Chapter 1
Aster
This place makes me want to stick my head in the oven.
Not that it would work. The rusted metal monstrosity in the kitchen looks like it would give out before anything else did. Dad wouldn’t find the Sylvia Plath reference funny anyway. He’d lecture me instead—soft voice, careful eyes.
Given my history, I suppose that’s fair.
I fix the band on my wrist, making sure it’s in place before giving up on the toaster entirely. The thing refuses to cooperate, like everything else in this apartment.
I settle for untoasted bread. Whatever.
Two weeks of trying to make this place livable has amounted to nothing. Two weeks of convincing myself that mold was just chipped paint and that the lock rattling at night wasn’t a big deal. Serves me right for waiting until the last second to figure out housing.
I wasn’t even sure I’d come here, honestly.
The idea had hovered for months—college, a different city, a clean break—until it stopped feeling like an escape and started feeling like another thing I could fail at. But my mother’s accusatory eyes grew heavier with each passing day I stayed home, like my presence itself was an inconvenience she couldn’t name.
So here I am.
A freshman literature major at Grayhaven University, tucked into a small coastal city that’s only known for the college. A place that prides itself on churning out the country’s finest politicians, businessmen, and lawyers—people who know how to speak convincingly without ever saying much at all.
It’s a miracle I even got in.
My grades were never really the problem. I can’t say the same for everything else in my life.
I’m almost running to class, not paying the least bit of attention to my surroundings, when I’m suddenly yanked backward and land hard on my ass. My books go flying, skidding across the pavement along with my sad piece of bread.
“Woah.” Sam raises his hands, giving me a sheepish smile. “What marathon are you running that you forgot to mention to me?”
Sam Collins.
My one and only friend-ish person in this place. He’s two years my senior in the same program—we met in one of the classes and he just... stuck. I’m not sure what about my uninviting, vaguely dreadful energy appealed to him, but he’s been consistently nice to me since.
“Please don’t tell me this is your breakfast.” He dangles the piece of toast in front of me like a pendulum.
“You bulldozed me,” I grumble, holding out my hand. “The least you could do is help me up.”
He takes it without hesitation, hauling me to my feet.
The butterflies in my stomach clearly missed the memo where he already has a girlfriend.
“And yes,” I add, nodding at the toast still in his hand, “your assumption is spot on. The stupid toaster doesn’t work either. I’m officially sick of that shithole.”
“That’s a shocker,” he says, grinning as he helps me gather my books. “That apartment looks like a leftover from World War II.”
“Thanks for the valuable feedback,” I deadpan as we fall into step beside each other. “I’ve tried looking for other places, but you know how small this city is.”
“Well,” Sam says after a beat, “you might actually be in luck. Cole dropped out, so we’ve got an empty room. If you want, I can talk to Kai.”
I frown. “He dropped out? In his final year?”
“Yeah. Long story.” He shrugs it off. Then he glances at me, something cautious slipping into his expression. “So what’s the verdict?”
“I mean, I don’t have a lease or anything. It’s just a month by month contract so I can get out of it easily.”
“So it’s decided then. Ditch that ditch.”
“Wow. Did anyone ever tell you how eloquent you are?”
“No, that’s what you’re for,” he nudges my shoulder playfully.
Why is he so dreamy. Ugh. It’s not fair.
“And—” he glances at his watch, eyes widening, “—now we’re actually late.”
He takes off before I can respond, backpack bouncing as he jogs ahead. I groan but follow, lengthening my stride to keep up.
I don’t know much about Kai, but according to the rumors, he’s the worst kind of trouble. Now that I think about it, I haven’t actually seen him around campus—but that could just be because he’s a business major, and we don’t share any classes.
Oh well. Beggars can’t be choosers.
Grayhaven’s campus blurs past us in shades of wet stone and iron railings. Everything here looks like it was built to endure weather rather than people—brick buildings darkened by years of rain, narrow paths slick with moisture, trees looming with barely any leaves. The main gate sits just behind us, all wrought iron and false grandeur, as if it’s trying to convince visitors that this place is more impressive than oppressive.
Our building is mercifully close to the entrance. Sam takes the steps two at a time. I trail just behind him, lungs burning, pulse loud in my ears.
We make it inside just as the Professor enters.
Barely.
I slow to a walk, pressing a hand to my side as I catch my breath. Sam flashes me a quick grin over his shoulder, already unfazed.
“Looks like I won the marathon.” He winks at me and disappears inside.
Sam Collins looks like the kind of person who never really struggles to keep up. Blond hair that always seems like it’s been accidentally styled, a slender build that somehow still reads athletic, and a smile so perfect it borders on unfair. He’s tall—annoyingly so—and his brown eyes carry this constant warmth, like he’s perpetually amused by the world instead of worn down by it.
Harmless crushes never harmed anyone, right?
After four classes that blur together into a haze of lecture notes and half-listened discussions, I head back to the apartment to change before my part-time job. Also known as my daily humiliation ritual—because my boss hates me, and I’m fairly certain she’s looking for excuses to fire me at this point.
The diner sits a few kilometers outside campus, far enough that students only show up when they’re desperate. I take the bus most days, watching Grayhaven fade into stretches of wet road and half-abandoned storefronts, until the glowing OPEN sign feels like a warning more than an invitation.
The place smells like grease and burnt toast the second I step inside.
I tie my apron, tuck my hair back, and brace myself.
Waitressing isn’t hard. It’s just relentless. I’ve gotten dangerously close to sticking those ancient forks in my eyes several times. Smiling when you don’t feel like it. Remembering orders for people who don’t remember your name. Letting comments slide because tips are currency and pride doesn’t pay rent.
My boss, Linda, watches me like she’s waiting for me to mess up. She always does. I’m not sure what I did to earn her permanent disapproval but she sighs every time she sees me, like I’ve personally ruined her shift.
“Try not to disappear tonight,” she mutters as I pass by.
I offer a tight smile and head for my section.
A few hours, a few refills, a few forced laughs. Then I can go home. Eat something sad and carb-heavy. Sleep. Repeat.
I’m halfway through my shift when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Sam: Talked to Kai. You’re good to move on tomorrow, roomie!!
Me: Omg! Thank you, I owe you. Seriously.
Sam: No problem. I’ll help you move your stuff after classes.
Me: Wait. What about rent?
Sam: Whatever you’re paying for the current apartment is fine.
Me: Are you sure? I thought you lived in one of those premium looking buildings.
Sam: Yeahhh. Don’t worry about it.
Me: Okay, if you say so. I’m so grateful you decided to adopt me!
His response is a single wink.
It gives me the flutters.
He has a girlfriend. He has a girlfriend.
I repeat it like a mantra, because my body seems determined to get the wrong idea.
The move itself is almost laughably easy. I own exactly three boxes’ worth of belongings, all of which fit neatly into Sam’s car—a black Rolls-Royce, polished to the point where the cloudy sky reflects back at us. The inside smells like leather and something expensive I don’t have a word for.
Is everyone in this city filthy rich? Or am I just aggressively middle class?
We pull up in front of a massive white-stone building with tinted windows—dark enough that you can’t see inside, but reflective enough to remind you that someone in there probably can see you.
“This is way fancier than I expected,” I say, craning my neck to take it all in. “Are you sure my rent is... fine?”
“Yeah,” Sam says easily. “Don’t sweat it.”
“I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.” I keep staring up at the building. “This place looks like it comes with lawyers.”
He laughs. “You’re not. The room was empty anyway.”
That doesn’t actually help.
The inside of the apartment—or rather, the penthouse—is even worse than the outside. Worse as in absurd. Worse as in no one who lives like this should ever complain about anything.
The space opens up into a wide living area flooded with light from floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the water. The furniture looks curated instead of accumulated—clean lines, neutral tones, nothing out of place. There’s art on the walls that I don’t recognize but instinctively know is expensive. The kitchen gleams with stainless steel appliances and a marble island large enough to host an intervention.
I set my box down carefully, like the floor might get offended by my thrifted clothes and second-hand books.
“This is...” I start.
“Welcome to our humble abode,” Sam supplies, grinning.
I stare at him.
“Yeah, if humble means something Iron Man would own,” I say flatly. “What the hell? Are you rich-rich?”
“Meh. Not me,” Sam shrugs. “My dad is.”
I open my mouth, then close it again.
“But this building’s owned by Blackwood Enterprises,” he adds, like it’s an afterthought. “So I guess your question’s kind of moot. Anyway—” he picks up one of the boxes and starts down the hallway, “your room’s on the right. Mine’s the one across from it.”
“And that one’s Kai’s, I’m assuming?” I nod toward the master bedroom at the very end of the hall.
“Yeah.” He sets the box down and turns to look at me. “Don’t go in there. He’s a bit finicky about his personal space.”
I blink. “Got it.”
“Actually,” he adds, expression sharpening just a touch, “just stay away from Kai in general.”
“Um. Okay. That sounds ominous.”
“Nah, he’s just not a people’s person. It’s best to leave him be.”
“Fortunately neither am I.”
He seems satisfied with that. “I’ll leave you to unpack. Text me if you need anything.” He gives me a quick wink, then disappears down the hall, leaving me alone outside my door.
My room is smaller than the rest of the apartment, but still nicer than anything I’m used to. A full bed with a real frame. A wide window that lets in soft gray light. Clean walls. No cracks. No stains. No lingering smell of dampness.
I don’t have time to linger.
I change quickly, grab my bag, and head back out for work—leaving the quiet apartment behind me.
By the time my shift finally ends, my stomach is growling in protest. I skipped lunch, which feels like a personal failing now. I should’ve grabbed something from the diner before leaving. Who knows if there are groceries back at the apartment—or if I’ll have the energy to figure it out.
There are no lights on when I step inside, but I smell smoke.
It definitely didn’t smell like this when I left.
Huh.
I pause, keys still in my hand, listening. There are voices—muffled, indistinct. Low enough that I can’t make out words.
If someone were home, they wouldn’t be sitting in complete darkness. Right?
The moment I step into the living area, my body screams at me to turn around.
There’s a guy leaning against the kitchen island. Tall. Dark hair. Tattoos crawling up both arms. A cigarette hangs loosely between his fingers, the ember flaring when he inhales. His other hand is tangled in blond hair—definitely not a wig.
The sounds snap into focus all at once, and my stomach drops.
Oh.
God.
I can barely register anything beyond the humiliation flooding my face. I catch a glimpse of her—just the top of her head , kneeling, obscured by shadows and the counter.
The way he’s thrusting into her mouth makes her seem more like a toy than an actual person. I can’t believe she’s just letting him use her like that.
I should turn around and sprint back to my room and pretend I never saw this.
But my feet won’t move.
His gaze lifts.
Even in the dark, I can feel it settle on me—cool, assessing, utterly uninterested. His expression doesn’t change. Not surprise. Not annoyance.
Boredom.
He doesn’t stop his ruthless movements.
“I—sorry—”
Seems like my vocabulary has left the chat.
He grips her by the hair and shoves her away, the motion rough and impatient, like she’s an inconvenience all of a sudden. She stumbles, collapses to the floor, scrambling to cover herself as he turns away from her and buttons his jeans in one smooth movement.
“You can leave,” he says flatly.
He doesn’t look at her when he says it. Just jerks his chin in her direction.
She looks up at me, eyes wide with pure mortification, then scrambles to her feet and bolts for the door without a word.
He walks toward me slowly, unbothered, like I’m the one who’s out of place until he’s standing a few inches away.
Up close, he’s even worse. Too calm. Too composed. Like nothing about this situation is even remotely unusual to him.
