Chapter Ten
Joshua
I leaned back on the bench, headphones on, blasting whatever this song is.
I shared the same playlist as Alex, and he listened to whatever Jennie listened to since they used his phone to play music whenever they painted together.
I listened anyway, even if it was a love song or some girly music, anything to not hear the annoying chatter of people around me.
I closed my eyes, letting my head fall back, feeling the breeze that blew in my face as I imagined the only thing that never seems to leave my mind.
Curiosity struck me last night at one in the morning.
I knew little about her outside of campus, and I—not to be a stalker, maybe—typed her name into Google, hoping any kind of social media would show up, but no.
Aurora, Sleeping Beauty, showed up. I don’t do princess shit, so I didn’t know who the fuck that was, but I found nothing
I tried her full legal name, Aurora Mae Campbell, and still found nothing. I guess she’s just reserved as fuck.
My eyes flew open as I felt my phone buzzing. I didn’t have to check to know who it was. I muted everything on my phone, contacts, and every app. But one, I wouldn’t dare to mute.
I leaned forward, pulling my phone out of my pocket, and felt a small tug at the corner of my lips as I saw the message from my favourite contact.
My Princess: Hi, I’m sorry to disturb, but are you free Friday evening?
Evening?
Why is she asking if I’m free… outside of class hours?
Does she want to hang out or something?
She did mention partner work every Friday. But she never mentioned it being off-campus. Unless it is on campus, but late. Just us.
Oh, fuck—just us.
Me: Why?
Her response came almost immediately, as if she had never left the chat and was waiting for me.
My Princess: For the partner work.
Me: Why evening?
My Princess: If you’re busy, then that’s fine. I can just text you.
Me: I didn’t say I wasn’t free. I asked why the evening?
My Princess: I have a full day. I can’t shadow you.
Dammit.
My Princess: If you’re not available, then that’s okay. My work isn’t yours, so you don’t need to show up at all. It’s completely up to you, but it would be nice if you did. Once is more than enough.
For a girl who doesn’t talk, she sure rambles on a lot. Like, do you want to fucking see me or not?
You don’t need to show up at all; that’s a no, but—
It would be nice if you did, is a yes.
Then she hits me with the once is more than enough. No, it fucking isn’t. Does she think I don’t want to see her? Or does she just not want to see me? Because either way, she clearly isn’t using her fucking brain.
Me: Where?
My Princess: Wherever you’re comfortable.
Don’t say it—
Me: Mine.
My Princess: Your place?
Me: Yeah, I usually head home right away. So mine.
Me: Gotta problem?
My Princess: No.
My Princess: Can you send me your address?
Me: I’ll drive us.
My Princess: I wouldn’t want to bother you.
Me: And I wouldn’t want you to have my address and send someone to kill me. How’s that?
My Princess: I would never. I promise.
Her promise flickered across the screen, and something stupid and soft in my chest gave at the sight of it. She actually said it. She took me seriously.
Me: Don’t believe you. I’ll drive. Final.
There was a long pause. Two minutes, thirty-six seconds to be exact.
My Princess: Okay.
The buzz of her okay lingered in my chest, warm like I’d swallowed the sun.
For once, it felt like she wanted me there.
Maybe she’s simply just using me to pass her class, but fuck, she can use me any day if it means I can be somewhat useful to her.
If she can see me as someone she can count on when she needs something.
I stuffed my phone back into my pocket, smirking to myself like an idiot, when I saw her.
She slipped into my view as if the universe heard me thinking too loud. My body reacted before my brain did: back straight, ready to get up, to go to her. To say something, anything, even if it came out sharp like it always did.
But then I froze.
She was hugging something to her chest. Not her folder. Not her bag. Something softer, as if it mattered. And then the car pulled up. Sleek. Black. Expensive. A Mercedes, of course.
The door opened, and he stepped out. Miles Miller.
I knew him. Everyone knew him. Heir to a fortune, a name, a legacy. We’d been in the same rooms, the same events, raised in the same gilded cage. But I didn’t know him like this. I didn’t know him with her.
He smiled at her. Jogged toward her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he’d done it a thousand times before.
And she… she lit up.
Not fully, not like with her friend Aly, but enough. Just enough to make me want to break something.
She held out what she’d been clutching: his jacket. His fucking jacket. He took it back with a grin, easy, effortless. Then her hands moved. Signing. Smooth, fluid, confident. And he understood. Miles Miller understood her language.
I stayed perfectly still, but my chest tightened, stomach dropping into fire. She gave him a smile, not just polite, not forced. A shy one. The kind of smile that only slips when you want to give it. And I realised with a sick twist, she never smiled like that at me. Not once.
I should’ve looked away. Should’ve minded my own business.
But I didn’t. Why him? Miles Miller, of all people.
The golden boy. Rich, cocky, smug bastard who treated half the damn campus like his personal dating pool.
Never serious. Never committed. Just a smirk, a wink, and another name added to his list.
And now he’s standing in front of her. My Aurora. Acting like he understands her, sharing a language only they can understand, a code, like it was them against the world. Like no one else existed… not even me.
I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw ached, because the thought of her becoming another one of his girls, another fucking story he’d tell his friends, made my stomach turn.
No.
Not her.
She wasn’t a story. She wasn’t another pretty face to pass the time until something shinier walked by.
She was—fuck. She was Aurora Mae Campbell.
Untouchable. Fragile. Smart, full of life, with a bright future.
Gorgeous. Mine. And yet he signed to her.
Smiled like she was already his. Like he understood her.
I nearly laughed at that thought. Loud, bitter. Because if Miles thought he could just waltz into her silence and take what she gave him—her smile, her trust—he was dumber than I thought.
She wasn’t his girl.
She was mine. Even if I hadn’t earned it yet. Even if she didn’t know it. But one thing was certain: she wasn’t about to be one of Miles’s girls.
Over my fucking dead body.
I leaned back and waited—waited for him to walk away from my fucking girl.
She gave the jacket back. He can get lost. Why the fuck is he lingering around so long?
But then he leaned down. Close. Too fucking close.
His ear almost brushing her lips, as if he had every right to invade that space, like he belonged there. And she let him.
I froze.
Because her lips… they moved.
Slow, trembling, almost like it hurt her.
Like every syllable was a war she couldn’t win.
But she gave it to him, anyway. Not to me.
Not to the one who never forced, never demanded—him.
I’ve been respectful. Because I thought waiting would make it mine in the end.
And now look at me. Sitting here like a fucking joke, watching another man take every piece of her I’ve been starving for.
So much for patience. So much for being careful. So much for respecting boundaries. Respect just got me burned.
I couldn’t hear what she said; I was too far, but I didn’t need to. The stutter, the way her mouth shaped words she never dared to—fuck, I saw it.
I felt it like a knife sliding under my ribs.
She spoke.
Not to me. Not once.
But to him.
My chest burned. My fists clenched. I wanted to rip that stupid smile off his face because he didn’t earn it.
He didn’t deserve it. Her voice—fragile, fractured, beautiful—was supposed to be mine.
And now I couldn’t stop replaying it in my head, over and over.
Her lips moving. Trembling. Stuttering. For another man.
My hand curled so tight on the bench I swore it’d splinter beneath my palm.
I could hear the faint crack, the wood begging me to let go before I snapped it clean in half.
And Miles, fucking Miles, just chuckled.
Like he had the right to laugh with her.
Like he’d earned that flush painting her cheeks.
Her lips trembled, a stutter falling out, and instead of freezing, instead of realising what a miracle he’d been given, that smug bastard just nodded. Nodded as if it was casual. Like it was nothing.
She bit her lip, embarrassed, and he leaned back with that effortless grin, reassuring her. Playing the gentleman, the charmer. The same act he’s pulled with half the damn campus.
Heat surged up my neck, through my chest, so heavy I thought I’d choke on it. I couldn’t sit there anymore. If I stayed, I’d snap. I’d rip that smirk off his face and drag her away before he could so much as breathe near her again.
So I pushed off the bench, fists still tight, and stalked toward the field. The air hit colder, sharper, but it didn’t cool me down. Not even close.
Practice. I needed practice. Something to bleed the fury out of me before it consumed me whole. Because if I didn’t, Miles Miller was going to leave this campus in pieces.