Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
SUTTON
I'm in the library, finally making progress on my forensic pathology paper, when someone drops into the chair across from me.
"Hey, Sutton."
I don't even look up. “You’re worse than an STD.”
"I don’t think about you enough to avoid you."
"Ouch." He leans back, all fake wounded pride. "I'm just trying to be friendly."
"We're not friends. I’ve said that. You need to get your hearing checked."
"We could be if you'd give me a chance."
I finally look at him. "Cole, I've told you multiple times I'm not interested. What part of that don't you understand?"
"I'm persistent."
"You're annoying."
"Potato, potahto." He pulls out his phone. "Listen, there's this great Italian place downtown. Let me take you to dinner. Just as friends. No pressure."
"No."
"Come on—"
"I said no. How many times do I have to say it?"
"Until you mean it?" He winks and flashes what he thinks is a charming smile. It’s not. I want to throw my textbook at his head.
"I do mean it. I've always meant it. You showing up everywhere I go doesn't change that. It just makes you look desperate and creepy."
The smile vanishes. "You're being really rude right now."
"And you're being really obtuse. Leave me alone."
"Fine. Whatever." He stands up. "But when Hayes breaks your heart—and he will—don't come crying to me."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
He storms off. I shake my head in disbelief.
This is the fourth time this week. He’s been showing up everywhere. He never paid this much attention to me when we were together. He’s definitely veering into stalker territory.
Twenty minutes later, I'm nursing a latte with Keira.
I tell her about Cole. About how he won't take no for an answer. About how he keeps showing up and making comments about Declan.
"That's stalker behavior," Keira says flatly. "You need to tell Declan."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because he's dealing with enough right now. He’s carrying the weight of the world right now. I don't want to add to it with my drama."
"Sutton, this isn't drama. This is a guy harassing you. Your boyfriend should know."
"He's just trying to get my attention.”
"He's showing up at places you frequent without invitation. That's harassment." She leans forward. "And the fact that you don't want to tell Declan is exactly why you need to tell him. Communication, remember? That was the whole thing you guys were working on."
She's right. I know she's right.
But the thought of adding to all the stuff bothering Declan makes my chest tight.
"I'll tell him," I say finally. "Just not right now. When things settle down."
"Things don't settle down, Sutton. You have to make them settle down." She takes a sip of her coffee. "Just promise me if that asshole escalates, you'll say something."
"I promise."
"Good. Now, speaking of your boyfriend—how are things with you two?"
"Good. I’m not pressuring him. I’m letting him mull over the whole Seattle thing. We’ll talk when he’s ready. I don’t want to be the nagging girlfriend.”
“Sometimes they need a little nagging.”
I laugh. “So, what’s with you and Crew? I noticed the way you looked at each other last night.”
Keira blushes. “I don’t know. I’ve known him most of my life. Our families have spent holidays together, but I’ve always thought of him like an obnoxious cousin.”
“Doesn’t look like that anymore,” I tease.
“I’m not jumping into anything. He’s fun to flirt with.”
“Uh-huh.”
When I get home that afternoon, I'm planning to shower and study before my evening shift at the restaurant.
Instead, I find Bree in the living room.
She's wearing the same clothes from last night—a tight dress and heels that are so over-the-top for a basic house party. Her hair is messy in that obvious just-got-out-of-bed way, and her makeup is smudged.
"Oh! Sutton!" She gives me that bright, fake smile. "I didn't know you were home."
"Just got back.”
She looks me up and down. I see her disdain. I don’t know why she dislikes me so much, but I suppose the feeling is mutual.
I cannot wait to get away from her.
“Excuse me, I need to get ready for work.”
“That must be so hard, having to work so much while the rest of us just get to have fun. I don't know how you do it."
The condescension is unmistakable. The implication is clear—I'm the poor girl who has to work while everyone else parties.
"I manage."
"I'm sure you do. I can't imagine trying to be with someone like Declan, who's used to a certain lifestyle."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing!" She widens her eyes innocently. "I just mean, his family has money, and he is expected to look a certain way." Her eyes once again move over my outfit. “Dress a certain way.”
I want to slap her. Want to tell her to get out of my house and never come back.
But I don't. Because that would give her exactly what she wants.
"I'm not trying to keep up with anyone," I say.
"Of course you are." She starts toward the door. "I'm just saying, when he goes pro, that lifestyle can be intoxicating. It changes people."
"Thanks for the concern. I'll manage."
"I'm sure you will!" She waves. "See you around!"
I watch her walk away, my hands shaking with anger.
She's doing this on purpose—planting seeds of doubt and making me question whether I'm good enough for Declan's world.
And the worst part? It's working.
After paying my share of rent, buying textbooks, and covering basic expenses, I’m lucky to have enough money to buy coffee.
I think about his dad's penthouse. The expensive restaurants. The casual way his father dropped hundreds on dinner without blinking.
I think about the future—if Declan goes pro, he'll make millions. He'll have the kind of life people dream about.
And I'll be making fifty grand a year as a lab technician, living in a studio apartment, and counting pennies.
How long before he realizes I don't fit in his world? How long before fancy dinners and first-class travel become normal for him, and coming home to me feels like slumming it?
I hate myself for thinking this way.
Declan isn't like that. He's never made me feel inferior because of money. He doesn't care that I work at a restaurant or that I buy generic cereal.
But his father cares. And Bree cares. And probably a lot of other people in his world care.
Will that eventually matter?
My phone buzzes.
Declan: Miss you. Can't wait to see you tonight.
My heart aches reading it.
Me: Miss you, too. I get off work at 10.
Declan: I'll be here waiting.
I stare at the messages, wanting to believe that's enough. That love conquers all. That money doesn't matter.
But I've seen enough of the world to know that's not always true.
Money doesn't buy happiness, but it does buy security. Options. A life where you don't have to check your bank account before buying coffee.
And I don't have that.
I never will, not really. Even with my forensics job, I'll be comfortable but not wealthy. I'll be middle-class in a world where Declan will be elite.