AURORA #2
Not silent. But quiet enough that I can hear my own heartbeat.
I look at her. At her perfect hair, her perfect blazer, her perfect sneer.
And I feel nothing.
No anger. No fear. Just... exhaustion.
I'm so fucking tired of people like her.
I've dealt with worse than some rich girl's coffee and condescension.
I've dealt with my father's fists and his rage and his bottles.
I've dealt with teachers who looked at me like I was already a lost cause.
I've dealt with landlords who threatened eviction and bill collectors who called at 6 AM and school administrators who asked why I couldn't "just focus on my studies. "
This girl? She's nothing.
So I don't move.
I don't apologize.
I just say, very clearly, "Walk around me."
The silence becomes absolute.
The girl's eyes widen. Like I've just said something unthinkable. Like I've broken a rule she didn't think needed to be stated.
"What did you just—"
"I said," I repeat, my voice steady, "walk around me."
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Her face flushes red.
And then—
Footsteps.
Slow. Deliberate.
I don't need to turn around to know who it is.
I can feel it.
The air shifts. The temperature drops. The weight of attention—not just from the crowd, but from something sharper, more focused—lands on me like a physical thing.
The blonde girl's expression changes—from anger to something else. Something like fear.
She steps back. Quickly. Stammers something I don't catch. And then she's gone, disappearing into the crowd like she was never there.
I turn.
And he's standing right there.
Evander Laurent.
Up close, he's... sharper. Taller than I expected. His face is all clean lines and cold precision, like someone carved him out of stone and forgot to soften the edges.
But it's his eyes that pin me in place.
Steel blue. Focused. Unblinking.
He's looking at me the way a scientist looks at something under a microscope. Not curious. Not interested.
Assessing.
Like he's cataloging every detail. My posture. My breathing. The way I'm standing my ground even though every instinct in my body is screaming at me to move.
The rest of the courtyard has gone completely still. No one is moving. No one is breathing.
I should look away.
I don't.
I stare back.
His head tilts. Just slightly. Like I've done something unexpected.
The silence stretches.
One second. Two. Three.
And then he speaks.
"You don't flinch."
His voice is low. Controlled. Every word deliberate, like he's testing how they sound.
I don't answer.
What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?
His eyes narrow. Not in anger. In something else. Something that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Interesting," he says quietly. Almost to himself.
And then he steps past me.
Just like that.
No threat. No confrontation. Nothing.
He walks away, and his Princes fall into step behind him, and the crowd exhales like they've been holding their breath for hours.
I stay exactly where I am, coffee dripping off my shoes, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Iris appears at my side. Her voice is tight. "What the fuck was that?"
I swallow. "I don't know."
"Aurora." She grabs my arm, turns me to face her. "That was Evander Laurent. Do you understand what that means?"
"He's rich and people are scared of him. I got it."
"No." Her grip tightens. "You don't. People don't talk back to him. People don't even look at him unless he wants them to. And you just—" She stops. Shakes her head. "You need to stay away from him."
"I wasn't trying to get his attention."
"Well, you got it." Her eyes are serious. Worried. "And that's not good."
I pull my arm free, gently. "I'll be fine."
She doesn't look convinced.
Neither am I.
But I don't say that.
We find the registration building—a smaller stone structure near the edge of campus—and get our room assignments. Iris and I are in the same building, different floors. The scholarship housing is separate from the main dorms, tucked away on the east side of campus like an afterthought.
We walk there in silence.
The building is older than the others. The stone is darker, more weathered. The windows are narrow. The hallways inside are dim, lit by old fixtures that buzz faintly.
"Charming," Iris mutters.
"Could be worse."
"Could it?"
I don't answer.
My room is on the third floor. Iris's is on the second. We agree to meet up later for dinner, and then she disappears down the stairwell, leaving me alone in the narrow hallway.
I find my door—316—and unlock it with the key they gave me at registration.
The room is small. A single bed, a desk, a narrow window that looks out over the courtyard. The walls are bare. The floor is cold.
It's perfect.
I drop my bag on the bed and sit down, letting the silence settle around me.
My hands are shaking.
I press them flat against my thighs and breathe.
Head down. Stay invisible. Survive.
I repeat it like a mantra.
But I can still feel his eyes on me. Cold and sharp and unrelenting.
I stand, needing to move, needing to do something, and that's when I see it.
A black envelope. Expensive.
Slipped under my door.
I stare at it for a long moment.
Then I crouch down, pick it up, and tear it open.
Inside, there's a crisp hundred-dollar bill.
And a note.
The handwriting is sharp. Architectural. Precise.
Buy better shoes. You're dragging dirt on my floors.
I read it once. Twice.
And then I look at the bill in my hand—new, clean, like it was pulled straight from a bank—and something cold and furious coils in my chest.
I don't know who sent this.
But I have a pretty good fucking idea.
I fold the note, tuck it into my pocket, and sit back down on the bed.
Outside, the sky is dark now. The campus lights flicker on, casting long shadows across the stone.
And somewhere out there, in this cold, beautiful prison, someone is watching.
I can feel it.
My phone buzzes.
Liam: goodnight rora
I close my eyes. Breathe.
Me: goodnight baby. love you
I set the phone down, lie back on the bed, and stare at the ceiling.
Four years.
I just have to survive four years.
But something tells me that's going to be harder than I thought.