We moved farther away from some of the students. When we stopped, he was a few feet away. Not touching but close enough I could feel the heat rolling off him.
I tilted my head back, staring up at the sky until the words scraped out of me. “I don’t need a knight. I need someone who won’t throw me to the wolves.” My throat burned. I knew I was lashing out, but I couldn’t stop myself.
His voice came low, steady. Softer, but heavier for it. “I’m trying to be both.”
That made me look at him. His eyes didn’t waver. He meant it. Every word. And that was the problem. Because I believed him. And believing him was worse than doubting—because if he broke that promise, it wouldn’t just hurt. It would gut me, the way it had my mom when trust turned into blood on the blacktop.
The star charm at my throat pressed heavy against my skin, a reminder of every promise we’d whispered under the stars. No secrets. No power plays. No running.
But promises didn’t survive long in Blackwood. They broke. They shattered. And this one was already bleeding at the edges. Because Dunn Industries was circling. Because Elise wasn’t finished. Because the Kings had their own secrets—and Luke was tangled in all of them.
This wasn’t strategy anymore. It wasn’t even just survival. It was him. It was me. It was dangerous.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LUKE
By sixth period, Elise’s little rumor campaign was already bleeding out. Blackwood never ran on truth—it thrived on perception. And Elise had bet wrong on who still owned the school.
It started with Jax. Loud enough for half the row behind him to hear, he leaned back in AP Physics and asked Mr. Carson if a phone’s IP address could be faked. He didn’t even wait for the answer before muttering, “Guess it’s easy for burner accounts and petty girls to look the same,” his eyes sliding to Elise’s table.
The ripple started there.
By lunch, Chase dropped into the senior group chat with a gem:Crazy how the fake DMs stopped sounding like Mila halfway through. Someone forgot to keep the insults specific. He even added a shrug emoji. Subtle as a hammer.
Phones buzzed across the tables—one ping, then another, then a flood. Screens lit up. Heads bent low, whispers spiking as the messages ricocheted through the room.
The cafeteria erupted in noise and whispers, the story spreading faster than anyone could stop it. No one cared about fake screenshots anymore. They were too busy picking apartElise’s history with surgical precision—every cover-up, every spin job, every stitch in her airbrushed life suddenly fair game.
Later, drifting through the hallway, Theo sealed it. He let it drop for anyone listening, “Didn’t Elise disappear sophomore year? What was the excuse that time? Nose job or leadership retreat? Hard to keep the cover stories straight.”
Mila’s name? Already dropped from conversation.
I waited until the courtyard thinned and Elise sat alone at one of the stone benches, stabbing at her salad as if it might fight back. The stone looked too polished, too pristine—like everything in Blackwood, perfection on the surface, hiding the cracks underneath.
Her friends had scattered. Even Nina. That told me more than anything else.
She spotted me immediately. “Here to gloat?”
I stopped in front of her, shadow spilling across the table. “No. I’m here to warn you.”
Her mouth curled tight. “You think you’ve won something?”
“I’m not playing a game,” I said evenly. “You are.”
She tilted her head, her usual smugness creeping back in. “People forget fast. Mila’s still the girl who left without notice and then waltzed back in. You didn’t exactly welcome her with open arms, Luke—so don’t act like she belongs.”
I leaned forward, voice low. “You ever wonder what would happen if people found out why you disappeared sophomore year? The truth. Not the nose job excuse. Not the retreat.”
Her fork froze. Everyone knew Elise had vanished sophomore year, but no one knew why.
“Remember your roommate?” I asked. “The one who couldn’t handle what she saw—the cracks behind your perfect mask? I don’t need to invent anything.” My voice dropped as I leaned in, steady and biting. “I just have to remind people that perfection doesn’t mean untouchable.”
Her throat worked, but she forced the words out anyway. “You wouldn’t.”
I bent closer, the words a blade. “Try me again. Touch Mila—publicly or privately—and I’ll show you what happens when everyone finally sees the cracks you hide.”
She gripped her phone as though it might save her. “You think this makes you strong? Blackmailing me?”
