10. CHAPTER 10
MOON
Aster Court had one single advantage. Cillian Ashbourne could not step foot inside without invitation, consequence, or every Aster student turning their heads toward him. So, I stayed inside all day.
Discipline.
Liar.
One more second alone with him and the House of Moon successor would break. I refused to remember the kiss. The hickey burning under my sweater. His thigh shoving between mine. That low growl against my ear—don’t run. The memories crashed anyway. They always fucking won.
I kept writing.
My phone lay face down next to my notes. I hadn’t opened his thread. Three hours. Two hours and fifty-seven minutes. Irrelevant.
I’d wanted to text him since last night. One message. More. Hear him say Moonshine in that rough Irish accent. But that would prove I was unraveling. So I didn’t. Texting first would make me look needy. Pitiful. Like I’d been waiting all night. So I waited. Like a fool.
I was in the Aster common room, seated near the west window. Soft light fell across the polished oak tables. The air smelled of tea and old paper.
Laptop open. Comparative politics notes lined up exactly the way I liked them. Three Patronage dockets spread across the table. Useful. Presentable. Busy. The image held.
Across from me, Vivienne stirred honey into her tea with delicate patience. Sawyer lounged in the armchair, one ankle over his knee, expression soft enough to fool anyone who didn’t know him.
I knew him too well.
“Professor Korolev still hasn’t changed my grade,” Sawyer announced.
Vivienne took a sip of her tea. “You submitted it after the deadline, hon. You should be grateful he gave you a grade at all.”
Their voices blurred. All I heard was Cillian’s rough Irish voice curling through my skull. I want you, Moon Hyun-seo. Bastard. Even absent, he wouldn’t leave me alone. I kept writing.
Sawyer moved closer. “What do either of you know about him?”
Should I text him?
No.
I closed my laptop. “Leave him alone.”
“I looked him up,” Sawyer said. “There is nothing. No employment records before he started at Evermourne. No publications before that date. No tax filings. No bank accounts under his name prior to four years ago. No family members listed anywhere. No birth certificate. No old addresses. His entire online presence begins the exact day he walked onto campus.”
Vivienne stopped her teacup halfway to her lips.
I watched Sawyer. “Professor Korolev isn’t faculty. He’s something else.”
Sawyer’s eyes warmed, engaged. “That is exactly what I’m saying.”
“No,” I replied, my voice hushed. “That is what I’m warning you about.
Most professors don’t have a thick scar cutting through one eyebrow and tattoos covering both forearms under their sleeves.
He doesn’t move like faculty. He moves like someone who used to put men in the ground. I wouldn’t test him.”
Sawyer’s smile thinned, but his eyes stayed bright.
“Leave him alone,” Vivienne said. “He is not a toy, Sawyer.”
Sawyer looked between us, smile still in place.
“Fine.”
He lied.
Vivienne lifted her tea again. “And your last name will not save you if he chooses to bite back.”
Sawyer’s fingers kept tapping against the armrest, like he was already planning the next move.
Vivienne glanced over at me. “How are things with Zara going?”
“It’s fine.”
Sawyer laughed under his breath. “Sure it is. The gallery won’t shut up about Cillian and you. King is a nice girl, but she’s no Whitlock.” He leaned forward, grinning. “You should have said we were dating.”
I blew out a sharp breath. “I will never date you, Sawyer.”
He leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “Shame. Whitlocks are powerful, Moon. Can you imagine it? House of Moon and Whitlock dynasty. Our babies would look so cute, especially with your beautiful Korean skin and my perfect platinum blonde hair.”
Vivienne laughed.
“I’m not having babies with you,” I said flatly.
My phone buzzed beside my notes. I turned it over.
SAINT LUCIA REGRET:
Still hiding behind Aster walls, prince? Come out. I’ll make it worth the risk.
My thumb locked the screen so fast. Vivienne’s gaze dropped to my hand. Sawyer leaned forward.
“Subtle,” Vivienne said.
“It was nothing.”
Sawyer’s smile sharpened. “Ashbourne?”
“No.”
“He texted you?”
“No.”
Vivienne looked at me. I kept my eyes on the Patronage dockets.
Sawyer’s fingers tapped the armrest once. Twice. “He has your number.”
I said nothing.
“You answered him?”
My pen cracked. Plastic split. Ink bled across my thumb. Vivienne slid a napkin across the table without comment. I wiped the ink away. Sawyer’s smile widened. He leaned in, elbows on the table.
“Hyung.” He tipped his head. “You don’t want that Thorn dog thinking he has special access. Ashbourne trash belongs in the gutter where it was born.”
I met his eyes.
“Stop.”
Sawyer reached for the phone. My hand shot out and closed around his wrist, hard. I slammed his hand back down onto the table with a dull thud.
“No.”
Sawyer’s eyes lit up. Vivienne’s spoon stopped mid-stir. I released his wrist slowly.
“You don’t get to talk about him.”
Sawyer settled back, rubbing his wrist, smile turning vicious. “This is why I deserve the Patronage Seat, not you. One text from that Irish tramp and you’re already leaking. Sad.”
I swallowed the first answer.
“Excuse me?”
Sawyer’s eyes gleamed. “You’re too busy daydreaming about Ashbourne’s cock to lead. I don’t get hard for gutter trash.”
I leaned forward, voice tighter than I wanted.
“I’m not helping you with Korolev. Let him give you consequences. God knows you need them. You survive because someone always steps in before the consequences do. Harvard taught me that. So did every professor I had to beg for mercy on your behalf.”
They both went still.
“Hyun.” Vivienne set her teacup down with a soft click. Sawyer rolled his eyes, trying to look unbothered. The twitch in his smirk gave him away.
I sat back.
Vivienne moved first, sliding into the seat beside me. Her hand settled on the back of my neck, fingers warm. Sawyer dropped onto the table directly in front of my knees.
“What’s going on lately with you?” Vivienne said. “Why are you this defensive the moment Ashbourne’s name comes up? You supposedly met him days ago, yet you’re ready to tear Sawyer apart over him. So tell us, Hyun. What exactly happened between you and him?”
I stared at the black smear on my thumb.
“Fine,” I said. “I met him this summer. In Saint Lucia.”
Vivienne’s fingers tightened slightly on my neck.
Sawyer whistled low, already entertained. “Oh my God. Did you actually let him fuck you?”
“I didn’t sleep with him,” I snapped. “We talked. All night. And I left the second he tried to kiss me.”
Sawyer threw his head back and laughed. “You blue-balled Cillian Ashbourne? Holy shit, that’s fucking gold. You might’ve wrecked that arrogant jerk worse than anyone else ever has.”
Vivienne’s mouth curved into a small smile. “He’s certainly not used to being denied.”
“I’m not gay,” I said. “I can’t be. I won’t be. And even if I were, my father would rather cut me out than let Cillian Ashbourne anywhere near the Moon name.”
Vivienne’s hand settled heavier on my neck, her thumb pressing firmly into the knotted muscle.
“Oh, Hyun,” she murmured. “We support you. It’s okay if you have feelings for him.
Just make sure they’re reciprocated… and that he’s not playing games with you.
Because it won’t just cost you your heart.
It’ll cost you the Patronage Seat. Be very careful. ”
She paused, her fingers tightening slightly.
“I’ll look into it myself. I want to know exactly what Cillian Ashbourne wants from you… and what Thorn Court is really planning.”
Panic spiked straight through the fresh bruises.
Vivienne investigating Cillian. Digging into Thorn Court. My stomach knotted so hard it hurt.
She turned toward Sawyer, her voice shifting into something colder. “And you. Pursuing Korolev is not clever. It’s reckless. Stop it.”
Sawyer leaned back. “I know, I know.” He waved her off with a casual flick of his fingers. “I’ll behave perfectly.”
I stood, slid the notes into my bag, and left before either of them could speak again.
My phone pressed heavy against my thigh the entire way down the corridor.
It buzzed.
I pulled it out. Zara.
ZARA:
We need to meet.
About?
Don’t play dumb.
A second message appeared while I was still staring at the first.
Three people have already asked if I know you’re cheating on me with Cillian Ashbourne.
Fuck.
I swallowed and the bruises on my throat burned.
We are not actually together.
Publicly, we are. That was the entire point.
It’s just gossip.
It’s embarrassing.
I focused on the word.
I told you not to make me look like a fool, Hyun. Right now, I look like a fool.
I can fix it.
Good. Then meet me before dinner.
Zara
No. We’re fixing this in person.
I exhaled through my teeth. The screen stayed lit in my palm, her messages burning. Cillian’s text waited below hers. Unopened.
My thumb hovered over it.
No.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket and kept walking.
Stone floors. Cold air. The faint smell of rain and melting wax from the wall sconces.
I did not open it.
But the thoughts forced their way in anyway.
Messy dark hair falling into his eyes on that Saint Lucia balcony. The gallery floor, our first real kiss.
All of it crashed through my head.
The ink smear still stained my thumb. This was getting embarrassing. I needed an exorcism. A lobotomy. Anything.
By the time comparative politics ended, the rain had stopped. The east academic corridor reflected a washed-out sky in its windows. I cut past the old debate hall and took the narrow passage behind the trophy gallery. Faster. Fewer students.
Mistake.
A shadow detached from the archway ahead. Declan Carrick stepped out, blocking the path. Bigger than I remembered. Heavy-shouldered, dark hair cropped short, that permanent hard set to his mouth like he was always deciding who to hit next. I stopped.