A prickle crawls up the back of my neck.
I drag my desk chair beneath the sprinkler and climb up, balancing carefully as I reach toward the ceiling tile. My hands tremble as I press my fingers along the edge, checking for anything out of place.
Nothing. And then?—
My fingertips brushing against something cold and smooth.
I swallow hard.
A camera.
Small. Discreet. But unmistakably there.
I yank my hand back as if it had burned me.
How many more are there?
I don’t want to know.
The truth is already glaring. Nathaniel has been watching me long before I moved in with him. The realization lodges in my throat, suffocating.
I need to get out.
I don’t know where I’m going—my feet just carry me forward, out of the dorm room, down the hall. I shove through the main doors, and as I descend the stairs, the air hits me like ice.
And then I see him.
Nathaniel stands just outside the building, hands tucked into his coat pockets, as if he’s been waiting there this whole time.
I freeze on the steps.
He meets my gaze calmly, but the restraint in his posture is thin, like a rope about to snap. His eyes are stormy, a churning undercurrent just below the surface.
“What were you doing up there, baby?”
His voice is soft, almost tender, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it.
I can’t breathe.
I search his face for something—remorse, guilt,anything—but Nathaniel steps forward, pulling his hands free from his pockets.
His hands, usually steady, tremble as he reaches for me.
I flinch before I can stop myself.
Nathaniel freezes, pain lancing his expression as if I had struck him. But after a beat, he continues forward, closing the space between us. His knuckles brush softly along my jawline, reverent and careful, as if I might shatter beneath his touch.
“I would never hurt you,” he whispers, though the desperation in his voice betrays him.
I don’t speak.
His hand lingers a moment longer before sliding away, fingers curling against his palm. He leans closer, his breath warm against my temple.
“Let’s go home.”
TWENTY-ONE
nathaniel
