Chapter Twelve
MILA
Monday mornings at Blackwood always carried the same lie—that everything was normal.
The campus looked pristine from the outside, every detail curated for appearance—the stone facade, severe and spotless, the hedges trimmed with obsessive precision, the iron gates gleaming as students drifted through them in clusters that made the place look harmless.
I could almost believe it, standing at the edge of the courtyard with my bag heavy on my shoulder and the faint scent of the coast still woven into the morning air.
I could almost believe I was just another senior counting days until graduation. I didn’t believe it—not even a little.
The weekend had left a residue under my skin, something that wouldn’t wash off with sleep or coffee.
Luke’s hand on my waist at the arena. The way he looked at me when he thought no one else was watching.
The softness in his voice when he asked if I was okay and waited for a real answer, not the easy one.
And then the notebook. The line that refused to stop echoing in my head.
I tightened my grip on my bag’s strap as I crossed the courtyard, eyes sweeping the perimeter out of habit. Nothing looked wrong. That almost made it worse. The weekend had been a reprieve. A chance to breathe.
Elise had been quiet for days.
At Blackwood, quiet never meant peace. It meant someone was deciding where to strike next.
Avery was waiting near the steps, her blond hair twisted into a low braid that made her look more put together than she had any right to be this early in the morning.
She squinted at me. “Where’s the coffee?”
“I thought you had it.”
“I thought you had it.” Her frown was impressive.
I glanced toward the doors. “So this is how we die.”
“Tragic,” she muttered. “And caffeine-deprived.”
She glanced at her phone and grimaced. “We do not have time to run for coffee.”
I checked mine and felt the same disappointment settle in. “This is a design flaw in the universe.”
“Break starts Wednesday,” she reminded me.
“That’s still two days away.”
“I’m counting in hours.” Then her gaze flicked past my shoulder.
Luke. I felt him before I saw him, the shift in the air that always seemed to happen when he moved into my space.
Calm followed him across the parking lot, the kind that never looked forced, even when I knew his thoughts ran faster than the rest of us could keep up with.
The hoodie he wore sat dark against the pale morning light, hair still slightly damp from practice.
His hands were empty. No coffee peace offering. Just him.
He stopped close enough that my body reacted before my thoughts caught up. No dramatic pull. No public display. Instead, his fingers found mine, threading through with quiet certainty. He tucked our joined hands between us and held there, steady and deliberate.
A hidden claim. Not for the school. For me.
“You good?” he asked, voice low.
I looked up at him and felt the tension I had been carrying shift. Like weight redistributed into a place I could manage.
“I’m here,” I answered.
His thumb stroked the side of my finger once. A single motion, steady and controlled, as if he could communicate what he could not say out loud in public.
Avery pretended she didn’t notice, which meant she noticed everything.
“We should get inside,” she said, and the tone carried a protective edge she hadn’t used before.
We moved together toward the double doors.
Blackwood’s entryway smelled like polished stone and expensive cologne, as if money had its own scent.
Students drifted past in waves—carefully styled without looking styled, designer pieces disguised as casual, watches catching the light when someone gestured too broadly, laughter too bright to be real this early.
And then the recalibration hit. It was subtle, almost impressive in its cruelty. Conversation didn’t stop. It shifted. Bodies turned slightly. Laughter dimmed half a notch. We weren’t excluded. We were measured.
I felt eyes slide toward our hands and how Luke’s shoulder angled slightly in front of me. Then to Avery walking tight on my other side like she was forming a barrier.
People at Blackwood had always paid attention, but this morning, it felt deliberate, not just curiosity.
Luke didn’t react. Of course he didn’t. He was used to rooms adjusting around him. My stomach dropped anyway.
We reached the lockers. Avery moved toward hers, but her body stayed turned toward me like she was reluctant to leave me unguarded. I understood that feeling too well.
“I’ll see you at lunch,” she told me, more statement than plan.
Jax stepped in at her side, draping an arm over her shoulders with easy familiarity.
“I’ll be there,” I promised.
Luke’s fingers loosened then curled around mine again as he leaned closer, his mouth near my ear without touching it.
“Text me if anything feels off,” he murmured.
I let out a quiet breath. “It already does.” The quiet from Elise had stretched too long. It never meant peace. It meant preparation.
Luke’s breath warmed the side of my neck, and the sensation should not have mattered as much as it did.
“Text me if anything changes,” he replied.
He didn’t step away immediately. His hand stayed at my waist as we moved down the corridor together, slow enough to look unhurried, deliberate enough to be seen.
He stopped outside my classroom door. “I’ll see you at lunch,” he said.
I met his gaze. “You will.”
His thumb brushed once over my hip, subtle and grounding, then he stepped back and turned toward his own class. He walked like the hallway belonged to him. I watched him longer than I should have. Then I squared my shoulders and went inside.
First period went by in a blur of equations I did not care about and students who kept glancing at their phones under their desks. I tried to focus, to make my mind cooperate, but it refused.
I kept thinking of Darren’s notebook. Of Luke and the way he refused to let me step backward.
He didn’t know everything. Not yet. But he knew enough to look at me like he was already bracing for impact.
By second period, the rumors started.
They were not shouted. They were threaded through the air the way perfume moved—soft at first then suddenly everywhere.
“Did you hear…?”
“My dad said…”
“Something’s going on with King Enterprises.”
I heard the name without meaning to. It caught in my chest like a hook.
By third period, half the senior class had heard some version of it. Parents had talked. They always did. At Blackwood, the boardroom and the breakfast table were often the same room.
Conversations clipped shorter. Phones appeared between classes. A name surfaced near the lockers—King—before dissolving into lowered voices.
No one needed details. At Blackwood, perception moved faster than truth. When money shifted, alliances did too. That was how Blackwood worked.
Someone behind me laughed, too casual. “Wow. Rough week to be a King.”
Another voice answered, “Maybe but it couldn’t happen to a nicer family.”
I didn’t turn. I didn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing my reaction. But I did feel my pulse steady into something colder.
I met Avery on the way to lunch. When we reached the next hallway, where students spread out again, I saw Elise.
She stood near a column with two girls at her side, her posture composed, her hair perfect, her face tilted in a way that allowed people to look at her without it appearing like she wanted to be watched.
Her gaze found me immediately. She waited until I was close enough that her voice could be pitched low and still cut.
“Mila,” she greeted, as if we were acquaintances. As if she wasn’t actively trying to ruin my life.
I kept walking.
Her words followed anyway. “People gravitate toward what feels secure.”
Avery’s grip tightened on my elbow, warning me not to engage.
Luke wasn’t here to see this. Elise had chosen her timing for a reason.
I stopped. Not because she deserved my attention—I refused to be moved like a piece on her board. I turned slowly, meeting her gaze head-on.
Her expression stayed composed, but her eyes flicked once to Avery then back to me, as if she had not expected me to stop.
“You should be careful,” Elise continued, soft and polite. “When everything starts changing, you don’t want to be standing in the wrong place.”
Nina stood behind Elise’s shoulder. Her eyes didn’t carry the same confidence. They held something tighter, as if she’d been told to stand there and perform a role she didn’t fully believe in.
Nina’s gaze met mine for a split second. Then it dropped. That fracture told me more than Elise’s words. I stepped closer to Elise, enough that she had to lift her chin slightly.
“Do you know what’s funny?” I asked.
Her brows lifted in a practiced expression of mild interest.
“I spent years trying to avoid being dragged into something ugly,” I continued. My voice stayed even, but it did not soften. “Thinking if I stayed quiet enough, nothing would touch me.”
Elise’s mouth curved. “And how did that work out?”
I held her gaze and didn’t blink. “It didn’t. And I’m done.”
The smile on her mouth tensed by a fraction.
That was my win. My gaze shifted to Nina. “If anyone’s collecting updates, include that.”
Nina’s throat moved as she swallowed.
Elise’s expression cooled. “Don’t confuse stubbornness with strength.”
“I’m not confused,” I replied.
I turned away before Avery could pull me or Elise said anything else that might tempt me into an escalation I didn’t want in a hallway full of spectators.
Avery glanced over her shoulder before speaking. “You know she won’t let that sit, right?”
“I know.”
“And you’re ready for whatever version of payback she chooses?”
I shrugged, letting her question sit between us unanswered. I expected more from Elise. It was what it was.
By the time we reached the cafeteria, lunch didn’t feel like lunch. It felt like a checkpoint.