18 #2
And that realization breaks something in my chest. Cracks it wide open and lets something else flood in.
Not forgiveness. I'm not ready for that. May never be ready for that.
But understanding. Empathy. The horrible, aching awareness that we're both broken in different ways. Both trying to survive the best we know how.
He controls everything because the one time he lost control, his brother died.
And I submit to everything because the one time I fought back, I lost everyone I loved.
We're the same. Opposite sides of the same fucked-up coin.
"Why are you telling me this?" I ask again, my voice rough.
"Because Evander is my friend." Tristan stands, straightening his jacket with practiced precision. "And you're killing him. Not with defiance—he can handle defiance. You're killing him with compliance. With that dead look in your eyes that says you've given up completely."
He walks toward the door, stops with his hand on the handle.
"He doesn't want a ghost, Aurora. He wants you. The girl who told him to fuck off in the library. The girl who stabbed a pen through his notebook. The girl who looked him in the eye and promised to destroy him."
"That girl is gone," I whisper.
"No." Tristan looks back at me, and there's something in his eyes I can't quite read. "She's just hiding. Waiting for a reason to come back."
He opens the door. Pauses.
"He's going to destroy you if you don't destroy him first," he says quietly. "But maybe… maybe there's a third option. One where you both survive."
And then he's gone. The door closes behind him with a soft click that somehow sounds louder than it should.
I sit there in the empty penthouse, surrounded by expensive furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows, and I feel something shift inside me.
Not forgiveness. Not acceptance.
But the tiniest spark of something that might eventually become understanding.
Evander Laurent isn't a monster. He's just a boy who learned to be one because it was safer than being vulnerable. Safer than caring.
And I'm not a victim. I'm just a girl who learned to disappear because it was safer than being seen. Safer than fighting.
We're both prisoners. Just in different cages.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I pick it up, expecting another message from Evander. Another order or instruction or reminder that I belong to him.
But it's not from Evander.
It's from Mrs. Calloway.
Mrs. Calloway: Liam's field trip is at the Ardencrest museum today! We're by the lake. He's so excited to see where his big sister goes to school!
The message is followed by a photo. Liam standing in front of the museum, bundled in his winter coat, grinning at the camera with that gap-toothed smile that makes my chest ache.
Behind him, barely visible in the background, is the lake. And the rich guys from the Ardencrest looking at Liam like they recognize him.
No.
The lake.
Where Evander's worst nightmare lives.
My blood goes cold.
I stand up so fast the room spins. Grab my coat from where it's draped over the couch. Shove my phone in my pocket.
And I run.
Out of the penthouse. Down the hallway. My feet pounding on expensive carpet, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The elevator takes too long. I slam the button repeatedly, cursing under my breath, counting the seconds.
When it finally arrives, I throw myself inside and punch the button for the ground floor.
Come on. Come on. Come on.
The descent feels like it takes hours. Like time has slowed down just to torture me.
I pull out my phone. Check Mrs. Calloway's location. She shared it with me months ago, before I left for Ardencrest, so I could always know where Liam was.
The little blue dot is moving. Near the lake. Getting closer to the water.
My hands are shaking so badly I almost drop the phone.
The elevator doors open. I run.
Through the lobby. Out the main entrance. Into the freeze.
It's punishing. The kind of bitter winter wind that steals the breath from your lungs in seconds, that turns the world into a blur of gray and water and cold.
I don't care. Don't slow down. Just run.
Across the courtyard. Past the fountain. Toward the museum.
Toward the lake.
My lungs are burning. My legs are screaming. But I don't stop.
Can't stop.
Because Liam is near the water. And something in my gut—some primal, terrible instinct—is telling me that something is wrong.
I round the corner of the museum, my shoes sliding on frost-bitten grass, and I see them.
The field trip group. Maybe twenty kids in bright winter layers, clustered near the museum entrance with their chaperones. Mrs. Calloway is there, huddled deep in a heavy wool coat, talking to another parent.
But Liam isn't with them.
My heart stops.
I scan the area frantically, the sub-zero air stinging my eyes and blurring my vision, making it hard to see.
And then I spot him.
Near the lake. Closer to the water than he should be. Bending down to look at something on the ground—a rock or a stick or something that caught his seven-year-old attention.
And behind him, walking up with deliberate steps, is an Inner Circle student I recognize from campus. Older. Tall. The same guy who’s been avoiding Evander in the hallways for two weeks after he decided to ruin him financially.
The same guy who's been staring at me in classes ever since. Who's been making comments under his breath. Who cornered me yesterday and said you're going to pay for what Laurent did to me.
He reaches Liam. Says something I can't hear from this distance.
Liam turns around, confused, looking up at the stranger.
And the guy shoves him.
Hard.
Directly into the lake.
I'm running before I can think. Before I can process. Before I can do anything except move.
"LIAM!"
The scream rips from my throat, raw and desperate and absolutely terrified.