Chapter 13
Isla
I don't go back to my dorm.
Can't face being alone in that small room with my thoughts and my shattered heart.
Instead, Ivy takes me to her room where Lennox is already waiting with wine and tissues and the kind of fierce protectiveness that makes me want to cry all over again.
"Tell us everything," Lennox says, wrapping me in a blanket like I'm a trauma victim.
I am a trauma victim. Just not the kind she's thinking of.
So I tell them. Everything. The overheard conversation, Sebastian's father's threats, the lies someone told about me. And worst of all that moment of hesitation. That "I need to think" that shattered everything.
"He hesitated," I say, my voice hollow. "When his father threatened me, Sebastian didn't immediately defend me. He had to think about it."
"That bastard," Ivy mutters.
"I mean—" Lennox starts, then stops at Ivy's glare. "Sorry. But maybe he was just strategizing? Trying to figure out the best way to handle it?"
"It doesn't matter. Don't you see?" I pull the blanket tighter. "When someone threatens the person you love, you don't pause to strategize. You react. You defend them. Immediately. Without thinking."
"But he did defend you," Lennox points out gently. "Eventually."
"Eventually isn't enough." My voice breaks. "I spent two years being hurt by him. Two weeks falling for him. And in the moment that mattered most, he showed me that I was right to be cautious. That his family, his legacy, his world, it all comes first. I come second."
Ivy sits next to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "You don't come second to anyone. You hear me? Sebastian Thornhill is an idiot."
"I should have known better. You warned me. Both of you warned me. And I didn't listen."
"Hey." Ivy tilts my face toward hers. "You took a risk on someone. That's not stupid. That's brave. It didn't work out, and that sucks, but you're not weak for trying."
"I feel weak." I wipe the tears.
"You're the strongest person I know. You're going to survive this. We're going to make sure of it."
We drink wine and eat the emergency chocolate Lennox had stashed in her desk. They let me cry and rage and eventually just sit in numb silence.
Around one in the morning, Lennox's phone buzzes. She looks at it, frowns, and holds it out to me.
"You need to see this."
It's a video someone posted to Instagram. The timestamp shows it's from about an hour ago. The thumbnail shows Sebastian on a stage with a microphone.
"I don't want to see whatever this is."
"Trust me. You need to see it."
Lennox hits play.
Sebastian's voice fills the small room: "Hi. For those who don't know me, I'm Sebastian Thornhill..."
I watch, frozen, as he tells everyone everything. The cruelty of the past two years. His reasons for bidding on me. His father's manipulation. The lies that were told.
"I hesitated. For just a moment, I hesitated. And that was enough to lose her."
My throat closes.
"So this is me not hesitating anymore. Isla Monroe is the best person I've ever known.
She's brilliant and strong and deserves better than this school, this world, and definitely better than me.
But I'm going to spend however long it takes proving I can be worthy of her. Even if she never forgives me."
The video ends.
I stare at Lennox's phone, not breathing.
"He said that," I whisper. "In front of everyone. In front of his father."
"He did." Lennox takes her phone back. "It's already got ten thousand views. Everyone's talking about it."
"Let them talk," Ivy says fiercely. "Actions matter more than words. He can give a hundred speeches. Doesn't change the fact that he hesitated when it mattered."
But my traitorous heart is already softening. Already making excuses. He was scared. He was conditioned his whole life to obey his father. He eventually made the right choice.
No.
I can't do this. Can't let myself be swayed by a grand gesture when the fundamental problem remains: when push came to shove, Sebastian Thornhill had to think about whether I was worth fighting for.
I block his number. Delete Instagram so I won't be tempted to look at comments or DMs. Shut down every avenue he might use to contact me.
"Good," Ivy approves. "Clean break. That's the way to do it."
But Lennox is watching me with those too-perceptive eyes. "Is it though? A clean break?"
"It has to be." I whisper.
"Even if he's genuinely sorry? Even if he's willing to fight for you now?"
"Especially then. Because I can't spend my life wondering if the next time something hard happens, he'll hesitate again.
If the next time his father demands something, he'll have to think about whether I'm worth the cost." I wipe my eyes.
"I deserve someone who doesn't have to think about it.
Someone who chooses me immediately. Every time. "
"You do deserve that," Lennox agrees softly. "But people are complicated. They make mistakes. The question is whether this mistake is forgivable."
"I don't know if it is."
"Then you don't have to decide tonight. Just... don't close the door completely. Not yet."
But I've already closed the door. Locked it. Thrown away the key.
Haven't I?
I don't sleep that night. Just lie on Ivy's floor in my borrowed clothes, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything.
By morning, my eyes are swollen and my head is pounding and I have to drag myself to my café shift because bills don't stop just because my heart is broken.
Lennox works with me. She doesn't mention Sebastian or the gala or anything that happened. Just works beside me in comfortable silence, covering when I inevitably mess up orders because I can't focus.
The café is buzzing with gossip. Everyone's talking about Sebastian's speech. About his father's reaction. About the scandal of it all.
"Did you see the video?" one girl asks her friend at a table near the counter. "Sebastian Thornhill basically told his father to fuck off in front of the entire gala."
"I heard his father left immediately. Just walked out."
"And Isla Monroe? The girl he was talking about? She's in our Econ class. She's been crying all morning."
I turn away before they can see my face.
At ten, when my shift ends, I find Marcus waiting outside the café.
"Isla. Can we talk?" He walks closer to me.
"I don't want to talk to anyone from Sebastian's world right now."
"I know. But please. Just five minutes." Against my better judgment, I nod. We walk to a bench near the quad. Marcus sits, and I join him reluctantly.
"Sebastian's a mess," he says without preamble.
"Good."
"He hasn't slept. Hasn't eaten. He's been trying to figure out who lied to his father so he can clear your name—"
"I don't care."
"Isla." Marcus turns to face me fully. "I've known Sebastian my entire life. We grew up together. And I've never seen him care about anything the way he cares about you."
"He cared enough to hesitate when his father threatened me."
"He cared enough to eventually choose you over everything he's ever known.
Over his father. Over his legacy. Over the approval he's spent his whole life chasing.
" Marcus leans forward. "Look, I'm not saying what happened was okay.
That hesitation hurt you, and you have every right to be angry.
But Sebastian's been trained since birth to defer to his father.
To calculate every decision through the lens of family reputation.
Breaking that conditioning in real-time, under pressure? That's not easy."
"It should be easy. Choosing the person you love should be the easiest decision in the world."
"In a perfect world, yes. But we don't live in a perfect world.
We live in one where people have baggage and trauma and years of toxic conditioning to unlearn.
" He stands. "I'm not asking you to forgive him.
I'm just asking you not to close the door completely.
Give him a chance to prove he can do better. "
"He had his chance. Five dates. That was the deal."
"Then give him one more. Not as part of a contract. Just... as someone who might still care about him despite everything."
Marcus walks away before I can argue.
And I'm left sitting on that bench, my resolve wavering.
The next few days are torture.
I avoid the quad where I might run into Sebastian. Skip the classes we share. Work extra shifts to stay busy. Try to bury myself in homework and routine and anything that isn't thinking about him.
But everyone else is thinking about him. About us. About the speech that's now been viewed fifty thousand times on various social media platforms.
I hear whispers everywhere I go.
"That's her. The girl from the speech."
"I heard she won't talk to him."
"Can you blame her? He hesitated."
"But he chose her in the end. That's romantic, right?"
"Or it's just another rich boy thinking a grand gesture fixes everything."
On Wednesday, a full week after the gala, I'm in the library when I find a book on my usual study desk. Not any book, a leather-bound journal I recognize immediately.
Sebastian's poetry journal.
There's a note tucked inside: You asked me to prove I'm real. This is everything real about me. Even the parts I'm ashamed of. Even the parts that show how much I fucked up. Read it or don't. But know that you're the only person who's ever seen this. S
I shouldn't read it. Should return it immediately.
But I open it anyway.
The first section is poems from two years ago. Bitter, angry poems about rejection and pride and a girl who saw through him. They're raw and honest and painful to read.
The middle section is from the past year. Observations about me. Moments he noticed. Things I said or did that stuck with him. They're achingly beautiful and desperately lonely.
The final section is from the past two weeks. Our dates. His confusion about what he was feeling. His fear that he'd mess it up.
And then, on the very last page, dated the night of the gala:
I hesitated When I should have been certain Twenty-one years of "yes, father" Versus two weeks of "yes, her" Old programming won For thirty seconds Thirty seconds that cost me everything
They say you can't unring a bell Can't unsay words Can't undo damage But I'm trying Even if you never hear this Even if you never forgive me I'm choosing you Every day Every moment Without hesitation Even if it's too late
I close the journal with shaking hands.
He's right. You can't undo damage. Can't erase that moment of doubt.
But.
But maybe forgiveness isn't about erasing. Maybe it's about accepting that people are flawed and complicated and sometimes they fuck up even when they're trying their hardest not to.
Maybe it's about recognizing that love isn't perfect. It's messy and uncertain and sometimes it stumbles before it finds its footing.
I pick up my phone. Unblock Sebastian's number. Start typing a text.
Delete it.
Try again.
Delete that too.
Finally, I just write: I read it.
His response is immediate: And?
Me: And I'm still angry.
Sebastian: You should be.
Me: But I'm also tired of being angry. Tired of this hurt.
Sebastian: What do you need? Tell me what you need and I'll do it.
I think about that for a long time.
What do I need?
I need to know that if this happens again, if his father or his world or his past tries to pull him back he won't hesitate. That he'll choose me immediately. Every time.
But I can't know that. Not for certain. I can only trust that he'll try.
And maybe that's all love ever is. Trust that someone will try. That they'll keep choosing you even when it's hard.
Me: Can we talk? Your apartment at 2?
Sebastian: Yes. Thank you.
Me: Don't thank me yet. I haven't forgiven you.
Sebastian: I know. But you're giving me a chance to try. That's more than I deserve.
I put my phone away and stare at the poetry journal.
Tomorrow, I'll find out if Sebastian Thornhill can be the person I need him to be. Or if that thirty-second hesitation was a preview of a lifetime of coming second.
Either way, I'll have my answer.