Star had a dorm room on campus, but for the past several months, she'd been making the journey home nearly every day. Not for herself—for her mother. Each visit was a silent inventory: checking the bruises, gauging the fear, whispering promises of escape. The matron of the dorms, Mrs. Welma, had long since stopped asking questions.
"Today you have chocolates," Mrs. Welma said as Star entered her small office, a plastic bag of sweets dangling from her fingers. Selling them was how Star survived on campus, stretching every dollar until it screamed. "How's Mrs. Set doing?"
Star smiled, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. "She's fine, Mrs. Welma."
Mrs. Welma nodded, her weathered face softening with unspoken understanding. They completed the transaction quickly—a few packs of chocolate bars exchanged for crumpled bills—and discussed the usual: how long Star would need to be away, whether she'd be back in time for curfew. The matron never pried. She simply signed the logbook and waved her through.
"Thank you, Mrs. Welma," Star said, slipping out of the office and into the midday sun.
She made her way downstairs to her usual spot outside the main building—a concrete ledge that had become her unofficial storefront. The campus was alive with the chaos of lunchtime: students spilling out of lecture halls, laughter echoing across the courtyard, the scent of fried food drifting from the cafeteria. Star settled in, arranging her sweets on a small cloth, and waited.
"I love chocolates."
She looked up to find Adrian already reaching for a bar, his grin wide and familiar. Without a word, he pulled his headphones from around his neck and placed them over her ears. A beat dropped—deep, resonant, melodic—and Star's head began to move in sync with the rhythm before she even registered what was happening.
"Is this the song you told me about?" she asked, her voice louder than intended due to the headphones.
Adrian nodded.
She let out a breath, her smile finally reaching her eyes. "It's epic!"
For a moment—just a single, suspended moment—the weight on her chest lifted. The music wrapped around her like a warm current, pulling her away from the chaos of her life. She could see it: a future where her mother was safe, where the word home didn't taste like fear, where patience had finally paid off. All she needed was a little more time.
When she finally pulled the headphones off, the world rushed back in. She blinked, disoriented, and noticed the cash Adrian was pressing into her palm.
"And here's your today's sale," he said.
Star stared at the money, then at the empty space where her sweets had been. "Wait—you sold them all?"
He shrugged, a casualness that didn't quite mask his satisfaction. "You were busy."
"I…" She shook her head, laughing softly. "Thank you. This music, though—it's really good. Like, really good."
Adrian's smile softened. "I'll make you a playlist and send it to you tonight."
She stood, reaching up to settle the headphones back around his neck. Her fingers brushed against his collar, and something electric sparked in her chest—a flutter, a race, a warmth that pooled low in her stomach. She'd felt it before, every time he was close, every time his gaze lingered a moment too long. She knew exactly what it was. And she was determined to ignore it until it faded. Just butterflies, she told herself. They'll go away.
"If someone looked at my boyfriend like that, I'd rip their head off."
Star's trance shattered. She stepped back, heart hammering, as Tiffany emerged from the crowd with Bonita—Adrian's sister—trailing behind her like a shadow. How long had she been standing there? How long had she been staring at Adrian like a lovestruck fool?
"Right, Tiffany?" Bonita added, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.
Star's jaw tightened. Of all the people on campus, these two were her personal tormentors. Bonita was beautiful in the way money made people beautiful: polished, expensive, untouchable. Tiffany was the same. Together, they were the undisputed queen bees of Crestfall, ruling through a combination of wealth and cruelty. And ever since Tiffany had started dating Adrian, they'd made Star their favorite target.
"What's going on, Adrian?" Tiffany demanded, her eyes narrowing at Star. "Why was she looking at you like that?"
"I was just giving him his—" Star began.
"No one is speaking to you," Bonita snapped, her voice razor-sharp. She took a threatening step forward, her designer heels clicking against the pavement like tiny hammers. "Cheap-shit."
Star didn't flinch. She'd faced far worse than a rich girl with a mean streak.
But she wasn't prepared for what came next.
Bonita's hand shot out, snatching the small plastic bag from Star's grip—the bag containing the coins Adrian had earned from her sweets. Before Star could react, Bonita yanked it open and hurled the coins across the courtyard.
They scattered like golden rain, clattering against the pavement, spinning in glittering circles. Students gasped, then scrambled, diving for the coins with greedy hands.
Star stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat. Not from fear. From the white-hot fury rising in her chest like a tide.
A crowd had gathered now, drawn by the promise of drama. At Crestfall, where Bonita went, chaos followed.
"If you look at my brother like that again," Bonita said, her voice carrying across the silent courtyard, "it won't just be coins on the ground."
Star's vision tunneled. Her rage was a living thing now, clawing at her insides, demanding release. She shot a glare at Adrian—who stood frozen, his mouth open, his face a mask of shock—and something inside her twisted. He just stood there. He let his sister humiliate her. And he said nothing.
The punch landed before she even decided to throw it.
Her fist connected with Bonita's face in a clean, brutal arc. There was a sickening crunch, a spray of blood, and Bonita went down hard, her body slamming against the pavement as students gasped and scrambled backward.
Tiffany lunged forward, her face contorted with rage, but Adrian caught her arm, his grip like iron.
"Go," he said, his voice low and cold. "And I will forget this relationship ever existed."
Tiffany shrank back, her fury warring with fear as she crouched beside Bonita.
Star stepped forward, her knuckles throbbing, her blood still boiling. "Next time you pull this rubbish," she said, her voice trembling with barely contained violence, "you'll lose a head."
She raised her fist again, ready to drive it down, but a hand caught her wrist.
"Star." Adrian's voice was soft, steady. His eyes met hers, searching. "I know that rage. Please—don't let it control you."
She looked into his eyes—really looked—and something in her chest unlocked. The fire didn't go out, but it receded, banked by his presence, his calm. She let her arm drop.
"I need my money, Adrian."
He turned to the crowd, his expression hardening into something cold and authoritative. "I know every single one of you who picked up those coins," he said, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "Bring them back. Now. Or I'll have the school terminate your enrollment before the sun sets."
The threat landed like a bomb. Students scrambled, coins clinking as they were shoved back into Star's hands. Everyone at Crestfall knew who Adrian was—knew the power his family wielded. If he wanted someone gone, they'd be gone by morning.
Bonita, still on the ground, clutched her bleeding nose and stared at her brother with disbelief. He had chosen a stranger over his own sister. The betrayal burned in her eyes.
***
The front door slammed shut, rattling the windows of the small, tired house.
Louise looked up from the laundry she was folding, her hands stilling. Tomas never came home this early. The clock on the wall read barely three in the afternoon—hours before his usual return. Her stomach clenched.
"Welcome home," she said, keeping her voice soft, deferential, as he entered the living room.
He walked past her without a word, his footsteps heavy on the stairs. She heard him moving around in the bedroom, drawers opening and closing, before he descended again. He was holding a suit—dusty, crumpled, the fabric bearing the evidence of weeks at the back of a closet.
"I have a very important conference at seven," he said, thrusting the suit into her arms like he was disposing of garbage. "I need this cleaned and pressed before then."
Louise stared at the fabric in her hands, her mind already calculating. It was too late in the day. The cleaners were closed. Even if she washed it now, it wouldn't dry in time. "It won't be dry by then," she said carefully, hating the tremor in her voice. "Why didn't you leave it this morning when you left for work?"
Tomas's face went very still. Then his lip curled.
"I always thought you were stupid," he said, his voice soft in a way that was far more terrifying than shouting. "But not this stupid."
Louise flinched as he took a step toward her. Then another. She could smell the cologne he wore for his mistress, the faint trace of another woman's perfume clinging to his collar.
"Are you asking me?" he whispered. "Are you questioning me?"
Her throat closed. "I'm sorry. I—I'll wash it."
She tried to move past him, but his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist with bruising force. The slap came a heartbeat later—a sharp crack that sent her head snapping to the side, her cheek exploding with pain.
"That," he said, releasing her, "is for asking stupid questions."
He straightened his jacket, smoothed his hair, and walked out without a backward glance.
Louise stood in the silence, her hand pressed to her burning cheek, her fingers trembling. She didn't cry. She had learned long ago that tears changed nothing. She simply waited until the front door closed, until his car engine faded down the street, and then she carried the suit to the sink and began to wash.
***
Star arrived at the restaurant dressed in jeans and a white-striped crop top that ended just at her navel, revealing the toned lines of her stomach. She spotted Leila at a corner table and slid into the seat across from her cousin. Leila is Star's distand cousine, whose mom is a divorce attorney at CretFirm. Inc.
"Res is really treating you good," Leila said, eyeing her with a mix of admiration and concern.
Star shrugged, scanning the restaurant. It was the kind of place she'd never be able to afford on her own—all exposed brick and candlelight and waiters who refilled your water before you asked. "I'm getting by."
Leila smiled. "I ordered crabs. Hope that's okay."
Star nodded, then leaned forward, her voice dropping. "Did your mother agree?"
Leila's expression shifted. "Are you okay? You look troubled."
Star hesitated, then leaned in closer, her elbows on the table. "Yesterday, I went to get evidence for my mom's divorce. I saw something."
"What did you see?"
Star glanced around, ensuring no one was listening. "My dad and Frienda. Having sex." She paused, letting the words settle. "But that's not what's bothering me. All day today—at the gym, back at the dorm, on campus—I keep feeling like I'm being watched. You know that uneasiness? Like someone's eyes are on you, but when you turn, there's no one there?" She pressed her fingers to her temples. "Tell me I'm just being paranoid."
Leila studied her for a long moment. "Do you think Frienda is watching you?"
"No. I don't even think she knows I'm Tomas's daughter."
Star ran a hand through her hair, the frustration bleeding through. "Maybe I'm just losing it."
"You didn't answer my question," she added, straightening.
Leila reached into her handbag and pulled out a thick envelope, sliding it across the table. "My mom said to warn you. This has to be entirely Louise's choice to sign."
Star opened the envelope and pulled out the divorce forms. A small, fierce smile touched her lips. "Why wouldn't it be? She's been waiting for this her whole life." She tucked the papers safely into her bag. "Don't worry. I have all the evidence we need for court. She'll sign."
The waitress arrived with their crabs, and for the next hour, they ate and talked, and Star allowed herself a moment of peace.
The restaurant was close to campus, so Star walked back alone. The evening air was cool against her skin, the streets quiet as she made her way down the familiar path. Then she saw it: a familiar black Bentley parked at the curb, and leaning against it, arms crossed, a figure she'd recognize anywhere.
She broke into a smile, her pace quickening.
"I didn't forget our dinner," she said as she reached him.
Lucian smiled back, his blue eyes catching the streetlight. "You look amazing."
He pulled her into an embrace, his arms strong and warm around her. "Res must really be treating you good."
"Everyone keeps saying that." She leaned against the car beside him, tilting her head. "Why are you here?"
He shrugged, the gesture effortless. "I was driving. Decided to see my favorite person."
Star felt heat rise to her cheeks. Lucian watched her, and something in his chest tightened—a feeling he'd long since stopped trying to name. He was older than her by a few years, though you wouldn't know it to look at him. It wasn't age that separated them; it was the world he moved through. The world he kept her far away from.
He was tall, muscular, with a quiet confidence that made people step aside without being asked. A flower tattoo curled along the side of his neck—delicate in design, dangerous on a man like him. His blue eyes, set against short brown hair, gave him a face that was handsome in the way a blade was beautiful: sharp, elegant, and capable of cutting. Tonight, he wore a black coat over a fitted polo neck, the dark clothes making his eyes gleam like ice. The clothes he wore when he killed Mr. Andreas in the name of the very girl standing before him.
When he looked at Star, the danger in him softened. When anyone else looked, they saw trouble.
"I'm going to have to redesign that tattoo," she said, tracing the ink with her eyes.
He laughed, low and warm. "I'd like to see you try."
They stayed there for a while, leaning against the car, the night settling around them. When she finally left, he watched her until she disappeared through the campus gates, waiting a full five minutes after she was gone before getting back into his car.
***
Star was dressed in a gray turtleneck gown, its back cut low enough to make a statement, when she stepped into the restaurant Lucian had chosen. Candles flickered on every table; soft music drifted from hidden speakers. She scanned the room and spotted him at a table far in the back, waving her over.
"This is big," she said, sliding into the chair across from him. "All this just for the two of us?"
He signaled the waiter, who appeared instantly with their meals. "I closed a big deal today. Felt like celebrating."
Star didn't need to be told twice. She dug into her food with an enthusiasm that made Lucian smile. There was something about watching her eat—the way her lips curved around a chicken thigh, the grease that glistened on her fingers—that he found endlessly endearing. He'd pay a thousand times over just to see her this unguarded.
"Star."
The voice cut through the warm atmosphere like a blade. Star didn't look up from her plate. She didn't need to. She knew who it was.
Lucian's gaze lifted, and his expression cooled. Tomas stood at the edge of their table, his face flushed with fury. A woman who was not Louise clung to his arm, her eyes darting nervously between them.
"Star, I'm talking to you, what are you doing here?" Tomas said, his voice rising, disturbing the quiet murmur of other diners.
Lucian rose from his seat, positioning himself between Tomas and the table. "Sir," he said, his voice measured, respectful, though his jaw was tight. "You're making a scene."
"And aren't you supposed to be home with Mom?" Star asked, finally looking up, her voice deceptively calm.
Tomas tried to move around Lucian, but Lucian shifted with him, blocking his path.
"I said," Lucian repeated, his voice dropping to something soft and deadly, "you're making a scene."
"Who do you think you are?" Tomas spat. "I'm talking to my daughter."
He caught a glimpse of Star behind Lucian's shoulder, and his rage redoubled. "So this is what you do while on Res? Slobbering over men while I pay for the dorm you don't even live in?"
Star pushed back from the table, her appetite gone. "Thanks for the dinner, Lucian."
She stood, emerging from behind him, but Tomas lunged. His hand closed around her wrist, and his other arm drew back, ready to strike.
He never got the chance.
Lucian's hand caught Tomas's wrist mid-swing. For a moment, no one moved. Then Lucian twisted it.
The sound Tomas made was not human—a high, keening wail that drew every eye in the restaurant. His arm bent at an angle it was never meant to achieve, and he crumpled to his knees, screaming.
"He's breaking my arm! He's breaking it!"
Star stood frozen. Not in fear. Not in shock. She watched her father writhe on the floor, watched the arm that had struck her mother a thousand times bend toward ruin, and she felt nothing but a cold, dark satisfaction. If I don't stop him, she thought, he won't be able to hit her again.
The restaurant manager appeared, his face pale. "Mr. Throne," he stammered, taking in the scene. "I'm so sorry—what's going on, if I may ask?"
He knew Lucian, of course. Everyone in the city knew Lucian Throne. And if Lucian was twisting a man's arm on his premises, there had to be a reason.
Frienda stood frozen at the edge of the chaos, her mouth hanging open. She couldn't comprehend what was happening—how this young man, this child, had the audacity to lay hands on her Tomas.
Lucian looked down at the man writhing at his feet, then at Star. His eyes asked a question only she could answer.
Do you want me to stop?