Chapter 3
Chapter Three
EMILIA
The test came quietly. No declaration. No war horn. Just a broken pipe. A flood that hit my dorm room like divine punishment— soaking half my closet, destroying my textbooks, shorting the outlets.
The Academy said it was maintenance error.
No one said it out loud. But everyone knew. This wasn’t random. Someone wanted me out. And someone else wanted me… here .
I stared at the reassignment form in my hand.
Three names typed at the top.
Bastion Crow. Luca Crow. Emilia Adams.
My stomach dropped. One kiss. Well technically two and it was going to ruin my semester. I wanted to groan.
They didn’t even pretend it was temporary.
The Crow dorm was at the far edge of campus—no house name, no wing, no guest list.
Just black brick, matte steel, and rumors that never made it into writing.
No one moved in.
No one moved out .
You had to be born into it.
But tonight, I crossed the threshold like I belonged.
The front door clicked shut behind me. Silence swallowed the sound.
Black floors polished to a reflective shine.
Dark wood walls broken by antique portrait frames and black-paneled doors.
No laughter.
No music.
Just the soft hum of heat through the vents and the distant crackle of firelight.
At the far end of the hallway, above a hanging iron chandelier, was the Crow crest.
Surrounded by thirty faint birds—each one inked into the border like a secret.
Thirty Crows.
Thirty sons of the dynasty.
And now… me.
I followed the instructions for the location and walked upstairs. Until I reached the end of the hall, a matte black door waited.
Their names were etched into the silver plate beside it.
BASTION CROW + LUCA CROW.
I opened it slowly. And stopped. It wasn’t a dorm room. It was a kingdom.
Two king-sized beds anchored the back wall—side by side.
One bed was made military-tight, edges tucked, not a single wrinkle.
The other looked like it had survived a fistfight—sheets tangled, knife belt tossed at the corner, a hoodie half-flung.
Across from them was my bed. Another king. It looked like it was new.
No walls. No dividers .
Just space. Measured. Intentional.
Three beds. One room.
It would be merciful just to kill me instead. I sighed and stepped inside.
The floors were matte charcoal. The walls, dark-stained mahogany.
A hunting knife sat stabbed into the corner of the desk. Beside it, a cufflink box. A single coin. An old watch. Everything in here screamed them.
Not just boys. Not just heirs.
Predators.
Toward the matte black door near the desk. The ensuite opened smoothly, lights flickering to life with a low hum. The walls were lined in obsidian tile, slick and glossy like wet stone.
Two vanities. Both lived-in. One had a silver watch and toothbrush. The other held cufflinks, cigarettes. Between them, a cologne bottle. Dark glass. No label.
The shower in the back was industrial—glass-walled with twin rainfall heads, a black marble bench, and steam still clinging to the tile.
I imagined them here.
Bastion and Luca.
Wet hair. Tensed shoulders. That quiet between violence and sleep.
It made my skin flush. I backed out and closed the door.
Fast.
I crossed back into the main room, searching for oxygen. To the right of the beds, a half-wall framed a sunken lounge.
Black leather couch. Two matching armchairs. Everything sleek. Expensive. Masculine.
There was a fireplace at the center, and above it, another crest .
Behind the lounge, a kitchenette. Marble counters. Espresso machine. Hidden fridge.
A bottle of whiskey sat out with a single tumbler.
And a cracked black mug with fading text:
VILLAIN. BY BIRTH.
The letters were barely legible.
But it was real. Probably theirs from childhood. Unchanged. Two stools sat at the bar. One had a hoodie half-draped over it.
I didn’t belong here.
Not in this house.
Not in this room.
Not in their world.
But I was here now.
And I was sharing a room with Bastion and Luca Crow.