Chapter 16
Piper
I untie my skates and pull them off, my feet sore after hours on the ice. The cold remains on my skin as I put my trainers on and tie the laces.
I place my skates carefully into the locker, pull an oversized hoodie over my head, and grab my bag.
Being on the ice always clears my mind.
Or at least it attempts to.
St. Monarché Academy does has its advantages. One of them being the private ice rink I can use whenever I please. Ophelia has the equestrian centre for her riding, for example, and practically every hobby, activity, or profession imaginable exists somewhere on these grounds.
I pull my AirPods from my bag and connect them to my phone, only then noticing the messages waiting on the screen.
My attention goes straight to the name at the top.
Jonathan Ashthorne.
And for perhaps the first time in my life, I am grateful it’s my father messaging me instead of him.
Though grateful might be a stretch.
Our relationship is… complicated.
But I am not about to unpack that disaster right now, so I lock my phone and shove it back into my bag without even reading the messages.
I can’t deal with whatever he has to say yet.
Especially not after the last time I saw him.
Because that day changed everything.
And even though my life has already been turned upside down because of it, part of me still refuses to fully accept what it all means.
So instead, I do what I always do.
I pretend none of it happened.
I stay tucked inside this small, fragile bubble of denial.
And for now… it’s the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart.
I leave the locker room and the fresh air immediately makes me feel lighter. I start the walk back to my dorm.
But my thoughts keep circling back to my father.
To my family, our legacy.
General Ashthorne.
At St. Monarché Academy, everyone holds some sort of power. Some come from old elite families, others from mafia dynasties, and most are tangled somewhere in between.
The founding families hold the most influence. Mine included.
My father built his reputation through the military. As Deputy Secretary of Defence, he is respected, powerful, and untouchable to most people.
Alongside that comes Ashthorne Enterprises and generations of influence tied to the Ashthorne name.
Officially, we are not mafia.
But we have alliances with them. Have had them for years.
And people like my father don’t maintain relationships with men like that unless both sides benefit from it. Doors get opened, favours get exchanged and problems disappear.
So even if we aren’t technically mafia, the clean military image presented to the public has never been the full truth either.
And honestly? It has never particularly bothered me.
How could it when some of my closest friends are literal mafia heirs?
When one day Octavia and Adelaide will step into those roles and take over.
They won’t simply be connected to the mafia.
They will become it.
As I keep walking, I push those thoughts aside, only for another unpleasant one to take their place.
Because I couldn’t help noticing the time on my phone.
And it is already eight.
I hate the way my stomach drops because of it.
I tend to lose track of time when I am on the ice, but tonight that was very much intentional.
Because Hunter, or rather Mr Wardgrave, has asked me to come to his place at seven.
Demanded would be the more accurate word.
And just thinking about it sends a wave of anger through me.
Which is very unlike me.
I am not an angry person. If anything, I am usually the calmest one in the room.
But the audacity of that man…
Who exactly does he think he is, demanding I come to his room?
What does he even expect to happen? That I will simply take my clothes off and fall into bed with him again?
Ridiculous.
Really.
It is possible he wanted to talk…
I immediately shake the thought away.
We have absolutely nothing to discuss.
What happened between us was a one-time thing, and now we move on with our lives like sensible adults.
He needs to understand that.
Maybe that sort of thing is not part of my usual behaviour, but I am quite certain it is part of his. Men like Hunter are probably very accustomed to one night stands.
Which means he should understand perfectly well what this was.
And if he somehow doesn’t, I will gladly point it out to him in the dictionary.
Because clearly the man seems confused.
By the time I arrive outside my dorm, my plan is simple. Avoid him like the plague.
Which, admittedly, will not be particularly easy considering he is my professor and I will be forced to see him almost every day in class.
Part of me briefly considers skipping those lectures altogether.
But knowing how domineering he can be, I wouldn’t put it past him to fail me out of sheer spite.
I climb the stairs two at a time and swipe my key card against the door.
The second I step inside, I drop my bag, kick off my shoes, and head straight for my bedroom and adjoining bathroom.
Determined to shove every thought of Hunter Wardgrave out of my head, I make my way towards the shower.
I have a party to attend tonight.