Chapter 1
Chapter 1: The Intruder
Mallorys POV
The backseat of Nate’s beat-up SUV was packed so tightly with cardboard boxes and overstuffed duffel bags that I couldn’t even see out the rear-view mirror.
It felt symbolic. My old life—the quiet dorm, the color-coded planners, the predictability of my junior year—was buried under the literal weight of a burst pipe and a flooded apartment building.
"I’m telling you, Mal, it’s a blessing in disguise," Nate said, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he turned onto a leaf-strewn street near the edge of campus.
"That landlord was a crook anyway. Now you’ve got a massive room, free laundry, and your favorite brother only a wall away."
"You’re my only brother, Nate," I reminded him, my stomach twisting into a fresh knot. "And I’m encroaching on your 'guy time.' I feel like a parasite."
"Nonsense. The house is huge. Besides," Nate grinned, throwing a playful wink my way, "it’ll be good for you to loosen up.
You’ve been living in that library so long I was starting to think you were part of the architecture."
He pulled the car into a gravel driveway in front of a sprawling, slightly weathered Victorian house.
It had "character," which was Nate-speak for a sagging porch and paint that was peeling in artistic, jagged flakes.
I stepped out, the crisp autumn air biting at my cheeks. I reached for my heaviest box—the one labeled Advanced Organic Chem/Reference—and braced myself.
I was halfway up the porch steps when the front door swung open with a violent, rusted creak.
I stopped dead.
It wasn't Nate’s welcoming face in the doorway. It was Caleb Thorne.
He was leaning against the doorframe, his dark hair a chaotic mess as if he’d just rolled out of bed, despite it being two in the afternoon.
He wore a faded black t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders in a way that felt intentionally aggressive, and a look of pure, unadulterated annoyance.
"You’ve got to be kidding me," Caleb said. His voice was a low, gravelly rasp that sent an unwanted shiver down my spine—the kind you get when you’re standing too close to a ledge.
"Nice to see you too, Caleb," I replied, my voice tight and professional. I shifted the heavy box in my arms, refusing to let my muscles tremble.
Caleb didn't move to help. He didn't move at all. He just blocked the entrance, his grey eyes tracking the line of boxes still in the car. "Nate said a 'few things.' That looks like a permanent invasion of my space."
"It’s one semester," I snapped, my patience already thinning. "Believe me, if I had any other choice—if there was a single dorm room or a literal park bench available—I wouldn't be here."
"You’d what? Stay in a hotel? Go home to the suburbs and have your pillows fluffed?" Caleb stepped forward, forcing me to look up. He was a head taller than me and smelled faintly of clove cigarettes and expensive, bitter espresso.
"We both know you’re the Golden Child, Mallory. You don't do 'struggling.' You just find a new tower to sit in."
"Move, Caleb," Nate called out, coming up the stairs with two suitcases. "Don't mind him, Mal.
He’s just cranky because he lost his 'office,' which was really just a room where he kept his bike parts and empty pizza boxes."
Caleb shot Nate a look that could have curdled milk, but he finally stepped aside, giving me just enough room to pass.
As I brushed by him, the corner of my box caught his arm. It wasn't hard, but it was enough to make him hiss a breath through his teeth.
"Watch it, Princess," he muttered.
"Don't call me that," I threw back over my shoulder, not stopping until I was safely in the foyer.
Nate led me up the stairs, his boots thumping loudly on the wood. I had known Caleb Thorne since I was ten years old.
He was the boy who broke windows, the teenager who got Nate grounded for a month, and the man who currently looked at me like I was a stain on his expensive floor.
My room was at the end of the hall, tucked away in the quietest corner of the house. It was perfect for studying—or it would have been, until I heard a loud, distorted guitar riff explode from the room directly across from mine.
The floorboards vibrated. A picture frame Nate had just set on the dresser tilted to the left.
I closed my eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. I had forty-nine more chapters of this semester to survive, but in this moment, one thing was clear: this wasn't going to be a peaceful transition. This was going to be a war of attrition.
I walked across the hall and hammered my fist against Caleb’s door. The music didn't stop. I hammered harder, loud enough to bruise my knuckles.
The door swung open so fast I almost fell forward into his chest. Caleb stood there, a guitar pick held between his teeth, looking down at me with a dark, dangerous challenge in his eyes.
"Rule number one, Mallory," he said, taking the pick out of his mouth and pointing it directly at the center of my forehead. "I don't do 'quiet.' And I definitely don't do roommates who think they can boss me around."
"Rule number one for me?" I countered, crossing my arms and standing my ground even though my heart was hammering against my ribs. "I don't lose. Not to the library, not to my exams, and certainly not to you."
He let out a short, dry laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "We'll see about that."
He slammed the door in my face, and the music started again—louder .
HII
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