “And you think he’s hiding something?”
He offered a faint, unreadable smile. “He’s always ten steps ahead. If there’s something he’s hiding, it’s not bullshit. It’s why you shouldn’t worry.”
My eyes flicked to the hallway that led to his home office. “What if it’s already in motion?”
His tone softened. “Then you deal with it. But don’t forget who you are—and where you came from.
” He shoved off the counter and strolled away.
“Try to sleep, bro. You’ve got a game tomorrow.
And, Luke?”—he waited until I met his eyes—“I’ll handle the company.
Nothing’s falling on your shoulders. School. College. That’s your job.”
My brother was trying to protect me, which I appreciated.
Part of me recognized that he’d come into his own, that he thrived in dad’s world, that it had become his.
And maybe he would even shoulder that weight for me too, but that wasn’t really me.
I didn’t let anyone take on my battles, and this one felt like it was headed my way.
I stayed long after he left, the note heavy in my pocket. One way or another, I had to decide what Mila meant to me—liability, or something I couldn’t let go.