“It will.” Her hand lingers lightly on my arm before she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Come on, let’s go get settled in.”
Lucian raises a brow but doesn’t argue. He just gives me a nod and a small, proud smile.
I look at him. “You’re not staying?”
“I have some business to take care of today.” His eyes are apologetic. “I tried to reschedule but it couldn’t wait.”
I nod, trying not to cling. “Okay.”
He leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. He opens his arms, and I step into them, wrapping my arms around him. He squeezes me tightly.
“I love you,” he whispers into my hair.
Dakota and I watch as his car rolls back out of the driveway. I tighten my grip on my bag, draw in a shaky breath. The pressure of the Ashthorne legacy sitting on my shoulders. Knowing what hides beneath Blackmoore, in the shadows. It’s overwhelming. I steel my reserves.
I can do this.
“Ready?” Dakota asks.
I nod, and we head inside together, side by side.
The entryway is massive—vaulted ceilings, marble floors, chandeliers like upside-down forests of crystal. Students pass us, but I don’t flinch. Not with Dakota next to me.
She chatters as we climb the staircase. “Your schedule’s been uploaded to your account. And I talked to the housing director, so you’re on the same floor as me. Three doors down.”
“That’s… perfect,” I say, stunned.
She nudges me with her elbow. “I thought so.”
North Wing feels like a place carved out of time—arched ceilings, tallwindows, and long stretches of echoing stone. Students stand in clusters, lean against window ledges, glance up as I pass. I pass a group of girls and hear their whispers.
“…that’s her…”
“…Ashthorne’s kid…”
“…kind of pretty, I guess…”
I keep walking. Shoulders straight. Chin up. Eyes ahead. Heartbeat pounding.Don’t let them see you sweat.
By the time I reach the third floor, my legs ache and my hand hurts from clenching my bag so tight.
“This is you.” She says.
The door is tall, dark-stained wood with black iron hinges. A silver key sits in the lock; it clicks open with a satisfying, solid sound.
I step inside—and freeze.
My room is nothing like I expected.
The ceiling is vaulted, beams exposed and painted deep charcoal. Two tall arched windows line the far wall, spilling soft afternoon light across the stone floor and rich woven rugs. A queen-sized canopy bed sits centered, its frame brushed black metal, layered with cloud-colored sheets and a thick, plush comforter. A writing desk. A wall of bookshelves. A wide armchair nestled under one of the windows. A couch set in front of the large dresser with a TV sitting on top. A small kitchenette area. En-suite bathroom and a walk-in closet.
“This room is beautiful.” I walk in.
“Right?” Dakota follows me in, the heavy door shutting behind her. She slides the lock into place.
A slow breath rattles out of me. The lock on the inside settles my nerves a bit.
“We’re actually lucky. Some girls have to share their rooms. But thanks to Lucian, we don’t.” Dakota takes a seat on my couch.
