23
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AURORA
Three days.
We have three perfect days.
Three days where the sprawling, isolated campus of Ardencrest doesn't feel like a prison but something else entirely. Something that might eventually become home if we're careful. If we don't destroy each other first.
Evander walks beside me in the courtyards, his hand openly wrapped around mine.
Not possessive—though there's still an edge of that underneath.
Just... present. Connected. Like he's proving to himself that I'm real, that I'm choosing to stay, that this isn't some fever dream that will evaporate the moment he wakes up.
The Elite students stare in absolute shock. Their Crown Prince, the untouchable Evander Laurent, holding hands with a scholarship girl like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like the social hierarchy they've spent their entire lives navigating doesn't apply to him.
It doesn't, of course. Rules have never applied to Evander. But watching him break this particular rule—watching him publicly claim me not as property but as an equal—makes something warm bloom in my chest.
No one dares to speak. No sneers. No comments. Just wide-eyed stares and whispered conversations that die the moment we get close.
Because Evander Laurent is terrifying when he's cold and controlled. But Evander Laurent who cares about someone? Who has something to protect? That's a different kind of dangerous entirely.
The nights are better. We spend them tangled in his sheets, learning each other's bodies, mapping scars and freckles and all the places that make the other person gasp. He's gentle sometimes. Rough others. Always checking in. Always making sure I want what he's giving.
It's not perfect. We still fight. Still have moments where his control issues clash with my need for autonomy, where I push too hard and he pulls back, where the wounds we've inflicted on each other are still too fresh to ignore completely.
But we're trying. Actually trying. And that's more than I ever expected to have with him.
On the third day, I'm sitting in one of the quiet study halls on the second floor of the library. It's Thursday afternoon—Evander has a Laurent Holdings conference call and told me to study, that he'd find me when he was done.
I'm working through Political Theory readings, making notes in the margins of my textbook, when I feel it.
That particular prickle on the back of my neck that means someone's watching.
I look up.
Two men in dark, tailored suits are standing at my table. They're not students—too old, too polished, moving with the kind of professional precision that suggests security or law enforcement or something equally official.
"Miss Lane?" The one on the left speaks. His voice is neutral. Professional. "Please come with us."
"I'm sorry, who are you?"
"We represent Laurent Global." He doesn't elaborate. "You're needed upstairs."
My stomach drops. "For what?"
"We're not at liberty to say. Please gather your things."
It's not a request. The way they're standing—positioned on either side of my chair, close enough to physically move me if necessary—makes that very clear.
I leave my textbook open on the table. Barely manage to grab my bag with hands that are suddenly shaking. Stand on legs that feel unsteady.
"Am I in trouble?"
"That depends on you." The second man gestures toward the exit. "This way."
They don't take my arms. Don't physically force me. But they walk close enough that I couldn't run even if I tried, their bodies forming a barrier that guides me toward the elevator at the back of the library.
We ride up in silence. Past the third floor. Past the fourth. All the way to the top floor—a level I've never been to, didn't even know existed.
The elevator opens onto a hallway that's different from the rest of the campus. More modern. Colder. All glass and steel and expensive minimalism that screams corporate headquarters rather than academic institution.
They lead me to a door at the end of the hall. Heavy oak. No nameplate. Nothing to indicate what's inside.
One of them opens it. Gestures for me to enter.
I do. Because I don't have a choice. Because whatever this is, running will only make it worse.
The office is massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the campus. Massive, custom-built dark wood furniture. Shelves lined with books that look like they've never been read, more decoration than actual literature.
And behind the massive oak desk, sitting with perfect posture in a leather chair that looks like a throne—
Evander's mother.
I know it's her immediately. The resemblance is striking. The same piercing blue eyes. The same sharp, aristocratic features. The same air of absolute authority that makes the room feel smaller just from her presence.
But where Evander has a suppressed fire—trauma and rage and desperate need all burning under the surface—she is a complete, soulless void. Looking at her is like looking at a beautiful statue. Perfect. Cold. Utterly lifeless.
She doesn't stand. Doesn't greet me. Doesn't offer me a seat.
Just looks at me with those cold blue eyes and pushes a thick legal file across the polished wood.
"Sit," she says. Not a request.
I sit.
She watches me for a long moment. Assessing. Cataloging. The same way Evander used to look at me, but without any of the heat underneath.
"Aurora Lane," she finally says. My name in her mouth sounds clinical. Like a diagnosis. "The scholarship girl who's managed to distract my son from his responsibilities."
I don't respond. Don't know what to say. Don't know if saying anything will make this worse.
"My son likes broken toys," she continues. Her voice is chillingly polite. The kind of politeness that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "He always has. Strays. Projects. Things he can fix and control."
She taps the file with one perfectly manicured nail.
"But I do not let his toys interfere with my empire."
I stare at the file. Don't want to open it. Don't want to know what's inside.
"Open it," she says.
My hands are shaking as I pull the file toward me. Open the cover.
The first page is a legal document. Dense text. Official seals. The kind of thing that looks important and terrifying even if you can't understand all the language.
But I understand enough.
PETITION FOR EMERGENCY CUSTODY REVIEW
RE: Liam Lane, minor child
GROUNDS: Unfit guardian (Margaret Calloway), unsafe living conditions, inadequate supervision
My blood turns to ice.
"What is this?" My voice comes out barely a whisper.
"Inside that folder are finalized, ready-to-file legal documents that will declare your current guardian unfit," she says. Still in that same polite, clinical tone. "Liam will be placed in a high-security state facility by tomorrow morning."
I flip through the pages. See Margaret Calloway's name. See my father's criminal record listed as evidence of "dangerous family environment." See recommendations from child welfare experts I've never heard of arguing that Liam is at risk.
It's all fabricated. Has to be. Mrs. Calloway is the best thing that's ever happened to Liam. She's kind and patient and safe.
But the documents look real. Official. The kind of thing that would hold up in court because someone with enough money made sure they would.
"You can't do this." I look up at her. "Mrs. Calloway has done nothing wrong. Liam is safe with her."
"I own the judges who sign the papers, Miss Lane." She smiles. The expression is terrifying—perfectly formed but completely empty. Like a mask. "I can do whatever I please."
The room feels like it's closing in. Like the walls are moving closer, the air getting thinner.
"What do you want?" I manage to ask.
"I want you to break my son's heart." She says it simply. Directly. "By tonight. Tell him he was a pawn. That you never cared. That everything between you was a lie."
I stare at her. "No."
"Then say goodbye to your brother forever." She stands. Smooths her skirt. "The papers will be filed at 9 AM tomorrow. By noon, Liam will be in state custody. By the end of the week, he'll be transferred to a secure facility three states away. You'll never see him again."
"You're bluffing." But my voice wavers. "Evander won't let you—"
"Evander won't know." She walks around the desk. Stops in front of me. Looks down with those cold, empty eyes. "You'll tell him it's over. You'll break his heart so thoroughly he wants nothing to do with you. And then you'll leave campus and never contact him again."
"Why?" The question comes out broken. "Why do this? He's your son."
"Exactly." She tilts her head. "He's my son. My heir. The future of Laurent Global. And I will not allow some scholarship girl with a traumatic background to derail everything I've built."
She reaches out. Grabs my chin. Forces me to look at her.
"He dove into water for you. Faced his worst fear. Do you know what that means?"
I don't answer.
"It means you've become an attachment. A liability. Something his enemies can use against him." Her grip tightens. "I spent years teaching him that attachment is weakness. That caring about people invites ruin. I will not let you undo that lesson."
She releases me. Steps back.
"So you have a choice, Miss Lane. Break his heart tonight. Or lose your brother tomorrow."
I stare at the file. At the proof that she can and will destroy Liam's life if I don't comply.
Evander nearly died in that lake to save Liam. Faced the thing that terrifies him most because he couldn't stand the thought of me losing my brother.
Now I have to destroy Evander to keep Liam safe.
There are no exits. No clever solutions. No way to fight someone who owns the judges and the lawyers and every system designed to protect children.
Just a choice between the person I'm falling for and the person I've spent my entire life protecting.
It's not really a choice at all.
I stand up. My legs are unsteady but I force them to hold me.
"I'll break his heart," I say. My voice is completely dead. Hollow. "Just leave my brother out of this."
She smiles again. That same terrible, empty expression.
"I knew you'd make the right choice." She returns to her desk. Sits. Dismisses me with a wave of her hand. "You have until midnight. After that, the papers get filed anyway."
I turn. Walk to the door on legs that feel like they might give out any second.
"Miss Lane."
I stop. Don't turn around.
"If you tell my son about this conversation, I'll know. And the consequences will be severe."
I don't respond. Just open the door and walk out.
The two men in suits are waiting in the hallway. They escort me back to the elevator. Back down to the library. Back to my table where my Political Theory textbook is still open to the page I was reading.
Like nothing happened. Like my entire world didn't just shatter.
They leave without a word.
I sit down. Stare at the textbook without seeing it.
And I try to figure out how to destroy the first person I've ever chosen. The first person who's ever chosen me back.
My phone buzzes.
Evander: Conference call ran long. Meet me in the courtyard? I missed you.
I stare at the message.
At the evidence that he cares. That he missed me. That these three perfect days meant something to him.
And I type back with hands that are shaking so badly I can barely hit the right keys.
Me: I'll be there in 10.
I have until midnight.
But I'm going to do this now. Fast. Before I lose my nerve. Before I can think too hard about what I'm about to do.
I stand up. Pack my things. Walk out of the library into the cold afternoon air.
And I head toward the courtyard where Evander is waiting.
Where I'm going to break both our hearts to save my brother.
Because that's what survivors do. We make impossible choices. We sacrifice the things we want for the things we need.
And I need Liam to be safe more than I need Evander Laurent to love me.
Even if it destroys us both.