Chapter 25
SAVANNAH
Iinsist on going back to class on Monday morning, and Romeo looks at me like I've suggested walking into a war zone unarmed.
"Absolutely not." He's standing in the kitchen of his apartment—our apartment now, I suppose, since I haven't been back to mine in days—and his arms are crossed over his chest. "It's not safe."
"I can't just hide here forever." I'm exhausted, and my voice comes out sharper than I intend. "I have papers to finish. I have classes. I have a life—"
"You have people trying to hurt you." His voice is calm, but I can hear the fear underneath. "Your father. Whitmore—"
I grip my coffee mug so hard my knuckles are white. "I'm not going to let them take everything from me. My education is the one thing that's mine. The one thing I've worked for that has nothing to do with family politics or arranged marriages or—"
"Savannah." He moves closer, and his hands find my shoulders. "I understand. I do. But—"
"Then let me go to class." I can feel tears threatening again. I've cried more in the past week than I have in years. "Please. I need this. I need to feel like I'm still me, like I'm still a person with goals and dreams and not just—not just collateral damage in everyone else's war."
The words hang between us, and I watch something shift in his expression. "Okay," he says finally. "But not alone."
That's how I end up walking across campus on a crisp October morning with two of Romeo's men flanking me like Secret Service agents. Marco is on my left, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scar running through his left eyebrow. He’s built like a brick wall and is thoroughly frightening.
Tony is on my right—shorter but somehow even more intimidating, with cold eyes that scan every face we pass.
I feel like a spectacle. Like everyone is staring. They probably are.
"This is ridiculous," I mutter as we approach the humanities building. "I look like I'm under arrest."
“You’re being protected,” Marco says flatly. “Ciresa’s orders.”
But I don't feel protected. I feel exposed and vulnerable. Like I'm wearing a sign that says something is wrong with this girl's life.
Dr. Kouris does a double take when I walk into the seminar room with my bodyguards. They position themselves by the door, and I can see the other students whispering and staring, trying to figure out what's happening.
"Ms. Beauregard." Dr. Kouris's voice is carefully neutral. "Welcome back. We've missed you."
I take my usual seat and try to focus on the lecture, taking notes mechanically, but the words don't stick. My mind keeps drifting to my father's face when he slapped me. To Rebecca's bruised photographs. To the way Thad's eyes went cold when I told him I wouldn't marry him.
My phone buzzes in my bag, and I pull it out carefully.
Thad: I know you're in class. I can see you through the window.
The text is from an unknown number, but I know who it is. My hands start shaking so badly I almost drop the phone.
I look toward the windows—we're on the second floor, and they face the quad—but I can't see anyone. Just students walking between buildings, sitting on benches, living their normal lives.
Another buzz: Thad: You can't hide from me. Not with your criminal boyfriend's thugs. Not anywhere.
I stand up so abruptly my chair scrapes against the floor, and everyone turns to look at me.
"I'm sorry," I manage to say. "I need—bathroom—"
Marco is already moving toward me, and Dr. Kouris is frowning with concern, but I push past them out into the hallway, trying to breathe through the panic clawing at my throat.
"What's wrong?" Marco's hand is on my arm, steadying me. "What happened?"
I show him the texts with shaking hands, and his expression goes hard.
"Luca," he says into his radio. "We have a situation. Whitmore is on campus. Get eyes on the quad, south side of the humanities building."
"I can't do this." I slide down the wall, sitting on the floor of the hallway like a child. "I can't—he's everywhere. He's always—"
"We're going to find him." Marco crouches down beside me. "And we're going to make sure he doesn't get near you. But right now, I need you to breathe. Can you do that?"
I try. But my chest feels too tight, and there's not enough air, and I can feel the edges of my vision starting to go dark.
"Head between your knees," Marco’s hand is on the back of my neck, gentle but firm. "That's it. Just breathe. You're okay. You're safe."
But I'm not safe. That's the problem. I'm not safe anywhere.
—
Romeo arrives twenty minutes later, and the look on his face when he sees me sitting on the hallway floor makes my heart break. "I'm taking you home," he says, and there's no room for argument in his voice.
"I have another class—"
"I don't care." He helps me up with his arm around my waist like he's afraid I'll collapse. "You're done for today."
Campus security shows up as we're leaving—two officers who look bored and annoyed at being called for what they clearly think is a domestic dispute.
"Ms. Beauregard?" The older one has a notepad out. "We received a report of harassment?"
"Yes." Marco steps forward before I can speak. "Thaddeus Whitmore has been sending threatening messages and stalking Ms. Beauregard on campus. We have screenshots of the texts and—"
"Thaddeus Whitmore?" The officer's expression changes, becomes more guarded. "The Whitmore family?"
"Yes." I find my voice, though it comes out smaller than I want. "He's my ex-fiancé, and he's been—"
"Has he threatened you directly?" The officer is writing something down, but his tone suggests he's already decided this isn't worth his time. "Has he made any explicit threats of violence?"
"He said I can't hide from him. He said—"
"That's not an explicit threat." The officer closes his notepad. "Look, Ms. Beauregard, I understand you're going through a difficult breakup, but unless Mr. Whitmore has made a direct threat or attempted to physically harm you, there's not much we can do."
"He's stalking her." Romeo's voice is dangerously quiet. "He's following her across campus, sending threatening messages, showing up outside her classes—"
"If you're concerned about your safety, I'd suggest speaking with the dean's office about a no-contact order. But that's an administrative matter, not a security issue."
I watch them walk away, and something inside me breaks a little more. "They're not going to help," I say quietly. "His family has too much influence. Too much money. They're not going to do anything."
"I know." Romeo's jaw is tight. "That's why we're handling this ourselves."
—
The next three days are a nightmare.
Thad is everywhere. Outside the library when I try to study. Sitting three tables away in the campus coffee shop. Always just far enough away that he's not technically doing anything wrong, but close enough that I know he's watching.
The texts keep coming:
Thad: You think you're safe with him? You're not.
Thad: I saw you this morning. You look tired. Not sleeping well?
Thad: This isn't over, Savannah. It will never be over.
I stop eating because my stomach is in constant knots.
When Romeo forces me to try—soup, toast, anything—I can barely keep it down.
The nausea from the pregnancy is worse now, compounded by the anxiety, and I spend half my time in the bathroom dry-heaving while Romeo holds my hair back and looks increasingly desperate.
Oddly, it brings us closer together, because I can tell Romeo is doing everything in his power to take care of me, even though none of this comes naturally to him. Or at least—it didn’t before me.
I'm not sleeping. Every time I close my eyes, I see Thad's face or my father's. Romeo doesn't sleep much either. He stays awake watching me, and I can feel his eyes on me in the dark.
"You need to eat something," he says on the fourth morning. There's a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me that makes my stomach turn.
"I can't." My voice sounds hollow. "I'm sorry. I just—I can't."
"You're pregnant." His voice cracks on the word. "You need to eat. The baby needs—"
"I know what the baby needs." I'm snapping at him, and I know it's not fair, but I can't seem to stop. "I know I'm supposed to be taking care of myself. I know I'm supposed to be eating and sleeping and staying calm. But I can't. I can't do any of it. And I don't—"
I stop myself before I say it. Before I admit that I don't feel connected to the pregnancy at all anymore.
It feels like something happening to someone else's body.
When I think about the baby, all I feel is terror and numbness—and a desperate wish that I could go back to before any of this started.
Except I can’t think of how I would do anything differently. It all feels inevitable. And I don’t regret Romeo. That, I can’t bring myself to regret in any possible way.
"Savannah." Romeo’s hands are on my face, forcing me to look at him. "Talk to me. Please. Tell me what you need."
"I need it to stop." The words come out as a whisper. "I need Thad to stop. I need my father to stop. I need—"
My voice breaks, and Romeo pulls me into his arms.
"I'm going to fix this," he says against my hair. "I promise. I'm going to make it stop."
But I don't see how he can. Because we're trapped, caught between my father's ambitions and Thad's obsessive need for control. There's no way out that doesn't end in someone getting hurt.
The next day, Thad corners me outside the library.
I'm with Marco and Tony, but Thad doesn't seem to care. He steps directly into my path, and his smile is cold.
"Savannah." His voice is pleasant, conversational, like we're old friends running into each other. "We need to talk."
"She doesn't want to talk to you." Marco moves between us, but Thad doesn't back down.
"I'm talking to my fiancée. This doesn't concern you."
"Ex-fiancée," I manage to say, though my voice is shaking. "And I have nothing to say to you."