Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
LUCA
She didn’t slam the door.
Didn’t even close it fully.
Just walked in—quiet, shoulders tight, jaw set—and made her way to the other side of the room.
I didn’t need to hear what Bastion said.
I’d heard enough through the thin wall between our beds and the ensuite.
His voice, rough and low.
Hers, soft like it didn’t want to be heard.
I was lying on my back, pretending to scroll through my phone.
Watched her out of the corner of my eye as she placed her own phone on the nightstand and pulled back the covers like it was routine.
Only it wasn’t.
It had been weeks since she slept here.
Weeks since she’d come back before midnight.
Weeks since this room had smelled like her.
It didn’t tonight .
No rosewood.
No expensive shampoo.
No perfume in the air.
Just stillness.
She didn’t say goodnight.
Didn’t offer cookies.
Didn’t leave her water glass on the wrong side of the bench like she used to.
Everything was muted.
Even the way she curled into bed—small, hidden, barely taking up space.
Bastion walked in a few minutes later, stiff, his eyes skimming over her figure beneath the blanket.
He didn’t say anything either.
Just sat on the edge of his bed like he was thinking too hard.
Like he was haunted.
I knew the look.
Because I felt the same.
She hadn’t smiled since he yelled at her. Not once.
She used to smile too much .
That big kind, with all her teeth and dimples, like the world hadn’t beat her down yet.
Like she still had something soft left inside her.
Now?
Now she didn’t even look up.
She used to leave her makeup bag out.
A sweater thrown across her chair.
Hair clips scattered on the desk.
Now it was sterile.
Clinical.
She even pulled her toothbrush out of her bag like it was temporary? —
like she wasn’t planning to stay.
I stared at the ceiling, my chest tight.
We didn’t speak of the rumors.
Not out loud.
The whispers that she’d been sleeping in the library.
That she’d moved all her things into the old drama hall and made a bed out of stage curtains and dusty costumes.
That she hadn’t gone home once in weeks.
Just drifted.
Invisible.
Like a ghost trying not to haunt anyone.
But she wasn’t a ghost.
She was the one who brought fruit platters and croissants.
The one who folded our clothes when we left them in the dryer too long.
The one who tried so damn hard to make us feel less broken,
even when we didn’t deserve it.
Now, all we had was silence.
She turned over, her back facing both of us.
I couldn’t help it?—
I looked.
Her shoulders twitched like she was trying not to cry.
Or maybe she was just breathing quietly.
I couldn’t tell anymore.
Bastion finally laid down too.
Still as a statue.
She didn’t speak.
Neither did we.
But we didn’t sleep.
Not really.
Because it turns out, even if she stopped wearing rosewood perfume …
I still missed the way it used to linger.
And the way her smile used to make this room feel like something other than a prison.
I missed her voice.
It hit me one morning in class. The silence was worse than usual. Not because the lecture was dull—it always was—but because she wasn’t fidgeting. Wasn’t whispering. Wasn’t leaning across the desk to ask if I had a pen, or rolling her eyes when Bastion kicked her chair.
She just sat there.
Blank.
Numb.
Quiet.
And it fucking annoyed me.
Not because I wanted her to flirt or laugh or do that sunshine-smile bullshit that used to drive me mad—but because she’d gone quiet on us . Like we didn’t exist. Like she could carve us out of her world the same way she carved herself out of ours.
So I did something about it.
Assignments were posted that day for the upcoming Interdynasty Diplomacy Project —something the academy forced every upperclassman to do. A glorified trust-building exercise meant to make the next generation of heirs play nice.
I didn’t want nice .
I wanted her in my space again. Talking. Rolling her eyes. Fighting me.
So I pulled aside Professor Malrick after class. Didn’t threaten him. Didn’t need to. Just asked—quietly, firmly—if the pairings had been finalized .
He said no.
So I made it clear: Emilia Adams and I were to be assigned together.
The bastard smiled like he understood too much.
“Trouble in paradise?”
I didn’t answer.
When the official pairings were posted a few days later, I watched her eyes scan the list. Watched her shoulders stiffen. Her lips press together. Her fingers clench the edge of her book.
Then I saw it—that flicker of disbelief in her eyes. That slow blink, followed by the deadpan horror that looked an awful lot like the universe had personally offended her.
She looked up. Met my gaze from across the classroom.
I smirked.
And yeah—maybe I leaned back in my chair a little too casually. Maybe I stretched out like I was bored.
But inside?
I was watching the life return to her face.
Even if it was just dread.
If only she knew that both Bastion and I had been systematically forcing her back into our world.
Little by little.
Curfew lock? Bastion’s doing. He nearly went to war with the admin board over it.
This assignment? Me.
We weren’t subtle.
We weren’t noble.
We just weren’t ready to let her disappear.
And if pairing her with me for three weeks of mandatory meetings and late-night strategy sessions was what it took to hear her voice again?
So be it.
Even if she hated every second of it.
Especially if she did.