Chapter 20
LEO
December hits Royal Oaks like a glitter bomb detonated inside a snow globe.
Every doorway’s smothered in wreaths the size of car tires, garland choking the lampposts like they're being assaulted by holiday spirit, and bows so big they could double as parachutes. The cold slices through campus walkways, that classic New England wind that makes your face feel like it’s committing treason against you.
And in the middle of all of it—
Jade.
Not flinching.
Not shivering.
Not acknowledging the circus she now commands.
She’s leaning against the stone archway between the quad and the arts building, coffee steaming in curls around her face, eyes half-lidded, calm in a way that pisses me off because I’m anything but.
People are orbiting her.
Teachers. Students. Freshmen. Seniors. Even the bitter, jealous elite.
Not out of fear.
Respect.
“Jade! Bryan!” some lacrosse guy yells from across the path, phone raised. “You see the new post? They’re calling you a legend!”
She doesn’t even lift her eyes.
Just sips her coffee.
“Cool story.”
I’m standing thirty feet away dying.
Not because she’s ignoring him.
Because she’s ignoring me.
Again.
Still.
Always.
She walks by like I’m invisible. Like we didn’t have a whole universe between us once.
Like I didn’t carve her initials into places she hasn’t even found yet.
Like my videos didn’t break the ice around her heart.
Like I wasn’t just at her house helping out.
What the fuck do I have to do—to get this girl back?
Every part of me wants to drag her somewhere private and demand she stop pretending she doesn’t feel this too.
But I hold still.
Because she asked for space.
But space is fucking killing me.
The same people who shrugged when she got slimed on school property are now asking her to speak on panels.
The dean calls her up during assembly.
“Miss Bryan, would you say a few words about resilience?”
Jade steps up to the mic, half-lidded eyes, hair in a messy braid, vibe of a girl who was forged in hellfire and came out diamond-hard.
“Sure,” she says into the mic.
“Resilience is what happens when the people who’re supposed to protect you don’t.”
A punch to the throat.
To the admin.
To everyone who failed her.
Silence so loud it rings.
Then applause.
Thunder.
She walks offstage without looking at anyone.
Without looking at me.
And part of me is proud.
Part of me is gutted.
Most of me is terrified she’s slipping further and further out of my reach.
Winter Ball chatter infects campus like a bad flu.
“Delacourt Mansion,” Mia tells me at lunch, flipping through her phone. “Black tie. Crystal chandeliers. Champagne fountains. Ice sculptures. And Kannon’s totally asking Jade.”
My fork snaps through my salad plate.
“Kannon with a K?” I scoff. “He’d take a fern to Winter Ball if it wore lip gloss.”
“Jealousy is not a good look on you.”
“I’m not—”
But then Rosalie Wexford materializes in front of my locker like she was summoned by privilege itself.
Perfect posture. Perfect hair. Perfectly empty eyes.
“Leo, darling,” she purrs. “Winter Ball. Be my date?”
Should say no.
Should say I’m taken—emotionally, mentally, spiritually, in every way that matters. But jade wants space and taking Rosalie will make my mom happy. How fucked up is that?
Instead—
“Yeah, sure.”
Her smile could slice marble.
“Splendid. Do try to match my energy.”
Fuck.
Mia whistles. “Oh, this is gonna be a show.”
Across the hall—
Kannon leans too close to Jade.
And she laughs.
At something he says.
She doesn’t shove him away.
Doesn’t roll her eyes.
Doesn’t even give me a glance.
My jaw ticks so hard I swear it cracks.
Let the games begin.
Every day, every hour, someone new is talking about her.
Her views climb.
Her followers climb.
Her influence climbs.
And me?
I watch from the sidelines like a damn ghost in my own story.
I’m proud.
Damn, I’m proud.
Probably more proud than anyone else.
But I’m also drowning.
Because the more she rises, the farther she gets from the world we used to share.
And she still keeps me at arm's length.
Touches everyone else with ease.
Laughs with everyone else.
Lets everyone else orbit her.
But me?
A look.
A glance.
A brush of attention.
And she bolts like I’m fire.
Maybe I am.
AND I? I’M LOSING MY MIND.
At practice, coaches yell. Balls hit the court. Sneakers squeak.
But I only see her shadow through the gym window.
In class, I can’t sit still.
My knee bounces like I swallowed lightning.
At lunch, I barely eat.
I watch her across the room laughing with Shani, Tristan, even Mindy.
My friends see it.
“Bro,” Xavier mutters, grabbing my shoulder. “She’s killing you.”
“Shut up.”
“I mean it. You’re pale. You look like you haven’t slept since 1994.”
he next weeks unfold like some deranged romantic war fought through ring lights and trending hashtags.
Jade posts soft, warm, authentic snapshots of her life:
Aunt Susan laughing in the kitchen
The cats weaving between their legs
Flour on Jade’s cheek as she tries (and fails) to roll cookie dough
Her humming along to Christmas music
Her snow-dusted morning runs on the cliffs
Every clip is effortless.
Genuine.
Real.
America falls harder every damn day.
Even I can’t stop watching them.
I scroll through her feed at 1 a.m. like a junkie.
Replay the way her smile hits at the end of each clip.
Replay the soft lift of her voice.
Replay her laugh—
Replay the warmth she has rediscovered without me.
Her likes climb into the hundreds of thousands.
Her comments explode with encouragement, praise, love.
America’s Sweetheart.
The Girl Who Refused To Be Broken.
The It Girl.
The New Voice of Gen Z.
The Anti-Bully Icon.
Meanwhile, I post my own love-letter series—raw, stripped-down pieces of myself I’ve never shown anyone.
“You only saw the castle. So let me show you the boy inside it.”
“People think privilege makes you happy. It doesn’t. Not when you’re lonely.”
“She taught me more about courage than money ever did.”
The PR team edits everything, adds captions, strings the story together—
The Prince of Prep
vs
The Girl Who Walked Through Fire
and Refused To Bow.
The internet goes insane.
Fandoms form.
#TeamJade
#TeamLeo
#BringBackLeJade
#PrinceAndPhoenix
#GitanillaLoveStory
Tristan eats it up.
Xavier pretends not to care, but he’s worse—he’s already threatening to copyright the damn hashtags.
And me?
I’m living in constant, raw-nerved agony.
Because the entire world is falling in love with Jade Bryan…
…and I’m terrified she’ll never love me again.
Xavier snaps first.
“Bro,” he says after one lunch where the swim team girls stare at Jade like she’s Taylor Swift 2.0. “She’s gonna get mobbed. Like trampled. Or kidnapped by a fan with bad intentions.”
Tristan nods. “We need security. Like yesterday.”
“I’m already working on it,” X mutters, texting furiously.
Within 48 hours they’ve solved it.
Two black SUVs.
Three rotating shifts.
Four guards.
Background checks so intense even the CIA would sweat.
But they don’t tail her directly.
They follow four cars back, or blend in with street traffic.
They rotate between parking up the block or walking her route disguised as random pedestrians.
Jade has no idea.
Susan knows.
Susan approves.
Susan practically cries tears of relief when she realizes someone is finally protecting her niece from the crowds gathering outside their home at night to sing Christmas carols or beg for autographs.
But Jade?
Touchy, stubborn, take-no-shit Jade?
If she found out?
She’d skin me alive.
But I don’t care.
If I can’t stand right next to her,
I’ll pay the best men in the state to do it.
My mother won’t stop talking about Jade. It’s crazy how everything backfired on the both of us.
She stands in the hallway doorway, pearl necklace clutched in her manicured fingers like she’s auditioning for a soap opera.
“Leo,” she says, voice trembling with some mix of fake awe and fake concern, “is Jade… dating anyone now?”
I stare at her.
Stare and stare until she starts shifting, uncomfortable.
“Seriously?” I say. “This is your angle? Now you want me with Jade because it’s convenient?”
She blinks. “I only meant—”
“No, you meant you finally want to ride her fame.”
“Excuse me?”
“You want in on her reality show. You want your name in her orbit. You want the country club to whisper about you when you walk by.”
She steps back like I slapped her.
Her face pinches, ugly and sharp.
“You’re being ridiculous, Leo. I simply—”
“You’re a joke, mother.”
Silence.
You could hear the snow melting outside.
Her eyes go cold.
Frostbitten.
Glassy.
“You don’t speak to me that way.”
“Oh? Watch me.”
“Leo—”
“Now that Jade’s famous, now that everyone wants to interview her, now that Netflix is fighting for her attention—you magically think she’s worthy of your son.”
I laugh.
It’s not a nice laugh.
“You don’t deserve her name in your mouth.”
Her spine stiffens. “I forbid you—”
“You forbid nothing. Nothing.”
My father hears the shouting and steps into the hall, sees my face, sees hers, and sighs.
We stare at each other.
All An hour later there’s a knock on my door.
Not the sharp, irritated kind.
The hesitant kind.
I open it with a towel draped around my neck, damp hair dripping onto the marble floor.
“I’m about to take a shower, Ma.”
I say it on purpose.
She hates when I sound like a townie.
She doesn’t correct me this time.
She just stands there in the doorway, perfectly dressed, perfectly styled, looking smaller than she ever does in this house.
“Your father told you about her,” she says quietly.
I don’t answer.
She takes my silence as confirmation.
Her mouth tightens. “I pretend it doesn’t hurt me,” she goes on, voice brittle. “That my husband and my son don’t love me.”
My jaw flexes.
“And why do you think that is, Mother?”
She flinches. Just a little.
“Stop,” she says softly. “Please.”
She steps inside without being invited, hands wringing together like she doesn’t know where to put them without a clutch or a glass of wine.
“I did love your father once,” she says. “I really did. I thought I was becoming the wife he wanted. The status. The clubs. The body. The perfect hair and nails.” She lets out a breath that sounds tired. “I thought if I did everything right, I’d be enough.”
I say nothing.
“I wanted more children,” she adds, quieter now. “That… wasn’t in the cards for me.”
For the first time, I hear something real in her voice.
“I was just trying to make your life perfect, Leo.”
I finally meet her eyes.
“I don’t want a perfect life,” I say. “That’s the problem.”
She looks startled.
“This is just stuff,” I continue, gesturing vaguely around the room, the house, the whole damn castle. “What I needed was to be full in here.”
I tap my chest.
“She gave me that. And you ripped it away.”
Her hands tremble.
“I know,” she whispers. “I know. I’m sorry, Leo. I really am.”
The word sorry sounds foreign on her tongue.
I exhale slowly, steadying myself.
“Thanks,” I say. “But if I ever get her back—or if I ever bring another girl home that I love—don’t interfere.”
Her lips part.
“Please,” I add. “Just let me figure it out.”
She nods, blinking fast.
“Maybe that’s the problem,” I go on, softer now. “We’ve spent our whole lives trying to make everything perfect. Curated. Controlled. Wrapped up with bows and polished floors and organic farm-to-table dinners.”
I shake my head.
“The more we chase perfection, the more it hides the fact that everything underneath is falling apart.”
She swallows.
“Okay,” she says after a moment. “Then… tomorrow. Let’s go out to the woods in Middletown. Like when you were little. You, me, your father. We’ll pick a tree. He’ll cut it down. We’ll bring it home.”
I almost smile.
“That’s a nice trip down memory lane, Ma.”
“I’m trying,” she says, voice thin. “What do you want me to do? Bake cookies from scratch?”
I snort despite myself. “You’d probably start a fire. You’ve never even turned on a stove.”
She lets out a small laugh. The sound is rusty, unused.
“I know you’re right,” she says. “I’ll fix this, Leo.”
I shake my head gently.
“I don’t want you to fix it. I need to find my own way. Make my own mistakes. Pick myself back up.”
She nods again, shoulders sagging under the weight of her designer coat.
“I’m sorry,” she says one last time.
Then she turns to leave.
And as she walks away down the long, echoing hallway, it hits me—I’m not the only sad, lonely person trapped inside this beautiful, empty house.
I wonder if the castle has been breaking us all along.