The Track Star's Secret

Am I finally qualified to be your girlfriend now? I cornered Easton in the dim hallway of the party, shoving my barely-passing transcript against his chest.

His jaw ticked.

He swatted the paper away. Not a chance in hell. That door is permanently bolted shut.

I stared at him.

Bolted? Fine.

If the door was shut, I'd just have to find another way in.

Later that night, I scaled the side of his estate and hoisted myself right through his second-story bedroom window.

A cheesy soap opera breakup scene blared from the massive flat-screen TV.

Easton stared down at me.

His dark eyes were utterly devoid of warmth, glaring as if I were a filthy beggar who had just tracked mud all over his impossibly expensive rug.

I squeezed out a few theatrical tears, clutching my chest. "Let's just keep the baby!" I wailed, fully committing to the bit. "They can even take my last name!"

He didn't blink.

He marched past me, wrenched the window wide open, and pointed into the pitch-black night.

"Get the hell out."

Chapter 1

I was officially done playing the stagefive clinger for Easton.

He was the kind of untouchable Alpha sitting pretty at the top of the Ivy League food chain.

I, on the other hand, was just an invisible nobody who felt like I was trespassing just by breathing the same air next to him.

Freshman year, my mom found out about my massive crush.

"You? Trying to hook the son of a real estate tycoon?" she scoffed. "What's next, pigs flying?"

"I mean, it's not impossible, right?"

She looked at me like I'd lost my damn mind. "Stop daydreaming! Your father is a chauffeur!"

"So what?"

"So what? He drives their family around! Drop this delusion right now. If you piss them off and get your dad fired, I'll skin you alive."

I swallowed hard and kept my mouth shut.

That night, I hid in our moldy basement, furiously updating the spicy fanfiction on my private account.

I typed away, fantasizing about that icy heir pinning me against a wall and devouring me the second we were alone.

The very next day, that bitch from the student council purposely submitted my name for the campus literary contest, wanting to watch me make a total fool of myself in front of the entire school.

I was stuck in the library cramming for midterms, so I texted my roommate to log into my laptop and submit the boring, generic essay Id prepped.

Bless her heart, she forwarded the entire damn folder.

My smutty Easton fanfic won first place.

I wanted the earth to swallow me whole.

What was worse? The guest of honor handing out the awards was Easton's father.

My teeth literally chattered as I stood on that stage.

After the ceremony, the Dean dragged me into his office.

"Take a look at this gentleman. Do you recognize him?"

I gripped my certificate, my knuckles turning white. "Y-yes. Easton's dad."

"That boy of mine and you" Easton's father said. His tone was mild, but his presence suffocated the room.

"We" My brain shortcircuited. I couldn't form a single coherent excuse.

Half an hour later, Easton barged in.

He looked like he'd been put through the wringer, sporting a split lip and a fresh bruise on his jaw.

He didn't say a single word. His lips pressed into a thin, hard line the entire time.

After that day, Easton wiped me from his existence.

Easton was practically a genius. So how did he end up at the same trashtier state college as me?

Rumor had it he didn't come home the night before the SATs and bombed the test.

My mom cornered me. "Easton got into a massive brawl yesterday. He went into the exam hall wrapped in bandages. Did you know about this?"

"No clue."

And how the hell would I?

I had locked myself in my room the day before the finals, ripped the battery out of my phone, and studied until my eyes bled.

Because I was off the grid, the school's resident bad boy couldn't even track me down to mess with me. Hilarious.

Lady Luck smiled at me exactly once, dragging my GPA just high enough to scrape into this garbage college.

Easton, naturally, entered the same garbage college with the highest score in the state.

Honestly, I never really had designs on him before college.

But then he grew up, filling out in all the right places, exuding this dangerously magnetic vibe

Plus, he never ratted me out that day in the Dean's office.

The entire campus became convinced he was obsessed with me.

Since I ruined his dating life, I naturally felt obligated to take responsibility.

"Easton, what exactly do you want me to do?" I blocked his car door, forcing him to look at me.

He yanked at his tie in annoyance, roughly shoving my shoulder aside. "Stop disgusting me with your cheap devotion. Get lost."

He stalked over to the elevator, hit the button, and disappeared upstairs.

I blinked.

Playing hard to get, huh?

Fine. Two could play that game. I decided to actively pursue him.

That chase lasted two whole years.

Two years.

Every celebrity crush I had was canceled and thoroughly ruined by the internet in that time, but he still hadn't caved.

He sneered that his world didn't need idiots who couldn't even read the Wall Street Journal.

I pulled three straight allnighters burning my retinas on those damn financial charts.

When I showed him my work, his face darkened. "What kind of garbage is this?"

"Uh recyclable?" I squeaked.

His expression turned murderous. "Juniper, I don't date toddlers with singledigit IQs."

Damn it! The absolute disrespect.

I went home and sulked, but my bestie quickly talked me off the ledge.

"He called you a toddler? Oh my god, he totally views you as his baby."

I gasped.

"Stop exposing the truth like that!" I giggled, my delusional little heart fluttering back to life, fully ready to resume my relentless pursuit.

Chapter 2

On the 108th consecutive day of me shamelessly delivering his morning coffee, he finally snapped.

"Juniper, did you pull your GPA up to a 3.5 yet?"

"Uh, next semester."

Academics were my Achilles' heel. It wasn't exactly a secret to him.

Back in high school, even after months of expensive tutoring, I barely scraped a C in AP Calculus, tanking my otherwise decent transcript.

"Then talk to me when you're off academic probation."

He shoved the artisan latte back into my chest and turned on his heel, striding back into his dorm.

I stood there, frozen.

Another brutal rejection.

With my brain cells, hitting a 3.5 GPA? Maybe in my next life.

How was his demand any different from saying, "We'll date when my crypto portfolio bounces back"?

But I refused to back down.

I couldn't. I literally had no choice.

Not after I had a wildly vivid dream where I won the Powerball jackpot, and the winning numbers were the exact Morse code tattooed right on Easton's Vline.

If I wanted to secure the bag and achieve financial freedom, I had to hustle.

At the very least, I needed to sleep with him, memorize those damn numbers, and then dump his arrogant ass.

Later that night, I was curled up in bed, bawling my eyes out over a tragic Netflix docuseries on my laptop.

My phone buzzed. Easton.

"I told you to stop sending me trash. Are you physically incapable of taking a hint?"

"Huh?"

My brain stalled for a second. Then it hit me.

I had just ordered a ridiculously skimpy lace bra online.

I scrambled to open the app, checking the delivery details.

The estate address was right, but the recipient Easton?

Fuck. I clicked the wrong autofill contact.

That's what I get for sharing the same damn mailing address as him.

Heat crawled up my neck.

"I wasn't trying to send you anything. Seriously. Just don't open it. I'll pick it up this weekend," I croaked, my voice thick from crying over the show.

"Threw it in the trash."

"You"

"" The sharp click of a lighter echoed through the speaker.

When he spoke again, his tone was laced with highhanded irritation. "Why the fuck are you crying again?"

Why was I crying? None of his damn business.

"Stay out of hot girl problems," I sniffled.

"Juniper" He paused, exhaling a sharp breath. "Why are you so obsessed with running into a brick wall?"

What did I even do now? Was it a crime to cry over a TV show?

"If it makes you this miserable, why can't you just give up on me?"

Listen to this guy. The absolute ego on him.

"Fine. I don't like you anymore," I snapped back, deadpan.

"" He froze for a second. "I've heard that exact line a hundred and eight times."

Ugh!

My throat closed up.

Losing the upper hand pissed me off. I dug my nails into my palm.

"You remember the exact number? Sounds to me like you're obsessed with me." I fired back.

"I'm hanging up."

Click.

He ended the call.

I desperately wanted to call him back and curse him out.

But he had explicitly threatened to block my number if I called him before getting my GPA up.

Arrogant prick.

I glared at the calendar on my desk. Twenty days until finals.

Once I passed, I was going to wipe that smug look right off his face.

I was halfway through making flashcards when my mom yelled for me from upstairs.

"What?"

"Mrs. Sterling wants you to come up and try on some clothes. She just got back from Europe and brought you something."

"No." I rejected it instantly.

"She didn't buy anything for me. I know exactly how this works. She bought new designer pieces for herself and wants to dump last season's trash on me."

"What is your problem?" My mom's voice crackled through the phone.

"When you were little, you used to love it when Mrs. Sterling gave you things."

"That was then."

Honestly, I didn't even know why I was suddenly so repulsed by their "charity."

"Stop talking back and get your ass up here!" she barked.

"" I hung up the phone, stepped into the private elevator, and hit the button for the main floor.

When I stepped into the sprawling living room, Mrs. Sterling was standing there.

She was draped in a custom navy silk dress, her hair pinned up flawlessly.

She radiated the kind of blinding, effortless oldmoney elegance that you couldn't fake.

I turned to look at my mom.

They were both in their late forties.

But my mom looked exhaustedheavy, swallowed up by a stained apron, her face deeply lined with years of hard labor.

A heavy, silent sigh clawed at my chest.

Chapter 3

"Juniper, come here. Try this on." Mrs. Sterling smiled, waving me over.

As I walked past my mom, she shot me a warning glare, her lips mouthing the words: Behave.

I pasted on a fake smile and started my performance.

"Thank you, Mrs. Sterling." I held up the hopelessly outofseason, overly mature dress and lied through my teeth. "It's beautiful."

"If you like it, it's yours."

"Oh, and take this face cream. It made me break out. And this lipstick too. The shade washes me out, and I've only used it once or twice"

Mrs. Sterling beamed with the distinct joy of someone successfully decluttering their trash.

I gripped the heavy shopping bag, turning to leave

"Hideous."

A voice floated down from the second floor. Easton.

My stomach plummeted.

If there was one scenario I hated most in this world, it was our families standing in the same room.

The air itself seemed to thicken with the crushing weight of the class divide, pressing me firmly into the dirt beneath his designer shoes.

"Shouldn't you be studying your vocabulary flashcards?" He descended the spiraled mahogany staircase, his dark eyes locked on me.

"Yes, go study," Mrs. Sterling cut in, her tone instantly dismissive.

"I invited the State Senator's wife for dinner. They just pulled up to the gate, so make yourself scarce. We wouldn't want you bumping into them. And Easton, fix your collar. You're greeting them looking like that? She's bringing her daughter."

My chest tightened.

"Going." I jabbed the button for the basement elevator.

The doors slid shut, and a sour, acidic burn clawed up my throat.

The absolute adoration in Mrs. Sterling's eyes when she mentioned the Senator's daughter made my heart physically ache.

But the worst part? I was literally descending into their basement.

What right did I have to be jealous?

I pulled out my phone and dialed Easton's number.

It rang twice before he sent me straight to voicemail.

I stared at the screen, my grip tightening until my knuckles turned white. I fired off a text.

[Do you like her?]

[ ]

That was his entire reply.

I bombarded him with a dozen more frantic texts.

He finally shot back one sentence:

[Stop acting crazy. I'm busy.]

Busy entertaining the Senator's daughter, obviously.

I glared at my flashcards.

I grabbed the stack, ripped them straight down the middle, tossed them into the trash, and bolted to my best friend's dorm.

"Tessa, I'm done with Easton."

"Wow, never heard that one before," Tessa deadpanned.

"His dad is a real estate mogul, and my dad is his chauffeur. The gap is astronomical. I'm running a marathon until my lungs bleed, and his kind of people are already lounging at the finish line."

Tessa reached out and patted my head. "His parents are his parents. That doesn't dictate his love life."

"If a guy is truly obsessed with you, it doesn't matter if his dad is the President of the United States. He'd still crawl through broken glass for you."

"Fair point." I paused. "Except he doesn't like me."

"He definitely likes you. Trust me."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because Scorpios and Cancers are soulmates." Tessa pulled out a thick astrology book and flipped through the pages with total conviction.

A brief, stupid spark of hope ignited in my chest.

Then logic kicked in.

"Tessa, I'm an Aries. You got my sign wrong."

Tessa blinked. "Don't panic, let me check." She frantically flipped the pages.

I leaned over and read the bold print.

Scorpio and Aries Compatibility: 0%.

Zero. Perfect.

I yanked the blanket over my head and squeezed my eyes shut.

My phone buzzed.

"Answer it! It's Easton!" Tessa looked more hyped than I did.

I let it ring twice before swiping answer.

"Come out."

"Why?"

"Your mom said you skipped dinner."

"Yeah. And?" He was always freezing cold to me, so I wasn't about to give him a warm reception.

"I ordered takeout" He hesitated, the line crackling with uncharacteristic awkwardness.

"Let me guess. You ordered too much and need someone to finish the scraps?" My blood spiked, the frustration finally boiling over.

"Your entire family is a real piece of work. You dump your outofseason clothes on me, you pawn off your used makeup on me, and now you want to feed me your leftovers? What the hell do I look like to you? The Sterling family's personal dumpster?"

Chapter 4

Tessa stared at me, her eyes wide with panic.

A heavy silence stretched over the line.

He had clearly run out of things to say.

Finally, his voice came through, flat and clipped. "The takeout is by the elevator."

He paused. "If you don't want it, throw it out. Is the concept of saying 'no' too complex for you?"

"Obviously. I don't have a PhD in being toxic like you do!" I snapped.

He had zero problem rejecting me brutally, but then he'd turn around and act like he cared.

If he just wanted to be friends, why would I ever want a friend like him?

Assuming he had hung up, I threw myself onto Tessa's bed, burying my face in a pillow.

"I swear to God, Tessa, I'm going out tomorrow and hooking up with a hundred different guys!"

"A hundred? You're serious?"

"Dead serious!"

"Hell yeah, Juniper! I fully support this."

We immediately started drafting a hit list of all the hot, available guys on campus.

Staring at that notebook page full of names actually made the suffocating weight in my chest lighten a bit.

Suddenly, a dark, chilling voice drifted from my phone screen.

"Juniper."

I froze. Tessa froze.

He hadn't hung up.

I snatched the phone, my heart hammering against my ribs. "What?" I barked, trying to mask my panic.

"You're not at the estate?" His voice had dropped an octave.

"Stay out of my life, Easton."

Silence stretched again.

When he finally spoke, his tone was dangerously low. "You really think guys at a club are looking for anything real?"

He had heard the entire plan.

"Mind your own business," I shot back, digging my nails into my palm.

"Fine I won't get involved," he said, sounding equally frustrated and furious. "Don't come crying to me when it blows up in your face."

The line went dead.

My chest tightened painfully.

The delusional part of my brain had desperately wanted him to say, Who else is going to watch out for you if I don't?

But no. I got nothing.

Just that same, impenetrable wall of ice.

Monday morning, Dad drove us to campus.

Easton sat in the luxurious back seat of the Maybach, while I rode shotgun.

Neither of us spoke a single word the entire ride.

Dad didn't pry.

He just kept reminding me to eat more dining hall food and stop worrying about counting calories.

When we pulled up to the campus gates, Easton unbuckled his seatbelt, his hand resting on the door handle.

"You're not getting out?" Dad asked me.

"No, I'm heading downtown to the AMC theater," I said with a smile.

In the rearview mirror, I watched Easton's hand freeze on the door handle.

"Oh? What's going on downtown?" Dad chuckled.

"Movie date with a classmate."

Easton's jaw tightened so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.

"Finals are in three weeks. Have you even finished your study guides?"

I ground my teeth.

"You have exams coming up?" Dad asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, have fun at the movie, but make sure you hit the books tonight," Dad said easily.

He had always been wildly laidback about my grades.

From the backseat, Easton's face looked like a brewing thunderstorm. "Guy or girl?" he demanded, his voice a low, territorial growl.

Dad blinked, clearly confused by the interrogation.

I don't know what reckless impulse possessed me, but I looked straight into the rearview mirror, meeting those hostile dark eyes.

"Guy."

The oxygen instantly vanished from the car.

"You're not going," Easton ordered.

"Be back before ten," Dad said at the exact same time.

Dad let out a goodnatured laugh.

"Don't mind her, Easton. It's perfectly normal for a girl her age to go on dates."

Easton didn't even blink.

His eyes remained locked on the back of my head.

"She has zero street smarts. What do you think some random guy wants from her? It's painfully obvious. Aren't you worried, Mr. Lee?"

My stomach dropped.

I thought maybe he was a little jealous.

Even a fraction of jealousy would mean he cared.

But no.

His first instinct was to strip away my worth, right in front of my own father.

Dad's knuckles turned white on the steering wheel.

The embarrassment radiating off him was suffocating.

He spent his life navigating wealthy egos, but even he couldn't smooth this over.

"Ah well, our Juniper is actually quite a catch"

"Mr. Lee, take me to the west side athletic center," Easton cut him off, his voice devoid of emotion.

He leaned back against the leather seat, completely shutting me out.

I stared at the dashboard.

Downtown and the west side were in completely opposite directions.

And Dad was the chauffeur. He didn't have a choice.

Dad let out a heavy sigh, the sound of a man swallowing his pride.

"Juniper, get out here. Call an Uber for the rest of the way. Be a good girl."

"Dad!"

Chapter 5

I wanted to scream.

Easton literally had his hand on the damn door handle.

The athletic center? He just wanted to screw me over.

"I'm Venmoing you some cash for an Uber," Dad said gently.

"Get yourself something good to eat, kiddo. Don't let the guy pay for everything."

He put the Maybach in drive and pulled away from the curb.

I stood frozen on the sidewalk, my nails digging so hard into my palms they drew blood.

Later that night, after the movie, my roommate Morgan and I were inhaling loaded fries at a diner near campus when my mom called.

"Hey, Mom," I answered, chewing a fry.

"Juniper Lee, what the hell did you do?!"

When she used my full name, a cold sweat broke out across my neck.

My brain frantically scanned through every possible mistake, coming up blank.

"What's wrong?"

"What kind of trash are you ordering online? Why does the package have Easton's name on it? Mrs. Sterling saw it. It's sitting in his room right now!"

My Victoria's Secret package? The lace bra?

Oh, God.

All the blood drained from my face.

An icy prickle erupted across my arms.

"I warned you!" she hissed through the speaker.

"I told you to stop acting like a groupie around that boy! Now Mrs. Sterling knows exactly what you're scheming. Do you think she's going to let us keep our jobs after this?"

I took a jagged breath, gripping the edge of the diner table.

"Mom, just because we work for them doesn't mean I lose my right to have feelings for someone."

"Yes, it does!" she snapped.

"Whatever ridiculous stunt you're pulling, you better figure out how to explain yourself."

Click.

The line went dead.

I sat there, paralyzed.

Morgan saw the look on my face and set down her drink.

"What happened?"

"Nothing." I forced a stiff, plastic smile.

"Juniper, did you fight with Easton again? Did that toxic jerk reject you again?"

Morgan slid into my booth and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "Who cares. It's not a big deal. Finish your food. To hell with stupid men, you've got us."

Another girl from our floor chimed in, "Exactly! We're hitting the frat parties tomorrow. We'll find you a real guy. Easton isn't the center of the universe."

"He's really not," I lied, knocking back a sip of cheap draft beer.

It burned my throat, making my eyes water.

Right on cue, my screen lit up again.

Mrs. Sterling.

My stomach hit the floor. I knew exactly why she was calling.

"Hello?"

"Juniper, sweetheart." Her tone was perfectly smooth, polished to a highsociety gloss.

It sounded like a casual checkin. Except she had never, not once, called my personal cell.

"Yes?"

"Are you on campus right now?" she asked softly.

"I just happened to be driving by. I brought some pastries from that French bakery for Easton, and I thought I'd drop some off for you, too."

I swallowed past the massive lump in my throat.

"Thank you, Mrs. Sterling. But I'm not on campus. I'm downtown."

"That's fine. Just share your location with me."

"Okay."

I tapped the screen, my fingers trembling.

The fact that she was driving out of her way to track me down physically this was bad. Way worse than I thought.

By the time Mrs. Sterling arrived, I was already standing on the curb, waiting like a criminal facing the executioner.

Morgan and the others were a few yards away, waiting for their Uber.

A sleek black Mercedes GWagon pulled up directly in front of me.

The girls immediately swarmed closer.

"Is that your family's ride?"

"Oh my god, is that your mom inside? She's gorgeous."

"Seriously, she looks so elegant."

I stood there, my fists clenched tight against my sides. Humiliation crawled up my neck.

"That's not my mom," I muttered, staring at the concrete.

I took a breath. "That's Easton's mom."

The girls gasped in unison.

"Holy shit, you're meeting his parents already?!"

"Okay, now I know why Easton is so ridiculously hot."

"You guys are official? Oh my god, congrats, Juniper!"

"Congrats! You totally owe us drinks to celebrate!"

While my heart was pounding a frantic, terrified rhythm against my ribs, they were throwing me a damn parade.

The irony was suffocating.

"Hi, Mrs. Sterling!"

"You look beautiful, Mrs. Sterling!"

The girls leaned toward the tinted window, grinning politely.

The glass slid down.

Mrs. Sterling wore her signature, perfectly manicured smilethe one that never quite reached her eyes.

"Hello, girls." Her voice was pure velvet.

"You must be Juniper's friends. She's told me so much about how sweet you all are. Be safe heading back to the dorms. Do you need me to order a Black Car for you?"

Chapter 6

She was even more sickeningly sweet than I expected. And a much better liar.

"We're good, Mrs. Sterling!"

"You're so sweet!"

My roommates giggled, completely oblivious to the tension radiating off me.

I stood there, paralyzed, and then I saw him.

The driver's side window of the GWagon rolled down.

"Dad." I froze.

I should have known. He was their chauffeur.

Wherever they wanted to go, whenever they snapped their fingers, he had to be behind the wheel.

But did he know about the lingerie package?

Panic clawed at my throat.

Had my stupid obsession humiliated him in front of his bosses?

A sharp ache bloomed in my chest.

"Hey, kiddo," Dad said. His expression looked completely normal.

"Hop in, Juniper. Sit back here with me."

Mrs. Sterling pushed the heavy passenger door open, patting the plush leather seat.

"See ya, Juniper!"

"Bye, Mrs. Sterling!"

The girls waved and walked off, laughing.

I climbed in, my limbs stiff. Sitting next to her felt like sitting on a bed of nails.

True to her word, she handed me a box of imported macarons and spent the drive making flawless, empty small talk.

As we pulled onto campus, she suddenly pivoted.

"Juniper, I heard there's a lovely new caf at the top of the hill near the observatory. Let me buy you a cup of coffee."

"Oh?" I twisted my fingers into a tight knot in my lap. "Okay."

Dad glanced at us through the rearview mirror, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.

That was when it hit me. He had no idea what was going on.

He was just a pawn she had dragged along for the ride.

"Lee, you can just wait for us at the bottom of the hill. Thanks."

Lee.

Dropping his title instantly iced over the dynamic, a brutal reminder of the food chain.

Usually, in front of me, she'd call him "Mr. Lee" or "Juniper's dad."

Dad went rigid in the front seat. "Yes, ma'am."

It was my first time at the hilltop caf.

It was notoriously overpriced, strictly filtering out the average college student.

With twentydollar lattes, the aesthetic was undeniably flawless.

"Juniper, I heard you're still struggling to get your GPA up?"

"Yeah."

She took a delicate sip of her espresso.

"Your academics have always been a bit weak. If you want to apply to grad schools in Europe, the requirements are incredibly strict."

I stared at my expensive latte, bracing myself for the real punchline.

"Take Easton, for example. He maxed out his GMAT and language exams last semester."

"Oh. That's great." I forced a weak smile. "I'm not really cut out for that."

"Easton has always been fiercely goaloriented."

She smiled at me, her gaze predatory behind the warmth.

"I mentioned to him recently that the State Senator's daughter was planning to study in London. He didn't say a word to me, but he immediately started prepping his applications. He even asked me to look into which specific programs she was applying to"

My blood turned to ice.

So that was it.

She took this massive detour just to spell it out for me: Easton was leaving, he was chasing the Senator's daughter, and I wasn't even a blip on his radar.

"That's nice." I stared hard at the table, holding my breath so the tears burning my eyes wouldn't fall.

"You and Easton grew up together, and you've always been close. But you're both adults now. It's time to start maintaining some appropriate boundaries. We wouldn't want people whispering about a lack of etiquette or a lack of class."

A phantom slap across the face. She had finally delivered the kill shot.

"I understand." I ducked my head lower, staring at my lap.

"Easton is exactly like his father. He has a very specific taste he likes girls who are brilliant and flawless. What can I say? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Brilliant and flawless.

She was one syllable away from flatout calling me a stupid, ugly peasant who didn't belong in his orbit.

Even though I already knew my place at the bottom of the food chain, the sheer humiliation still suffocated me.

At that exact moment, I realized just how pathetic and delusional my little "relentless pursuit" truly was.

Old money knew exactly how to slit your throat without spilling a single drop of blood on their designer clothes.

"Okay. I get it," I whispered.

I forced myself to look up, and my breath caught.

Dad was standing right in front of our table.

He was holding a dripping black umbrella, his knuckles white around the handle.

He just looked at me.

Chapter 7

I stared at my dad's hunched back.

In that exact moment, the class divide wasn't just an abstract concept; it was a physical, impenetrable concrete wall, violently pinning us both into the mud.

His eyes were completely hollowed out, carrying a silent, agonizing weight.

"Dad." I scraped my chair back and stood up. A sharp, acidic sting flooded my throat.

"It's it's raining outside."

He instantly plastered on a blank, professional mask, holding out a black umbrella to me, and another to Mrs. Sterling.

"Is it? Goodness, I need to head back. My husband will be home soon. Let's go."

Mrs. Sterling rose gracefully from her seat.

Her manicured smile never wavered as she glided toward the exit.

"Yes, ma'am." My dad followed a step behind her.

Right before he pushed through the glass doors, he paused, his shoulders stiffening as he glanced back at me.

"Head back to the dorms soon. Text me when you get in."

"I will."

After they left, I stood perfectly still for a few seconds.

My hands were shaking, but I still pulled out my phone and dialed Easton's number.

I just needed to tell him what happened today.

At the very least, I needed to ask him what the hell went wrong.

I explicitly told him to leave that damn package alone. It wasn't even for him.

How did Mrs. Sterling find out?

Once again, he sent me straight to voicemail.

A second later, a text popped up: [Don't call me until your GPA is above a 3.5. Did you forget?]

The oxygen evaporated from my lungs. My brain flatlined.

Then, a dark, twisted laugh bubbled up my throat.

I was laughing at myself. What an absolute, pathetic joke.

I locked my screen and shoved the phone into my pocket, walking blindly toward the exit like a hollowedout shell.

The second I reached the doors, a group of towering guys barreled inside.

I was entirely zoned out.

I didn't even flinch before a massive iced coffee slammed directly into my chest, drenching my shirt.

"Watch where the fuck you're going"

The guy opposite me started to snap, but the words suddenly caught in his throat.

"Sorry" I jerked my head up in a panic, and slammed straight into a pair of wildly predatory, pitchblack eyes.

A group of massive, heavily muscled guys stood blocking the exit.

They were crammed into tight black athletic cutoffs, radiating an aggressive, suffocating wave of postworkout testosterone.

"The whole damn coffee is gone," someone muttered.

"I'm so sorry." I scrambled backward, my hands shaking as I tore through my tote bag, desperately trying to find a napkin.

But my headphone wires were tangled in a death grip around everything.

As I yanked the tissues free, my lipstick, compact mirror, and pens spilled out of my bag, clattering across the polished hardwood floor.

Panic seized my lungs.

I dropped to my knees to scoop up my life, but as I jerked back up, my shoulder slammed directly into the bottom of a barista's tray.

The remaining hot latte tipped over, spilling directly over my head.

"Watch it, idiot."

A massive, heavily calloused hand clamped around my wrist like a vice.

A violent surge of raw strength yanked me forward, slamming my face directly into an incredibly hard, blisteringhot chest.

I froze. I was the absolute definition of a trainwreck.

My dress was soaked in coffee, my hair was plastered to my forehead, and my pathetic belongings were strewn across the floor like a crime scene.

A crushing, physical wave of defeat hit me straight in the ribs.

My love life was a toxic wasteland, my grades were in the gutter, and I couldn't even walk through a damn door without causing a natural disaster.

I was utterly worthless.

"I'm fine," I croaked.

The second the words left my mouth, my voice cracked, shattering into a pathetic sob.

"It doesn't burn?" the deep voice above me demanded.

"It hurts."

The skin on my face felt like it had been held over an open flame.

The dam finally broke.

Hot, humiliating tears spilled over my eyelashes, out of my control.

The crushing weight of the entire suffocating day suddenly hit me all at once.

I dug my nails into my palms, violently trying to force the air back into my lungs, desperately trying to shut the tears down. But it was entirely useless.

The entire caf instantly flatlined.

The massive guys around us just stood there, paralyzed.

"Whoa hey"

The guy gripping my wrist tilted his head down, taking in my wrecked, tearstreaked face.

His dark eyes widened in genuine shock.

He abruptly dropped my hand, stepping back.

He dragged a hand through his damp hair, looking completely thrown off balance.

"Why the fuck are you yelling at her?"

He aggressively pointed a finger at the guy holding the empty coffee tray, barking at him.

The guy blinked, looking completely lost. "Axel, I I didn't even yell."

He rubbed the back of his neck defensively.

"Then why are you just standing there? Grab some damn napkins!" Axel let out a heavy, frustrated exhale.

"Move, move, get the napkins!"

The guys practically shoved each other out of the way, sprinting toward the barista counter.

Once they scrambled off, Axel just stood there, his dark gaze locked onto my face.

He studied me for a tense second before he suddenly bent at the waist, leaning down until he was dead level with my eyes.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked, dropping his voice into a low, gravelly register.

He looked insanely intimidating. My chest hitched in pure panic.

If I kept crying, I legitimately thought he might snap.

If my lungs weren't violently spasming, I would have swallowed the tears whole.

"My hand" I whispered, terrified to even breathe properly.

His eyes flared. He completely froze.

Then, his dark gaze slowly tracked downward, landing directly on my wristwhere a stark, angry red handprint was already bruising the skin from where he had just gripped me.

The silence turned painfully thick.

"Got 'em! Here, let's get you cleaned up."

His friends sprinted back, shoving a massive stack of brown napkins at me.

"You're clumsy as hell. Back off."

Axel snatched the napkins right out of their hands, shooting them a lethal glare.

"Axel, come on" they grumbled, silently protesting.

Chapter 8

He ignored them.

His long fingers pinched a brown napkin, his touch rough but surprisingly restrained as he slowly wiped the coffee off my cheek.

He was standing too close.

The sharp, intoxicating scent of rain and dark tobacco clung to his skin, instantly hijacking my lungs.

"I can do it myself," I muttered, snatching the napkins from his hand and practically fleeing to the restroom.

I spent a long time scrubbing the sticky mess off my face in front of the mirror.

As I was splashing cold water on my cheeks, my phone buzzed on the porcelain sink.

I picked it up. Easton.

[Did my mom come find you?]

I stared at the glaring screen, my vision blurring completely.

I wasn't even sure if it was heartbreak or just pure, exhausted defeat.

But right then, the toxic, suffocating well of hope I had been violently clinging to finally, permanently ran dry.

I clicked the screen off. I didn't reply.

When I pushed back out into the caf, I saw the group of guys sprawling across a large corner booth by the floortoceiling windows.

I hesitated for a long second, wiping the remaining moisture from my eyes, before forcing myself to walk over.

The closer I got, the more intimidated I felt.

They had stripped down to their black athletic cutoffs, revealing heavily tattooed, deeply tanned arms.

They were still dripping wet from the storm outside, leaving puddles of water under their custom Nikes.

The guy sitting dead center had a lethal buzzcut.

When he turned his head, a harsh slit through his left eyebrow caught the light.

My stomach did a nervous flip.

He is definitely not someone to mess with.

Remembering how aggressively he had barked at his friend earlier, my pulse spiked.

The guys were wildly animated, aggressively debating some game.

The guy with the split brow barely engaged, just silently watching the rain.

I stopped at the edge of their table, forcing myself to speak up.

"I'm really sorry about earlier. How much was your coffee? I'll Venmo you."

""

""

"No, no, no! You're completely fine!"

The guy who had been holding the tray frantically waved his hands.

"Seriously, we weren't trying to yell at you," another guy chimed in, leaning forward.

"Yeah, please stop crying. Your eyes are getting all swollen."

Oh my god.

I wanted to dissolve into the floorboards.

"Let me just grab one of your snapchats or something so I can send the money. I need to get back to my dorm," I said, pulling out my phone.

"Ah well" The guys all simultaneously looked at the guy with the split brow.

"If she wants to add someone, add her. Why the hell are you looking at me?"

He said in a low, raspy drawl, shooting me a brief, unreadable glance before looking away.

"Add add Axel," the guy with the tray stammered.

"Yeah! Add Axel."

Axel?

I held my phone out awkwardly, looking at him.

He slowly dragged his dark eyes up to mine.

He stared at me for a long, heavy moment before finally grabbing his phone off the table and pulling up his QR code.

"The storm outside is brutal," he stated flatly.

All the guys instantly focused on me.

"Yeah, it's a hurricane out there. You can't walk back in this."

"Exactly. Sit down. Let me go grab you a hot matcha. Wait until it dies down."

One of the guys whipped out his phone and rapidly tapped out a mobile order.

"No, really, you don't have to!" I stood frozen next to their table, painfully awkward.

"Already ordered it."

"Don't panic. We'll walk you back later. If you go out looking like that, the wind is literally going to sweep you away."

Sweep me away?

I glanced out the massive windows.

The rain was violently lashing against the glass, and the oak trees lining the path looked like they were going to snap in half.

But I was too stubborn to believe it.

I popped open the massive black umbrella my dad gave me and marched out the double doors.

Two minutes later, the violent wind completely inverted the umbrella, snapping the metal frame in half.

I sprinted back inside, utterly soaked.

Okay, yeah, it's bad.

"Told you to wait it out," one of the guys smirked.

"It's really coming down" I muttered, dripping water onto the floorboards, desperately avoiding eye contact.

"Where's that drink?" Axel demanded, his voice slicing through the noise. "Go check the counter."

"Ah on it!" The guy who ordered scrambled up and sprinted to the barista.

"Here, grab a seat"

Another guy pointed directly at the empty spot squeezed right next to Axel in the Ushaped booth.

"No, I really couldn't." I waved my hands, physically backing up.

Axel didn't say a single word.

He just stared out the window, looking detached from the situation.

"Got it!"

The guy sprinted back with superhuman speed, slamming the hot matcha latte down directly in front of the empty seat next to Axel.

He then immediately squeezed himself into the opposite side of the booth, crushing his two friends against the window.

"Sit."

Chapter 9

"Don't be scared, Axel doesn't bite," the guy next to him teased.

Axel shot him a lethal glare. The guy immediately ducked his head, silently sipping his coffee.

I hesitated for a second before finally sliding into the booth.

I figured I'd wait a few minutes for the storm to die down.

Plus, I still needed to Venmo them.

Once I sat down, I quietly listened to them talk.

It wasn't nearly as awkward as I thought it would be.

Axel barely spoke, but the other three were obnoxiously loud, bouncing off each other without taking a breath.

Listening to their banter, I realized they were D1 track athletesspecifically sprinters.

They had just finished a brutal training session in the rain and ducked into the caf to wait out the storm.

Being a studentathlete sounded like actual torture.

I didn't want to interrupt their conversation, so I just kept my eyes glued to my phone.

[Are you back at the dorm yet?]

It was my dad.

[Yeah.]

I lied. I didn't want him to worry.

A typing bubble popped up under his name. It stayed there for a painfully long time.

My chest tightened.

I braced myself for a massive lecture about knowing my place, but instead, his next text read:

[If your allowance isn't enough, just tell me. Don't be afraid of anything. Dad's got you.]

Staring at those last three words, a fresh wave of heat pricked behind my eyes.

I couldn't even imagine how many times he had typed and deleted his thoughts, ultimately choosing to avoid the humiliating incident entirely just to make sure I felt safe.

[Okay.] I typed back.

"Still hurting?" a low voice suddenly rumbled right next to my ear.

I flinched, rapidly blinking away the moisture as I snapped my head up. Axel was watching me.

"No," I quickly defended.

He didn't press the issue.

"By the way, how much was the total earlier?" I asked.

"No idea."

He leaned back heavily against the leather booth, looking entirely unbothered. "Put it on my card."

"Then" I quickly did the mental math for four overpriced drinks. "I'll send you a hundred bucks."

He didn't respond.

I opened Venmo and sent the money directly to the account he had showed me.

I stared at his username. It was just a single letter and a dash: "A". Obviously stood for Axel.

My OCD flared, desperately wanting to change his contact name to something normal.

But then logic kicked in.

It was a onetime transaction.

We were never going to speak again, so what was the point?

About ten minutes later, the rain finally let up.

I walked up to the counter, bought a cheap umbrella from the barista, and got ready to leave.

"You worried about campus security?" Axel suddenly asked from the booth.

I checked the time. 11:00 PM. A heavy sigh escaped my lips.

The RA on duty tonight was notoriously strict about the curfew.

"I'll be fine." I forced a smile and adjusted my bag.

"We'll walk you back," the guy sitting across from Axel offered.

"Yeah, it's late. The path down the hill is totally dark."

I I felt so incredibly awkward. I literally didn't know these guys.

I opened my mouth to decline

"Let's go." Axel snatched his phone off the table and stood up.

Well, then.

I awkwardly bit my lip and followed them out of the caf.

The trail back down to the dorms was lined with streetlamps, but the steep stone stairs and sharp switchbacks were undeniably creepy at this hour.

I was secretly relieved I wasn't doing this alone.

The three guys walked a few paces ahead of me, while Axel fell in step right behind me, lazily sparking a cigarette to take up the rear.

Chapter 10

Back in my dorm, I scrubbed myself in the shower, crawled under my duvet, and unlocked my phone.

My thumb hovered over Easton's contact icon. I didn't hesitate.

I swiped left on our entire text thread and hit delete.

I opened Instagram, Snapchat, and Venmo, systematically blocking his accounts and scrubbing my digital footprint clean.

I selected every photo, every saved voice memo, and dumped them straight into the trash.

I lay flat on my mattress, staring at the ceiling.

There was no suffocating despair. I just breathed out.

It took hours for my exhausted brain to finally shut down.

When I did sleep, I was dragged straight back into a vividly annoying high school memory.

Easton was the golden boy of the elite AP track, while I was buried in the remedial classes at the absolute bottom of the academic food chain.

He had this infuriating habit of skipping breakfast to get to campus early.

Naturally, Mrs. Sterling assigned me the humiliating daily task of handdelivering his artisan pastries.

I practically sprinted across campus every single morning.

"Tired?" he asked one morning, his dark eyes locking onto me as I shoved a paper bag into his chest.

"What do you think?" I glared at him, fighting the urge to punch him.

"Feeling wronged? Then figure out a way to secure a recommendation letter and climb into my elite social circle, and you wouldn't have to run my errands every day like a damn maid."

His tone was chillingly calm but laced with highhanded arrogance.

I stared at him for exactly three seconds. "Fair point."

From that day on, I actually tried.

I aggressively highlighted my textbooks and stayed up late doing homework.

That motivation lasted exactly four days before I crashed.

"I've decided that destroying my brain cells is way worse than being your personal Uber Eats," I told him the next morning. "I'll just keep bringing you breakfast."

His face instantly darkened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Juniper, are you genuinely an idiot?"

"Excuse me?" My blood spiked.

"Do you plan on serving other people for the rest of your pathetic life?" he snapped, turning on his heel and stalking away.

I just stood there.

Later that evening, he called the basement and ordered me upstairs to take out his trash.

"Wait, aren't these your prep books?"

I stared at a massive stack of premium Moleskine notebooks, every single page packed with meticulously colorcoded notes.

"I don't need them anymore. Throw them out." He didn't even look up from his laptop.

I flipped through the pages.

These were literal cheat codes for every core subject.

He was just tossing them?

Typical academic weapon behavioracing the material and treating the study guides like garbage.

I obviously didn't throw them away. I wasn't that stupid.

That night, I smuggled the notebooks back to my room and cracked them open.

It was an absolute goldmine.

His problemsolving methods were entirely unorthodox, breaking down incredibly complex formulas into stupidly simple steps.

It was exactly the kind of logic my brain could actually process.

For the next two months, I locked myself in my room, secretly grinding through his notes.

Every time I saw him around the estate, he remained perfectly freezing and distant.

Keep acting arrogant, I muttered to myself. Wait until I crack your stupid elite circle.

A few weeks later, he "threw out" a stack of perfectscore essay templates and SAT vocabulary cheat sheets.

It suddenly hit me. The guy was insane.

His brain had probably fried from overstudying. Why else would he throw this stuff away?

Regardless, I hoarded the essays and memorized every single one.

Chapter 11

A month later, my friends and I were killing time downtown when we bumped into him walking out of Barnes & Noble.

He stopped, giving me this long, heavily judgmental look.

"Juniper, you're constantly hanging out with the absolute burnouts of our grade. Is this really the peak of your ambition?"

My jaw dropped.

"Easton, they're my friends. You're completely out of line," I shot back, my blood instantly spiking.

"Do you even know how to speak to people with basic human decency? Not everyone is a miserable, antisocial freak like you."

He just stood there, letting my outburst wash over him without batting an eye. "I don't need friends like that," he stated flatly.

"You! Get off your high horse!" I scoffed. "Don't act like you're God's gift to the world just because you max out your SATs."

"Talk to me when you actually make it to the AP floor," he threw over his shoulder, walking away without a second glance.

That level of sheer arrogance lit a fire under me. Spite is a hell of a motivator.

I started studying like my life depended on it.

But no matter how hard I grinded, my foreign language grades were absolute garbage.

Still, when midterms rolled around, I somehow became the dark horse of the junior class, officially testing into the advanced prep track.

The day the class rankings were posted, I played it completely cool when the teachers and classmates congratulated me.

Internally, though, I was absolutely buzzing.

It was the first time I actually tasted the high of academic success.

Honestly, it even made looking at Eastons stupidly perfect face a little more bearable.

His stolen cheat sheets were the only reason I survived, so I internally gave him a pass for being a toxic prick.

That night, I practically sprinted back to the estate, clutching my glowing report card.

I genuinely thought I was finally going to get a sliver of validation from my mom.

Instead, it triggered a massive blowout.

"I told you to keep your head down and study, not cheat your way through exams."

My jaw physically hit the floor.

"I earned every single point on that paper," I argued, stunned.

"When have you ever scored this high? Jumping twenty spots, I can buy. Jumping two hundred ranks? Do you think I'm completely stupid?"

She absolutely tore me apart.

The injustice of it hit me like a physical blow to the chest.

I locked myself in my tiny basement bedroom, burying my face in my pillow as violent sobs tore from my throat.

My nails dug into the mattress until my fingers ached.

Right in the middle of my breakdown, my phone buzzed.

It was Easton, demanding I run out and buy him an iced matcha latte.

[Buy it yourself!]

I texted back. I absolutely didn't have the energy for his entitled bullshit.

[Get it for me, and I'll let you borrow my iPad Pro for the semester.]

[Like I care.]

[You also won't have to deliver my breakfast anymore.]

I stared at the screen. What the hell?

Did he actually view me as his permanent personal maid?

Did he just expect this level of servitude?

[Easton, I'm never bringing you breakfast again anyway.]

[Fine. Two VIP passes to Six Flags Hurricane Harbor. You want them or not?]

Damn it.

I had been dying to go to that water park all summer.

Having absolutely zero backbone, I dragged myself out of bed, wiped my face, and went out to buy his stupid latte.

I found him sitting on the patio furniture in the estate gardens.

He took the iced cup from my hand, his dark eyes studying my swollen face. "Your test scores were solid this time."

I let out a bitter scoff. Just thinking about it made my chest tighten all over again.

"Yeah, well, my mom thinks I cheated."

"I believe you." His voice was uncharacteristically firm.

"Who asked for your validation?" I snapped defensively.

He paused, his fingers tracing the condensation on the plastic cup.

After a long beat, he looked back up.

"Juniper. If you manage to get accepted into a decent State University, I'll cover your VIP water park passes every single summer."

"State University?" I gaped at him. He might as well have asked me to walk on water.

"Never mind. Knowing your brain capacity, you won't get in anyway. Saves me the cash."

"Easton, are you physically incapable of going five minutes without insulting me?" I genuinely wanted to punch him in the throat.

"If I don't give you a reality check, you're just going to stay" He cut himself off, swallowing the rest of the sentence.

I spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, playing his last words on a loop in my head.

"Juniper, if people don't believe you the first time, you prove it a second time. Then a third. You keep proving it until it becomes an undeniable fact, and eventually, no one will ever dare to look down on you again."

I was young back then, naive, and floating through life without a single ambition, but that sentence branded itself into my brain.

It stayed with me for years.

I blinked my eyes open, pulled back to the present.

The side of my face was cold.

I reached up and realized my pillowcase was soaked through with tears.

I had actually listened to him.

For years, I grinded myself down to the bone trying to prove my worth, and I did manage to scrape my way into the state university.

But because my overall GPA was still dragging, I was forced into a major I was completely incapable of handling: Mathematics.

Back in high school, my only saving graces were AP English and Creative Writing.

My analytical essays consistently pulled the highest scores in the entire grade.

I desperately wanted to declare a Lit major.

My mom shut that down instantly.

She insisted that humanities degrees were completely useless and I'd end up unemployed.

When it came time to fill out my college applications, she basically held a gun to my head and forced me to apply for the highly competitive Finance program.

But because the program was overenrolled, my application got automatically bumped down into the general Math department.

It was a suffocating nightmare.

Chapter 12

Now that I had finally made the decision to permanently cut him out, a bizarre, physical weight lifted off my chest. I could actually breathe.

I had spent years sprinting until my lungs bled, desperately trying to close the gap between us, but the class divide was just too massive.

I was never going to catch up.

I dragged myself out of bed, splashed cold water on my face, and grabbed my tote for my morning lecture.

The second Morgan and I pushed through the heavy dorm doors, I saw him. Easton.

My stomach dropped straight to the concrete.

"Oh my god, claiming his territory first thing in the morning," Morgan teased, bumping my shoulder before rushing off toward the quad.

I braced myself. The confrontation was happening way sooner than I anticipated.

"Why did you block me?" he demanded, not bothering with a greeting.

"Did I?" I let out a light, forced laugh, adjusting the strap of my bag. "Must have been a glitch."

"Why didn't you answer my texts?" he pressed, taking a step closer.

"I was asleep." I kept my voice breezy, completely unbothered.

"Juniper." His voice was a sharp warning.

"I have a lecture. I'm going to be late." I flashed him a tight, plastic smile and moved to step around him.

"Since when do you care about being on time?" He shifted his stance, perfectly blocking my path.

"I'm turning over a new leaf."

"What my mother said" He reached out, his hand wrapping around my upper arm. His grip tightened slightly. "Don't listen to her."

"I didn't."

The lie slid effortlessly off my tongue, even as a sharp, phantom pain flared directly behind my ribs at the reminder.

"Just focus on your grades. Push yourself a little harder. Try to be better"

He paused, his jaw working. "Don't worry about my mother