PRESLEY
There were rules to being a Coldwell.
Presley had learned most of them before she was old enough to understand why they existed.
Such as Never be the loudest person in the room.
Never be the most emotional.
Never let someone see you lose control.
Smile when you're angry.
Shake hands even when you'd rather not.
And, above all else, never forget that someone was always watching.
She'd been taught that last one particularly young.
Not by her parents.
By everyone else.
People stared when she walked into restaurants. They whispered at charity events. They recognized her before she introduced herself. Sometimes, conversations stopped altogether when she approached.
Presley had learned not to take it personally.
It wasn't really her they were looking at.
It was the name.
Coldwell.
The name carried weight. Influence. Money. History.
And history and money, she'd learned, made people curious.
it also made people greedy.
And those careless people became vultures.
She'd seen it happen her whole life.
People smiling at her parents while quietly asking what they could get from them. Friends suddenly becoming interested after learning her last name. Adults treating her differently when they realized exactly whose daughter she was.
I know what privilege is, I just don't like being treated differently because of who I am. it's not right.
Presley had learned young that not everyone who smiled at you liked you.
Some people were simply waiting for you to make a mistake. They were waiting to talk.
for reasons to judge you
So she decided not to make mistakes.
Or at least, she tried very hard not to.
At twenty-two, Presley Coldwell could walk into a room full of strangers and know exactly how she was supposed to behave.
She could hold a conversation with a senator's wife, shake hands with a billionaire, sit through three hours of legal discussion without checking her phone, even if she desperately wanted to and smile pleasantly at someone who had spent the previous ten minutes insulting her family.
She could do all of it without breaking a sweat.
What she couldn't do was explain why she still felt like she was being graded.
Maybe because she was.
Maybe because she'd spent her entire life believing that if she made one wrong move, someone would use it as proof that the Coldwells weren't as polished as everyone thought.
Something new to judge because they were bored.
She adjusted the strap of her bag as she crossed the Yale courtyard.
Yale is cliche but it's what her parents wanted when she started law school.
Students moved around her in clusters, laughing, talking, rushing toward their next lecture.
A few looked at her. Then looked again.
One whispered something to another.
Presley pretended not to notice. She always pretended not to notice.
That was another rule.
She wasn't above anyone here.
She knew that.
But she also knew that walking around Yale with the Coldwell name attached to her meant people were going to make assumptions.
So she tried to make herself impossible to criticize.
Her clothes were understated. decent, not in pj's but not in formal clothing.
Her hair was neat.
Her schedule was organized down to the minute.
Her assignments were finished early.
She didn't drink too much at parties.
She didn't gossip.
She didn't date people who could become headlines.
And she certainly didn't give strangers enough information to turn into tomorrow's conversation.
It wasn't that Presley was boring.
Quite the opposite.
Her family sometimes accused her of being too stubborn, too opinionated, too willing to argue when she believed something mattered.
But she knew when to be quiet.
She knew when to speak.
And she knew when speaking wasn't worth the consequences.
That was a skill.
One she had perfected.
"Presley?"
She turned.
A girl she'd seen around campus was standing a few feet away, looking nervous.
Presley smiled.
"Hi."
The girl's expression relaxed slightly.
"I—sorry. I know you're probably busy."
"I'm not."
It was a lie.
She had twenty-three minutes before her next class.
But the girl didn't need to know that.
"I wanted to thank you."
Presley frowned.
"For what?"
"The scholarship recommendation."
Presley stared at her for a moment.
Then remembered.
A week ago, she'd overheard a conversation between a faculty member and a student who was struggling to stay enrolled. The girl had excellent grades but couldn't afford another semester.
Presley had made a few calls.
Nothing dramatic.
Just calls.
Her family name opened doors whether she wanted it to or not.
She'd decided that if those doors existed, she might as well use them for someone who actually needed them. which is what she wanted to do with her law degree.
Help.
"You don't have to thank me."
"I do."
"No."
The girl smiled.
"You're very stubborn."
Presley's mouth twitched.
"So I've been told."
They said goodbye, and Presley watched her disappear into the crowd.
A strange warmth settled in her chest.
This was the part of herself nobody expected.
People assumed she had everything.
And technically, she did.
But that didn't mean she couldn't recognize when someone else needed help.
Presley knew what it felt like to walk into a room and have everyone already know who you were.
She wondered what it felt like to walk into one and have nobody know you at all.
She understood something about being seen without being known.
Maybe that was why she noticed people who were alone.
The student sitting by herself during lunch.
The janitor working late.
The freshman who always ate in the corner of the dining hall.
People who seemed to have no one.
Presley noticed them.
She always had.
She just didn't talk about it.
Her phone buzzed.
Mom.
Presley answered immediately.
"Hi."
"How's your first week?"
"Good."
"Just good?"
Presley smiled.
"It's Yale, Mom. It's impressive."
Her mother's laugh came through the phone.
"Your father wants to know if you're settling in."
"Tell him I am."
"And your brothers?"
"Grayson called twice."
"And Ledger?"
"He sent me a picture of a terrible sandwich and asked if I missed him."
"Do you?"
"Unfortunately but don't tell him."
Her mother laughed again.
For a few seconds, Presley felt the tension leave her shoulders.
This was why she tried so hard.
Not because her family demanded perfection.
They didn't. not her siblings.
Her parent had high expectations, high enough at least.
Grayson never expected her to be perfect.
Ledger certainly didn't.
Her parents loved her she knew that.
But Presley wanted to make them proud.
She wanted to prove that she deserved the opportunities she'd been given.
She wanted to walk into the world carrying the Coldwell name without ever becoming the kind of person people whispered about.
"I have to go," she said.
"Presley?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't work too hard."
She smiled.
"I won't."
Another lie.
She ended the call and slipped her phone into her bag.
Then she looked up.
And stopped walking.
Across the courtyard, a man had just stepped through the entrance of the law building.
Dark hair.
Tall.
Expensive coat.
Hands in his pockets.
He looked entirely too comfortable for someone who had apparently decided the entire university belonged to him.
Presley knew him immediately.
She hadn't seen him in years.
But she knew that face.
She knew that name.
The one and only
The enemy...so she's been told.
Nixon Davenport.
For one strange second, neither of them moved.
Then his eyes found hers.
Presley's stomach dropped.
Not because she was afraid.
Because he was looking at her.
Actually looking at her. like he was thinking something other than what people usually did.
her parents...rumors..tabloid gossip.
Not the Coldwell name.
Not her family.
Her.
And there was something in his expression that made every carefully constructed rule in her head suddenly feel very fragile.
Nixon's mouth curved into the smallest smile.
Presley immediately looked away after a polite nod.
Absolutely not.
She started walking again.
She didn't look back.
She didn't need to.
Somehow, she already knew he was still watching.
And that was a problem.
Because there were rules to being a Coldwell.
And getting involved with a Davenport was definitely not one of them.
