The mandatory retreat was a farce. A night in the woods with the very people I spent every waking hour trying to outperform was my personal definition of hell. I boarded the bus with a scowl firmly in place, my leather-bound book acting as a shield. But I wasn't reading. I was tracking.
Sadie and Richard.
They were performing for the crowd again. I sat a few rows ahead, leaning my head against the vibrating glass of the window, watching them in the reflection. Every time Richard's hand possessed her shoulder, a jagged, hot coal of jealousy burned in my gut. I didn't have to guess what I was feeling anymore. I knew I wanted her. I knew she was the only person who made the Sinclair name feel like anything other than a death sentence. And yet, I was forced to watch her play house with an amateur.
Then came the Scavenger Hunt.
It was supposed to be a team-building exercise, but for me, it was an exercise in pure, unadulterated envy. I moved through the woods with a clinical efficiency, but my focus was a mile away. Every time I heard her laugh in the distance, my heart did something pathetic, it stuttered.
When the results were announced and Sadie and Richard took the win, the cheers from the other students felt like sandpaper against my nerves. I watched them standing there, the "victorious couple." Richard looked smug, his arm wrapped around her waist as if he'd won a trophy. I caught myself staring at the way she leaned into him, and I felt a surge of pure, cold irritation. It wasn't because she won, it was because she was giving him the version of herself that I had been starving for. I turned away, shrugging off the feeling, but the bile in my throat stayed.
The night of the bonfire, the air was thick with the scent of pine and woodsmoke. I did not join the circle. I stayed in the shadows, a ghost at the edge of the light, stalking the perimeter. I couldn't get enough of her, the way the orange flames cast a flickering, golden glow on her skin made her look like something divine.
Then, the mask cracked.
I saw the moment she realized Richard was gone. I saw the way her expression shifted from feigned joy to a deep, unsettling disturbance. When she vanished into the treeline, calling out for him with a voice that sounded increasingly frantic, I followed. I didn't calculate the risk. I just couldn't let her walk into those woods alone.
I was there when she found them. I stood behind a massive oak, my breath held tight as she witnessed the betrayal. Richard's lips were on Eva's. His hands were on another woman while the girl I would have burnt the world for stood in the dark, shattering.
The silence that followed was deafening. My first instinct was a murderous surge of adrenaline. How could he have her and look at someone like Eva? It was a failure of logic. It was a sin.
I couldn't stand to see her like that, diminished by a man who didn't deserve to breathe her air. I left the scene before she could spot me, heading back toward the trailhead. But as the path darkened, I stopped. She wasn't coming. The woods were too thick, the night too deep. What if she lost her way in her grief?
I waited.
Minutes felt like hours until I heard the sound of crashing brush and ragged, broken gasps. She was running, her vision clearly blurred by the tears brimming in her eyes. She didn't see me standing there until it was too late.
She collided with me, her small frame hitting my chest with the force of a physical blow. I stood firm, an unyielding anchor in her storm. For a heartbeat, the warmth of her against me made my resolve waver. I wanted so badly to pull her into a hug, to crush her against my chest and tell her I would ruin everyone responsible for those tears.
But I held back. I knew the Shark was the last thing she needed. If I showed her the depth of my concern now, I would scare her off. I forced my face to remain a mask of cold, silent gravity, though I knew my eyes were burning with a dark, dangerous heat. A reflection of the violence I wanted to visit upon the one who broke her.
"Leave me alone, Carl," she choked out, her voice raw and broken.
She pushed past me, her shoulders shaking with sobs. I didn't mock her. I didn't remind her of the warnings I'd given her. I simply stood there, watching her stumble away. But I did not let her go alone.
I became a silent shadow in the darkness. I maintained a respectful distance, a dark sentinel ensuring her safe passage back to the lodge. Every sob that escaped her felt like a jagged blade against my own pride. I watched her reach her room, the door clicking shut with a finality that echoed in the clearing, before I finally allowed myself to turn away. My hands were shaking with a rage I couldn't vent.
And on the bus ride back, I couldn't get my eyes off her. She looked wrecked, her eyes hollow, and the sight of it made the air in my lungs feel like ash.
Then came the Victory Gala.
I had spent my life in ballrooms, surrounded by high-society porcelain dolls, but when the doors opened and Sadie stepped in, the air didn't just leave my lungs,it was stolen. She wore a silk midnight dress that didn't just fit her; it worshipped her. The fabric clung to every curve of her physique like a second skin, spilling down her frame in a way that made my pulse hammer against my throat. She was a celestial event in a room full of flickering streetlights, a dark, shimmering star that made everything else fade into a grey blur.
I spent the night tracking her through the crowd, my thoughts a chaotic, predatory mess. I wanted to claim her. I wanted to ruin every man who dared to even breathe the air she moved through.
Then, the moment I had been craving arrived. I didn't just walk to her; I moved toward her with the gravity of a man who had finally found his center.
When I pulled her onto the dance floor, it was a save, a tactical move to keep the vultures at bay, but the second my hand settled on the small of her back, the game changed. The intimacy of our proximity was intoxicating. The silk of her dress was cool, but the heat of her skin beneath it felt like a brand.
I pulled her closer than was strictly necessary for a "save," closing the gap until the scent of her perfume, something crisp and lethal, filled my senses. Her hand rested on my shoulder, her fingers light but steady, and for a heartbeat, the world stopped spinning. I could feel the frantic, uneven thud of her heart against my chest, echoing my own.
Every slide of our feet, every intentional brush of our bodies, was a silent conversation. I looked down into her eyes, and for once, I didn't want to analyze her. I wanted to consume her. Having her in my arms, feeling the way she moved in sync with me, was a moment I knew I would hold dearer than any Sinclair trophy. It wasn't just a dance; it was a surrender. My mask was cracking, and as I spun her across that floor, I realized I didn't care who saw the fragments.
But the library was the final blow.
After the rankings came out, after I had finally lost my top spot to her, I thought the rivalry could end. I thought the Academy Review had proven we were on the same side. When she turned me down, the rejection was a hollow ache. I went cold. I retreated into the Sinclair name because it was the only thing that didn't feel like it was bleeding.
My father's study had been a tomb the night before, but the dining room the next morning was worse.
We sat at opposite ends of a mahogany table that felt miles wide. The silence was heavy, broken only by the clinical clink of silver against porcelain. My father didn't look at me. He was focused on his phone, his face a frozen mask of corporate indifference as he barked out orders for a business trip. His coldness was a constant, but this morning, the metallic taste of the blood he'd drawn from my lip the night before made the atmosphere feel even more suffocating.
I sat with my breakfast half-eaten, the food tasting like ash. I didn't bother to acknowledge him. I simply stared at the empty space between us, realizing that in this house, I was just another asset that had underperformed.
His Personal Assistant appeared from the shadows of the foyer, walking a respectful step behind him. My father stood, scooping up the confidential files he had been reviewing before I joined him. The PA took the heavy briefcase, and a maid followed behind with his luggage, moving with the quiet efficiency of ghosts.
"The academy expects you by noon," my father said, his voice devoid of any fatherly warmth. He didn't wait for an answer. He didn't even look back as he walked out the door.
I waited until the sound of his car faded into the distance before I pushed my plate away. I looked down at my car keys resting on the table. The academy was a prison designed to turn me back into the mindless soldier he wanted. I wasn't going.
"If my father calls for a progress report," I said to the head maid, my voice low and absolute. "You tell him I am in my quarters studying. You do not mention my whereabouts. Do I make myself clear?"
She bowed her head, too terrified of the Sinclair name to argue.
I grabbed the keys, the metal biting into my palm. I needed to see Leo. He was the only part of this family that wasn't rotting from the inside out. As for the rest of the break? I stared out the window at the grey sky. The thought of two weeks without seeing Sadie felt like a sentence. I actually found myself wishing the break would end before it had even begun, just so I could have the small mercy of seeing her in the school hallways again.
I had no idea that a miracle was waiting for me in the VIP wing of the hospital.