Sophie’s POV
I stare at my phone screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard like I'm about to defuse a bomb rather than send a simple text message. The break between classes should be relaxing, but I feel like I'm solving a high-level puzzle.
The cursor blinks mockingly at me, waiting for words I can't seem to form.
We need to talk. Can you meet tonight? Delete. Too ominous. Adrian will think I'm breaking up with him, which would be ironic considering we're not even officially together.
I have something important to tell you. Delete. Sounds like a death announcement.
Hey, remember that time we had unprotected sex? Well, funny story... Delete before I can even finish the thought.
How do you text someone that they're about to become a father? Is there etiquette for this kind of life-altering news? Should I ease him into it with small talk about the weather, or just rip the bandage off and let him deal with the emotional aftermath?
I'm so lost in drafting and deleting messages that I don't hear the shouted warning until someone's arm wraps around my waist, yanking me backward with enough force to make my teeth click together.
A clay pot explodes on the concrete where I'd been standing seconds before, fragments scattering like shrapnel across the courtyard.
"Shit! Sorry!" A guy leans out of a second-story window, looking absolutely mortified as he surveys the destruction below. "It slipped! I was trying to move it and the handle broke!"
My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I can feel it in my throat. For one wild, terrifying moment, I'd thought Lisette had finally escalated from psychological warfare to attempted murder.
The paranoia that's been building since the knife incident makes every unexpected sound feel like a threat.
"Are you insane?" Cassian shouts up at the window, his arm still tight around my waist like he's afraid I might dissolve if he lets go. "You could have killed someone! Do you have any idea what would have happened if that had hit her?"
"I know, I know! I'm so sorry! Is she hurt?" The student looks genuinely distressed, and I realize he's probably just some art student who had an accident with a project.
"I'm fine," I call up, trying to inject calm into my voice despite my racing pulse. "Just startled."
I'm exploring the area, trying to put my thoughts together to find Vaughn standing in the doorway of the literature building, watching the scene unfold with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.
She's perfectly put together as always, tailored blazer, precise makeup, not a hair out of place, but there's something predatory in the way she's observing us. Like she's cataloging this moment for future use.
"I need to go," I murmur to Cassian, but his grip tightens possessively.
"Wait. About earlier—what I said about the baby being a mistake... That came out wrong."
The reminder of his casual cruelty makes my chest tight all over again. "I really don't want to discuss this here."
"Sophie, please." He's still holding onto me, his voice taking on that gentle tone he uses when he's trying to fix things he's broken. "I didn't mean it like that. I was angry, and I said something stupid. The baby isn't a mistake."
But before I can respond, before I can tell him that it doesn't matter what he meant because the damage is already done, Cleo appears like a guardian angel, slightly breathless from running across campus.
"I heard something about flying pottery and potential head trauma."
She announces, inserting herself into our conversation with the kind of perfect timing that suggests she's been monitoring the situation from afar.
"Everyone still have all their limbs? Oh, do you mind if I join this little gathering? Unless you're discussing which BDSM activities add the most thrill to public spaces."
She looks meaningfully at Cassian, and the implication behind her words is crystal clear.
Here we are, standing in the middle of campus with his arm around me, having what looks suspiciously like an intimate conversation while students and faculty walk past.
After everything that's happened with the scandal photos, the last thing I need is more speculation about my romantic entanglements.
Cassian's face flushes bright red as the realization hits him. He drops his hand from my waist so quickly you'd think I was made of fire, suddenly hyperaware that we're creating exactly the kind of public spectacle that had destroyed my reputation in the first place.
A few students have already started pulling out their phones, probably hoping to capture another moment for the campus gossip machine.
"We should talk later," he mumbles, already retreating toward the safety of the building. "When we have privacy."
I shoot Cleo a grateful look as Cassian disappears, leaving us alone in the courtyard with the scattered remains of the clay pot.
She knows exactly how to make people uncomfortable without putting any real effort into it, and her timing couldn't have been better.
"Smooth rescue," I tell her quietly.
"I have my moments."
She glances around at the pottery fragments, then up at the window where the mortified student is still visible.
"Though I have to say, your life has gotten significantly more dramatic since you started sleeping with professors. Flying pottery? Really?"
"It was an accident," I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, I'm not entirely convinced. The paranoia Lisette has planted in my mind makes everything feel potentially sinister.
"If you say so." Cleo doesn't look convinced either. "What were you and Cassian discussing so intensely? You both looked like you were having a very serious moment."
"Nothing important," I lie, pulling out my phone again. "Just... complications."
The blank message screen mocks me once more, cursor still blinking expectantly. But this time, I don't overthink it. I type quickly before I can lose my nerve: I need to see you tonight. It's important.
Adrian's response comes almost immediately, like he was waiting by his phone: Seven. I'll pick you up.
My stomach flips, but not from morning sickness this time. This is pure anxiety, the kind that comes from knowing you're about to change someone's life forever and having no idea how they'll react.
In a few hours, I'll be sitting across from Adrian Lewis, telling him he's going to be a father, and hoping he doesn't run away screaming.
"You okay?" Cleo asks, noting my suddenly pale complexion. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Something like that," I murmur, staring at Adrian's text. "Something exactly like that."
Because in a way, I am about to resurrect a ghost—the specter of commitment and responsibility that Adrian has spent his entire adult life trying to avoid. The question is whether he'll embrace it or destroy us both trying to escape it.
Only a few more hours until I find out which way this story ends.