Chapter 1
FLASHBACK - A few days before
“You are not your school halfway across the country,” said Dad. “Why not?” I asked. “Because you’re broken,” he said, “you tried to kill yourself a year ago.”
My chest tightened. “Because of you,” I yelled. “Because you have never talked about mom after her death. You never talk. You work, come home, and lock yourself in your room. You never ask me how I’m doing ever.”
He stared down at his plate and fiddled with his fork. “See, you’re shutting me out now,” I said. “You can’t look at me.”
When he didn’t respond, I turned and stormed up the stairs. I threw everything into my bags - clothes, computer, and anything that mattered. I paused long enough to get some pictures.
By the time I came back downstairs, he was standing at the door. “I forbid you to leave,” he said. I met his eyes, jaw clenched. “I’m fucking leaving,” I said.
Present Day
I woke up exhausted - as if I hadn’t slept at all. That fight has been replaying in my head, stuck on a loop. But it’s not about him. Today is Westview’s orientation day. It includes campus tours, food trucks, music, and a very enthusiastic staff.
I pulled myself out of bed, did my hair and makeup, then threw on a white tank top with a small sweater over it. Simple, clean, and presentable.
I moved to Westbridge for a fresh start, and I expected Westview University to be one too.
When I reached the main square, it was buzzing with energy. Booths were set up. People passed out flyers and schedules. Music floated through the air, mixing with laughter and chatter.
A man steps up to the podium on the main stage. “Welcome, new students to Westview University. I’m the dean, Steven Walker, and I’m honoured to have all of you here. Before we kick things off, please welcome our police chief, Chris, for a brief word about the city,” said Steven.
A tall man walked up to the podium. “Hello, students,” he said. “I’m Chief Chris. Westbridge, our city, divides into two main districts. The university is on the Westside. The Eastside has a higher crime rate. Between them is a bridge that is under heavy surveillance. You’ll need to carry your student ID at all times.”
A student whispered behind me. “This is crazy”. “Yah, I know,” I whispered back. She smiled.
“I’m Brianna.” “I’m Charlotte,” I said, offering my hand, “You can call me Char.” “What are you studying?” she asked. “Bachelor of Science, you?” I asked. “Same,” she said. “You staying in the dorms?” I asked. “I’ve got Briar Hall,” she said. “You?”
“I’m in the Eastview residence,” I said.
Her brows lifted. “Isn’t that the one near the bridge? I heard that it gets caught in the crossfire between the gangs,” she said. “I got accepted late,” I shrugged.
After the orientation and campus tour, I picked up my class schedule. Most of my lectures were in Langston Hall, and my lab classes were at the Edison Research Centre.
I went to the bookstore next and grabbed the textbooks needed for the semester.
Arms full and mind already buzzing with logistics, I was halfway back to my dorm when I bumped into someone—hard.
“Watch it,” a voice snapped. “I’m sorry,” I said as I crouched down to gather my books. When I looked up, my breath caught. He was tall, with dark hair and darker eyes, and a viper tattoo that ran up his neck to his throat.
He held out one of my textbooks. “Thanks,” I said, taking it from his hand, the brush of our fingers electric.
Without another word, I turned and headed into the Eastview residence. I paused at the front desk to retrieve my student ID, placing my books down on the counter for a moment. When I glanced back, he was still there—standing there and watching me.
I picked up my books without another word and went through the doors, pretending I wasn’t shaken.
When I entered my room, my roommate was already there.
“Hi, I’m Lexi,” she said. “I’m Charlotte - but call me Char,” I said. “What are you taking?” she asked. “Bachelor of Science, you?” I said. “Bachelor of Photography,” she said.
She flopped onto her bed and grinned. “Since classes don’t start until Wednesday, do you want to go explore the city? Find a bar,” she said. “Sure,” I said. “That sounds fun,” I added.
We checked out Olde Bell Row. It had cobblestone paths, trendy bars, and cafés. There was also an old library that seemed straight out of a movie.
After that, we took a short walk to The Grove, a more modern area full of sleek apartment buildings. It had influencer energy—young, stylish professionals everywhere you looked.
We didn’t go to Northridge. That was where all the rich people lived. “We explored most of the Westside,” she said as we stopped for coffee.
“I wondered what the Eastside was like,” I mused.
“We can go to a bar close to the bridge,” she said.
So we crossed over to the Eastside.
There is a bar called The Dive on the Crossline, a block away from Larkspur Station. The building has an old brick façade with bullet holes that look like artwork—a stark reminder of history.
Inside, they divide the space. A signal line cuts the line into two: Carmelo Mafia on one side and Viper gang on the other. The lighting is dim, the booth is deep, and the shadows are even deeper. Two bars sit at opposite ends of the room, and a narrow stage runs between them with no allegiance. The flood of new students likely packed it.
“Hey, ladies, what can I get you?” asked the bartender. “Two vodka cranberries,” I said. Lexi and I grabbed two seats at the bar, chatting between sips.
But then I saw him - the guy from earlier with the throat tattoo, and all. Our eyes locked. A beat passed. Then I forced myself to turn back to Lexi, pretending I didn’t feel his stare like a brand.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I mumbled, sliding off the barstool. The hallway was narrow and dim. When I came back, he was there—waiting. “Excuse me,” I said. I tried to move past him.
He caught my hand. “Let me buy you a drink, bunny,” he said. “I’m not your bunny,” I snapped, yanking my arm free. “And no,” I added.
“Leave her,” said another voice - low and cool. This one wore a different outfit. Designer clothing. Expensive. Dangerous.
“We were having a nice conversation,” said the guy, smirking. “Right, bunny?”
“For the last time - I’m not a bunny,” I said.
“Char, come on - let’s dance,” said Lexi, appearing behind me and pulling me away.
I went to the bar to get another drink. “Derek, whiskey on the rocks and vodka cranberry,” he said. I rolled my eyes at him.
“What’s your name, bunny?” he asked. “I’m Charlotte,” I said. “I’m Dante,” he said. We cheered our drinks together.
“You know you’re on the Eastside,” he said. “I’m aware,” I replied.
“Clearly, you’re a student. What are you taking?” he asked. “Bachelor of Science,” I said. “Shit, so you’re smart,” he said.
The other man from earlier stepped up beside me. “Is he bothering you, chica?” he asked.
“Carlos,” said Dante in a stern voice.
I felt the tension spike around me - like standing in the middle of a lightning storm. “Stop,” I whispered, my eyes darting around the room. “People are watching.”
“Hey, you know the rules,” said Derek.
I glanced around. Everyone was staring. The music had stopped. People hushed their voices.
“Nothing to see here. “Go back to your business,” Dante said, his voice steady, as he had always obeyed.
That’s when I grabbed Lexi and left.
The next day, I was sitting down at my desk studying when I got a call. “Hello,” I said. “Hi, is this Charlotte Mackson?” a man asked.
“Speaking.”
“This is Detective Mark with the Westbridge Police Department. Do you have a brother named Axel?” the man asked.
My heart skipped. “I... I do,” I said, sitting up straighter.
“We found his body. We’ll need you to come down to the station to help identify him.”
For a second, I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt tight, as if someone had sucked the air out of my body.
“I’m on my way,” I said.
At the station, they showed me his face - it was so decomposed, so far gone, that I didn’t recognize him. My stomach twisted. I gave them my DNA to compare.
“We won’t know anything until we get the results,” Detection Mark said in a soft voice. “I’ve also contacted your father.”
I rolled my eyes. Of course, he will show up for this—now. Moments later, I heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall.
“What are you doing talking to her?” he asked. “Sir,” the detective replied, holding his own. “We needed a family member to submit a DNA sample. You weren’t answering when we called.”
“You knew?” I said, staring at my mother. “You knew they found a body and didn’t care.”
“I’m taking you home. You can’t be here,” he said, reaching for my arm and pulling me down the hallway. “I’m not leaving,” I yelled, trying to yank free.
“You’re broke,” he snapped. “You can’t be on your own.”
“The only person that’s broken is you,” I shouted. “I’m not broken.”
He didn’t flinch. Outside, I managed to tear my arm from his grip. “Get in the car,” he ordered. “No,” I said.
“You listen to me,” he hissed. “I’ll take you if I damn well please.” He lounged forward again.
“I’m not getting in the fucken car!” I yelled.
His hand struck my face—sharp, fast, shocking. Everything froze.
And then a voice cut through the silence. Calm. Deadly. “You don’t hit women.” We both turned. Dante stood a few feet away.
“Who the fuck are you?” my father snapped.
“She’s my responsibility now,” his voice low and even.
“She is my daughter. I’ll protect her how I see fit. Get in the car,” said my dad.
My hand pressed against my cheek, skin stinging, tears threatening.
“No,” I said in a low voice. “You heard her,” said Dante.
My father didn’t say another word. He turned and got into his car, tires squealing as he drove off. Dante stepped closer, softening. “Come on, I’ll take you back,” he said.
But I couldn’t meet his eyes. I was too shaken - too ashamed. Still, when he offered his hand, I didn’t hesitate.
He had a driver waiting at the curb. Without a word, Dante opened the car door and nodded for me to get in. Once we were seated, he leaned forward and shared my dorm address.
We sat in silence for a few moments; the air was thick between us.
“Care to explain?” he finally asked. “It’s a long story,” I said. Then he tapped the driver’s seat, and the driver pulled over. “I’ve got time,” he said.
I stared down at my hands, fiddling with my thumbs.
“A few years ago, my brother Axel got kicked out of the house. He and his friends began touring clubs, DJing, and pursuing dreams that made them feel alive. Two years ago, he went missing. I got a call from the detective today. They said the police think they found his body. My dad knew—and didn’t say a word. He didn’t care enough to know.”
“What’s your brother’s name?” he asked. “Axel.”
“Does your father hit you often?”
I shook my head. “No. Not until today. After my mom died.... he just ... shut down. He hasn’t been the same since,” I said.
Dante reached over, wiping away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen. Then, without hesitation, he pulled me into a hug - warm and firm, like he wasn’t letting go. As I exhaled into the quiet, a sudden pop cracked through the air - then another. Gunshots.
“Shit!” Dante cursed. He shoved me down onto the seat and threw himself over me, shielding me with his body. “Drive!” he shouted.
Tires screeched as the car lunged forward. I couldn’t move. I curled up under him, heart pounding, his arms are the only thing that is keeping me from falling apart.
