5. Holly
HOLLY
I've been back at Ashford Sterling University for five days, and I still can't focus.
The library is quiet around me, all mahogany paneling and tall windows that let in afternoon light.
Students hunker down at study carrels, lost in textbooks and laptops.
I should be one of them. My Baroque painting exam is in three days, and I've barely made it through the first chapter of my notes.
Instead, I keep thinking about Harrison's hands on my body. His mouth. The way he looked at me in his office like I was the only thing that mattered in the world.
I shake my head, force my eyes back to the page. Caravaggio's use of chiaroscuro revolutionized religious painting in the early seventeenth century...
The words blur together.
My phone sits face-down beside my notebook. Harrison and I have texted maybe four times since that night. Brief messages. Careful. We both know texts can be discovered, screenshots taken. Evidence.
Miss you.
Thinking about you.
Soon.
Nothing substantial. Nothing that reveals what we are to each other.
I don't even know what we are. Stepbrother and stepsister who crossed a line? Lovers? Something darker and more consuming that I don't have words for?
Part of me is grateful for the distance. A week without him breathing down my neck, without his intensity burning through every defense I try to build. One week to feel like a normal college student again.
Except I don't feel normal. I feel hollow.
I slam my textbook shut, earning a sharp look from the girl across from me. My roommate Jessica is at her boyfriend's place, probably won't be back until late. I've been avoiding most social situations anyway, afraid someone will look at me and just know what I've done. What I keep wanting to do.
The clock on the wall reads 2:15. My Renaissance seminar starts at 3:00. I should grab coffee first, maybe actually eat something.
I pack my bag and head out into the autumn afternoon.
Ashford Sterling sprawls across its historic campus like something out of a postcard.
Brick buildings covered in ivy, sprawling green quads where students throw frisbees and study under trees.
The university has a reputation for excellence in business and liberal arts, and the price tag to match.
My mom was so proud when I got in, her daughter at a prestigious East Coast school.
I wonder what she'd think if she knew I've been sleeping with her husband's son.
The main quad is busy with foot traffic. I adjust my backpack, weave between clusters of students, and then I see him.
Harrison.
He stands near the fountain in the center of the quad, talking to a man in a suit. Some administrator type, gesturing toward the business school building. Harrison nods, says something I can't hear from this distance.
He's wearing a charcoal suit that probably costs more than my tuition.
Crisp white shirt, silver cufflinks catching the sunlight.
His salt-and-pepper hair is perfectly styled, his beard trimmed close.
He looks distinguished, authoritative, completely out of place among twenty-year-olds in hoodies and sneakers.
My heart stops.
What is he doing here?
Harrison glances up, and his gray eyes lock onto mine across the quad. The world narrows to just him. That intense focus that makes me feel stripped bare.
He excuses himself from the administrator and walks toward me with long, confident strides. Students turn to look at him. Of course they do. He's striking, magnetic, impossible to ignore.
"Holly." He stops in front of me, close enough that I catch his cologne. "What a coincidence."
My voice comes out sharper than intended. "What are you doing here?"
"Business. My firm is handling a potential investment in the university's new technology center. Meeting with administrators." His expression is mild, but there's something underneath. Satisfaction, maybe. Like he planned this.
"You didn't mention you'd be here."
His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Didn't I? Must have slipped my mind."
I don't believe him for a second.
"Holly! Hi!"
I turn to find Jennifer from my art history seminar approaching, her curious gaze bouncing between Harrison and me.
Panic floods my system. "Jennifer, hey."
"Who's your friend?" She's practically batting her eyelashes at Harrison.
"This is Harrison. He's... a family friend."
The lie tastes bitter.
Harrison extends his hand, all charm. "Harrison Vale. Pleasure."
Jennifer shakes it, her eyes lingering on his face. "Are you a professor here? I haven't seen you around."
"No, just visiting on business. Though I'm enjoying the campus tour Holly's providing."
I did not agree to provide a tour.
Jennifer finally tears her attention away. "Well, I'll let you get back to it. See you in class, Holly!"
She walks away but glances back once, clearly intrigued.
I wait until she's out of earshot. "You need to go. People are staring."
"Let them stare. Have lunch with me."
"I have class in twenty minutes."
"Skip it."
"I can't just skip class, Harrison."
His eyes narrow slightly. "Can't or won't?"
The possessive edge in his tone makes my spine stiffen. "Won't. Some of us have responsibilities."
"Watch your tone, stepsister."
The word in public, even said quietly, sends a shock through me. I glance around, but no one seems to have heard.
"One hour." His voice drops lower. "Have lunch with me. Then I'll leave."
I should say no. Should tell him to go back to whatever meeting he's supposed to be in and stop ambushing me on campus.
But I don't.
"Fine. One hour."
Harrison drives a sleek black Mercedes that probably costs more than most people make in a year. He doesn't ask where I want to eat, just heads off campus toward the cluster of upscale restaurants that cater to wealthy parents and donors.
We end up at a French place with white tablecloths and crystal glasses. The hostess seats us at a corner table, and I'm acutely aware of the other diners glancing our way. A young woman in jeans and a sweater with an older man in an expensive suit.
I know what they're thinking. What they assume this is.
The server arrives. Harrison orders a bottle of wine without asking my preference, then proceeds to order our meals. Steak for him, salmon for me.
"I could have ordered for myself."
"I know what you'll like."
The statement should be considerate. Instead, it feels like another claim. Another way he's asserting control.
The wine arrives. Harrison pours for both of us, and I take a long sip.
"Why are you really here, Harrison?"
"I told you. Business."
"You could have mentioned it. Warned me."
"Would you have wanted me to stay away?"
I don't answer immediately because I don't know. Having him here feels like two worlds colliding, and I'm caught in the wreckage.
"Maybe. I don't know. This is my space, my world. Having you here is..."
"Is what?"
"Confusing. Suffocating."
His jaw tightens. "Suffocating."
"You show up unannounced, demand I drop everything, order for me like I can't make my own decisions. It's too much."
"I'm taking care of you."
"It feels like control, Harrison."
The air between us thickens, charged with tension. Other diners fade into background noise.
"Have I given you reason to distrust my judgment?" His voice is quiet but edged with something sharp.
"That's not the point. I need space to breathe. To have a normal life."
"Normal." He leans back in his chair. "Is that what you want? To go back to before?"
"No. But I need balance. I'm not just yours, Harrison. I'm also a student, a person with my own life."
His eyes flash with something dark and possessive. "You are mine, Holly. That's not negotiable."
"See? That right there. You can't just claim ownership of me."
"I already have. Or did you forget who took your virginity? Who's had you in every way possible?"
Heat floods my face. I glance around to make sure no one overheard. "Keep your voice down."
Harrison leans forward, his gaze pinning me in place. "Answer the question."
"That doesn't give you the right to control my every move."
"I want to know your schedule, who you're spending time with, that you're safe. Is that so unreasonable?"
"When it feels like surveillance? Yes."
"I'm forty-nine years old, Holly. I know how men think. These college boys around you?—"
"There are no college boys. I'm not interested in anyone but you. But you have to trust me."
"I do trust you. It's them I don't trust."
"Then deal with your jealousy, because I can't live under a microscope."
The word jealousy lands like a slap. Harrison's expression goes cold, his features hardening into something unreadable.
"Careful, stepsister."
I stand abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. "I need to go. Thank you for lunch."
"Sit down. We're not finished."
"Yes, we are. I'll see you at home."
I grab my bag and walk out of the restaurant. My heart pounds in my ears. Half of me expects Harrison to follow, to catch my arm and pull me back.
He doesn't.
The walk back to campus takes twenty minutes. My legs burn by the time I reach the quad again, but the physical exertion does nothing to calm the storm inside me.
Why did I push him away?
But also—why is he so intense? I can barely breathe around him.
I sink onto a bench near the library, pull out my phone. No messages.
Harrison is possessive. I knew that from the start. It's part of what draws me to him, that consuming focus, the way he looks at me like I'm the center of his universe.
But he's forty-nine. Established. He can control his environment, bend the world to his will.
I'm twenty. Still figuring out who I am, what I want. And he wants to consume me whole.
I love his dominance in private. The way he takes control, makes decisions, makes me feel safe and wanted and cherished.
But here, in my world, it feels different. Suffocating, like I said.
What if this is a mistake? What if we're too different?
My phone buzzes. A text from Harrison.
You walked away. I'll give you space because you asked. But this conversation isn't over.
I stare at the screen. Type a response. Delete it. Type another.
Finally: I'm sorry. I just need time to think.
No response comes.
I shove my phone in my pocket and head to class. The seminar is on Renaissance patronage systems, something I usually find fascinating. Today, I sit in the back and let the professor's words wash over me without sinking in.
All I can think about is Harrison's face when I said he was suffocating me. The way his expression went cold and distant.
I wanted space.
So why do I already miss him?