Chapter 2 #2
Saturday night, there's a party at the Legacy House. I'm expected to host. I stand in the corner with a drink I'm not touching, watching people get drunk on my family's money, and all I can think about is a girl who works two jobs and called me a heartless asshole.
She was right.
But what she doesn't know what no one knows except Marcus is that freshman year, before that party, before I approached her, I'd been working up the courage for weeks to talk to her.
I'd noticed her the first day of our shared English seminar.
She'd challenged Professor Hendrix's interpretation of The Great Gatsby, arguing that Daisy was trapped by her own privilege as much as by Tom.
It was brilliant. It was brave and when she spoke, she didn't look at me like I was a Thornhill.
She looked through me like I wasn't there at all.
I'd never experienced that before. Invisibility. It was intoxicating.
So I watched her. Learned her schedule. Found out she worked at the library. Started showing up there, pretending to study, just to be in the same space.
It took me three weeks to work up the nerve to approach her at that party. Three weeks of rehearsing what I'd say and when I finally did it, when I finally asked if she'd like to get dinner sometime, I meant it. I wanted to know her. I wanted her to see me.
And she laughed in my face. Told me I was nothing but my father's money and a heartless asshole.
In front of everyone.
The humiliation was immediate and complete. I'd never been rejected before. Never been seen so clearly and found so wanting. And the worst part, the absolute worst part was that I couldn't even be angry, because some part of me knew she was right.
So I became what she thought I was.
If Isla Monroe wanted a heartless asshole with nothing but his father's money, I'd give her exactly that.
For two years, I've been proving her right. Every cutting comment. Every sabotaged opportunity. Every casual cruelty designed to remind her that in my world, she's nothing.
Except she never acts like she's nothing. She takes every hit and comes back stronger and I hate her for it.
Or I hate that I don't actually hate her at all.
"You look miserable." Cecilia appears next to me, drink in hand. "Trouble in the kingdom?"
"Just tired of parties."
"You're tired of everything lately." She studies me with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. "This thing with the scholarship girl. What are you actually trying to accomplish?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sebastian." She sighs. "We've known each other since we were six years old. I know when you're plotting something. Just... be careful. Whatever you're planning for that auction."
"I'm not planning anything."
"Then you're a better liar than I thought." She finishes her drink. "For what it's worth? I think she got to you. I think she's the first real thing you've ever wanted that you couldn't have and it terrifies you."
She walks away before I can deny it.
The party continues around me. Music, laughter, the sound of money being spent on nothing that matters and all I can think about is Tuesday night. The auction. Five dates. Two weeks.
Isla Monroe trapped in a contract she can't escape.
And me with a chance to either destroy her completely or figure out what the hell I'm actually trying to do.
Tuesday arrives faster than I expect.
The gala is being held in the Ashworth Ballroom and yes, named after Cecilia's family, a massive space with crystal chandeliers and marble floors.
By the time I arrive at six, it's already transformed.
Valentine's decorations everywhere, red and pink and gold.
A stage at one end. Tables arranged for dinner and a nervous energy in the air as people arrive in formal wear.
I'm wearing a suit my father's tailor made. It costs more than most people's cars. I feel like a fraud in it.
The Legacy Council is backstage, managing logistics. Participants are being prepped. The auction starts at eight.
"You're bidding tonight?" Harrison asks, adjusting his tie.
"Maybe."
"On anyone in particular?"
"Maybe."
He grins. "This is going to be entertaining."
At 7:45, I take my seat in the audience. The ballroom is packed, students, faculty, local donors. Everyone loves a spectacle, the lights dim. Vivienne takes the stage as emcee.
"Welcome to Thornhill University's Annual Valentine's Charity Gala," she begins, her voice smooth and practiced.
"Tonight, we're doing something special.
Our date auction will feature students from across campus, and all proceeds go to local organizations supporting education and community development. "
She continues explaining the rules. Five dates over two weeks. Social media documentation. The whole production.
Then the auction begins.
The first few participants are athletes. Football players, soccer stars. Bidding is enthusiastic. Hundreds of dollars per person. The audience is engaged, laughing, having fun.
I don't bid on any of them.
Then participant seven takes the stage and everything else disappears.
Isla Monroe stands in the spotlight wearing a simple black dress that probably came from a thrift store but looks stunning on her. Her dark hair is down for once, falling past her shoulders. She looks terrified and furious and so beautiful it actually hurts to look at her.
She doesn't scan the crowd. Keeps her eyes fixed somewhere above everyone's heads.
"This is Isla Monroe," Vivienne announces. "Junior, English Literature major. Isla works two campus jobs and maintains a 4.0 GPA. For your date package, Isla has selected ice skating, a cooking class, a movie marathon, dinner, and attending the Valentine's Day gala together."
The bidding starts at one hundred dollars.
Someone in the back raises their paddle. "One-fifty."
Another voice. "Two hundred."
I don't move yet. Just watch her face as the bids climb. She's keeping it together, but I can see the tension in her shoulders. The way her hands are clenched at her sides.
"Three hundred," someone calls.
Then a voice I recognize. Cecilia's ex-boyfriend, Tyler. An asshole who thinks women are collectibles.
"Five hundred."
The room goes quiet for a moment. That's higher than anyone else has gone tonight.
Isla's face drains of color.
Tyler is smirking, looking at his friends. This isn't about charity, this is about humiliation. About winning a scholarship student like a prize.
Something hot and protective surges through me.
No.
Absolutely not.
I raise my paddle before I can think better of it.
"One thousand dollars."
The room erupts. Gasps, whispers, heads turning to find the bidder.
Isla's eyes find mine across the ballroom.
For a moment, everything stops. I see the shock. The betrayal. The absolute fury in her expression.
Good. At least she's feeling something.
"One thousand from paddle forty-two," Vivienne says, her voice carefully neutral even though she knows exactly what I'm doing. "Do I hear eleven hundred?"
Tyler's hand starts to rise, but his friend grabs it. They have a whispered argument. He's considering it, I can see the wheels turning, but one thousand is already absurd for a college charity auction. Going higher would be obvious desperation.
"Going once," Vivienne continues. "Twice." She pauses, letting the tension build. "Sold to paddle forty-two for one thousand dollars."
Applause fills the ballroom, but Isla doesn't move. She's still staring at me with an expression that promises murder.
Perfect.