Emilia
Sunlight hit the back of my neck the second I stepped onto campus. Too bright. Too open. My heart beat too fast for a girl just going to class.
Vincent dropped me off earlier..
“One hour,” he said at the gate. “No straying.”
His hand brushed my back—soft, cold, like a warning wrapped in affection.
“Understand?”
I nodded, because I had no choice. If I didn’t show today, the school would mark me as noncompliant. A second strike. One more, and they’d pull my enrollment. No classes. No transcripts.
Vincent made me promise I’d be careful. But the moment he drove off, I didn’t go to class.
I shouldn’t have come. But I did.
Exactly where I told myself I wouldn’t—
The back of the school, behind the east stairwell. The place he told me to meet him in that stupid, two-word text: Come here.
The handle stuck like always. I had to shove it with my shoulder before it gave way, creaking open to that forgotten little supply room.
The light inside buzzed and flickered overhead.
Julian was already there, leaning against the metal shelf with his hands in his pockets, like he belonged anywhere he decided to be.
He looked straight at me.
“There you are,” he said.
I stayed near the door. “What do you want?”
“To ask where the hell you’ve been.” His voice was too calm, too familiar. “You disappeared.”
“You knew why.”
“Did I?” He stepped forward a little. “Or did someone tell you not to talk to me again?”
I crossed my arms. “I’m not being held hostage.”
“You sure?” His eyes narrowed. “You look like a girl who hasn’t made a decision in weeks.”
“I shouldn’t have come.” I turned to leave.
“I know what you’ve got going on, Emilia.”
That stopped me.
He didn’t raise his voice. He just said it—like a fact. Like something he’d seen with his own eyes.
“You don’t know anything,” I snapped, hand already on the doorknob.
“I know control when I see it.”
His voice dipped low, deliberate. “And I know what it means when a girl stops looking people in the eye.”
I looked at him then. Hard. Unflinching.
“You drugged me,” I said quietly. “Don’t talk about control.”
He blinked, just once.
“You want answers,” he said.
His gaze flicked away—just briefly—like the truth lived somewhere on the floor between us.
“I wanted you,” he said finally, voice low and sharp, like it cost him something. “For so long. And you knew it.”
My pulse stuttered.
“I was always there,” he went on, stepping closer. “Waiting. Watching. Picking up the pieces every time you ran back to someone safer. Easier. You looked at me like I was a backup plan. A contingency. The one you called when no one else picked up.”
I opened my mouth, but he wasn’t finished.
“So I took the choice away,” he said. “I made you look at me. I made you feel it.”
My stomach twisted. I ran out, slamming the creaky door, praying that he wouldn’t follow behind.
I hated that I let him speak. Hated that I went.
Vincent’s car was already waiting. I slid into the passenger seat, silent.
He drove without a word for several minutes.
Then, voice low, eyes straight ahead—
“What did Julian have to say?”