2. Alexandra
How did this happen?
The question loops in my brain like a skipped record. When did my life turn into a series of moments I can’t take back? Every choice I’ve made lately feels like a finger pointing toward the same disastrous conclusion.
Is it me? Did I do something wrong? Did I tilt my head a certain way or stay too long in his office? Did I somehow make him think I wanted the weight of him against that locked door?
My thoughts spiral, sharp and relentless, dragging me back through the wreckage of the last month.
God, it started so well. For the first time in forever, I actually believed moving to the U.S. might fix the parts of me that felt broken. One semester abroad. Tuition covered. Housing provided. A clean slate—thousands of miles away from my cheating, pathetic excuse of an ex-boyfriend in Denmark.
I even thought I’d lucked out with the coolest roommate. That fantasy lasted exactly two weeks—until she ditched the dorm to move in with some guy in an off-campus apartment. How two students can afford California rent is a mystery to me, even in a city with a name as ridiculous as “Seaview.”
When the email arrived saying there was an open spot in the exchange program here, I thought it was fate throwing me a lifeline. Two days later, I was boarding a plane with my entire life stuffed into one suitcase and a backpack.
The beginning was great. Confusing, but great. American universities are wildly different than Denmark, and Denmark was already worlds apart from Romania.
I’ve moved countries twice in the past year.
Growing up in Romania, I knew by fourteen that I wanted out. I wanted to be someone else, somewhere else. And I did it. The moment I graduated, I packed up and moved to Denmark with my boyfriend. One year later, I walked in on him with a girl who definitely wasn’t me. That image still lives rent-free in my head, a constant reminder that “safe” is an illusion.
So when the Seaview spot opened up, I jumped.
If that was fate, then fate has a sadistic sense of humor. Because not even three weeks into my new life, my professor decided to turn me into his latest—and probably not first—attempted conquest.
Thank God for my running habit. I’m no athlete, but if I hadn’t been pounding the pavement for the last eight months, I’d be a headline right now. Missing exchange student found dead. Parents notified overseas. Investigation ongoing
I swallow hard, my throat clicking in the quiet of the infirmary. I can’t stay at the university. I won’t. But can I afford to leave? If I bail on the semester, do I have to pay the tuition back? American prices aren’t just high; they’re astronomical.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
A knock at the door snaps me back to the room.
A man steps in. Dark hair, caramel skin, and a build that looks like it was forged in a foundry. He’s objectively hot—the kind of hot that belongs on a billboard—but he doesn’t have the same gravity as the man with the blue eyes.
“Prez! We’ve got a situation,” the man says, his voice urgent.
“Coming,” Blue Eyes replies.
Prez? What kind of name is that?
Before he leaves, Blue Eyes turns back to me. He looks at me like I’m a piece of glass he’s not quite done checking for cracks.
“You gonna be okay?” he asks. His voice is gentler now, stripped of the command from earlier. “I have to deal with this, but I’ll check on you as soon as I can. Make yourself at home, sweet.”
“Y-yeah,” I stammer, the lie tasting like ash. “I’ll be fine.”
He nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. Still, his presence had grounded me. His arms had quieted the chaos just enough for my brain to switch from “pure terror” to “anxious overthinking”—which, honestly, feels like a massive upgrade.
Ella approaches the table again, her movements careful, hovering just outside my personal space.
“You never told me your name,” she says softly.
“Alexandra. Most people call me Lex.” I manage a small, shaky smile and reach out. She takes my hand immediately, her grip warm and solid. “Thank you for helping me. I don’t want to cause trouble. If you could just... call me a cab? I’ll be out of your way.”
I stare at the floor. I don’t have money for a cab. I don’t really have anywhere to go that feels safe. But those are problems for “Future Lex” to solve.
“Of course,” Ella says quickly. “But don’t worry about that. We’ve got plenty of rooms upstairs. You can stay as long as you need.”
Rooms? My stomach tightens. “Um—is this a hotel?” My mind starts doing frantic math. “I don’t think I can afford a room here. And I don’t want charity.”
Ella lets out a short, surprised laugh. The tattooed man near the door—the one they called Ink—actually snickers.
“Nope. Definitely not a hotel,” Ella says, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “But if it makes you feel better, you can help out. We always need hands in the kitchen or behind the bar. You ever cooked or cleaned?”
“I’ve lived on my own for a year,” I say, trying to sound capable. “I can cook. And clean. Thank you. Really.”
“Don’t mention it. We’re basically family here. We look out for our own.”
Family.
The word makes the hair on my arms stand up. Oh my God. Is this a cult? Is this how they do it? Find a girl at her lowest point, offer her a “room,” and call her “family”? I’ve seen the documentaries. Cults are a thing in America.
Fuck me.
Ella must notice the look on my face, because she softens her posture even more. “You don’t have to tell me what happened, Lex. But if you want to talk, I’m here. I can even have Ink step out if you’d prefer.”
She nods at the giant. Ink. Prez. Yeah. Definitely a cult.
“I—” My voice wavers. “I did something stupid. I should have seen it coming. The man chasing me... he’s my professor. He offered extra help. Tutoring. But he expected... a different kind of payment.”
Ink mutters something dark under his breath, his knuckles whitening as he grips the doorframe.
“When I said no, he tried to force me,” I continue, the shame burning hot in my cheeks. “I kicked him, grabbed my bag, and just... ran.”
Ella’s face transforms. The worry disappears, replaced by a cold, sharp fury. “Jesus Christ, Lex. I’m so sorry.” She hesitates. “Do you want to call the police?”
“I—I don’t know if I can afford that,” I whisper, looking at my lap.
Ella’s brows knit together. She exchanges a bewildered look with Ink. “Lex... you’re not from here, are you?”
“No. I’m an exchange student. From Denmark. Originally Romania.”
“What do you mean you can’t afford the police? You’re here legally, right?”
“What? Yes! Of course!” Panic spikes again. “I just... I don’t know what the fee is. I only have like sixty dollars in my account.”
Ella stares at me, her mouth slightly open. Behind her, Ink lets out a low, disbelieving whistle.
“Lex,” Ella says, her voice slow and careful, as if she’s explaining the sky is blue. “Calling the police is free. Filing a report is free. And if you want to press charges or sue that piece of shit, we’ll help you find a lawyer who’ll take the case for a cut of the settlement.”
My brain short-circuits.
“WHAT?”