And just like that, I suddenly feel grounded in a life that hasstarted to feel more and more like fiction with every passing day.
Even taking the long routes, the campus tour ends quickly. I mean, I don’t even know where the pool is yet. I decide to skip my afternoon classes and wait for him at student services while the black Kingsden cat glares at me from the lamppost.
Ten minutes later, Caden returns with a pulled face.
“What’s up?”
“Student services said I have to wait a week for my accommodation. Can I crash with you until then?” he asks. “… or I can get a hotel?” He raises a brow, taking in my expression.
I would love to have Caden stay over, but after what happened last night, can I afford another audience? Unlike Thea and Penny, Caden knows my tellsfartoo well. So what? I’m not going to add to his financial burden for the sake of vanity.
“Don’t be daft.” I shake my head. “I’ll have to run it by my roommates, but they are the best, so I’m sure they’ll agree. Just get Thea some Earl Grey and tell Penny she can pull off turquoise.”
“I can do that.” He shrugs with a grin.
My new friends were surprised to see Caden when they returned. But as expected, Thea was more than happy to accommodate him when she saw the extravagant tea and shortbread basket on the coffee table. Penny didn’t need any motivation. She took one look at Caden and offered to share her room. That girl has zero filters.
We planned to go to the nearby Italian restaurant for dinner, but the weather took a turn for the worse. Dark slaterainstorms loom overhead by early evening. Then the wind picks up, kicking twigs and pebbles across the windows. When our phones start beeping with thunderstorm alerts, we decide to get a takeout. A decision that would be straightforward if I didn’t have the fussiest foodies for roommates. Caden excuses himself when Linda, his mother, calls to check in, leaving me as the deciding vote between jalapeños or pineapple on pizza. I hate both.
So, I’m thankful when my phone pings on the counter, giving me an excuse to slip away to my bedroom. But then I look at the name on my screen.
A name that should not be on my contact list, but somehow is.
Mason Grant
Don’t be late. And don’t make me come for you.
Goosebumps prick my skin, crawling up my neck and arms. My eyes flick to my bag on the desk. The hint of red spilling out of the corner, summoning me from across the room. Glancing over my shoulder, like I’m a thief in my own home, I sit on my desk and retrieve the envelope.
I have no intention of going. But I’m curious what a personal invitation from Mason Grant looks like. I rip it open, tearing the envelope on the side.
EXCLUSIVE INVITE
99
9 p.m.
Little dove
The lastline is handwritten.
What the hell islittle dove? Is it code for something? Theurge to do an online search is too tempting. But I’m too scared of ending up on some underworld watchlist.
I chew on my lip, staring at the golden letters carved on the scarlet card for a long minute, before my eyes rise to the clock on my desk. It’s half past eight.
Air thickens around me, making every breath heavier as I contemplate my options.
What is there to contemplate?
Not only is he a manipulative psychopath, but he is a violent brute who has a vendetta against my family and me. Whatever the consequences of refusing his invitation may be, it can’t be worse than voluntarily walking into a carefully laid trap, right?
No.
I willneverbe alone with Mason Grant again.
My gaze darts to the closed bedroom window, rain hammering against the glass, testing the threshold, seeking a way in. I prowl across the floor to the window, my fingers curling around the edge of the curtains to peek across the street. The spot where I saw him on his bike, a few times.
I let out a long exhale. Only pine cones and fallen leaves float in a puddle below the oak tree.
