Chapter 1
Alex
“Never have I ever… made out with my brother.”
Madison barely glances at me before sweeping her eyes around the group with a smirk.
Outwardly, I’m fine. Neutral. Not taking a sip.
Inwardly, I am dying.
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my actual god.
Fuck you, Maddie. I hope you trip on your own shoelaces and fall into a recycling bin.
Ashley coughs while someone mutters “ew.”
I stare straight ahead like a traumatized Victorian child in a portrait.
The game continues and I finally glare at Madison, who blows me a discreet kiss like the absolute menace she is.
I’m going to bury her under our dorm. I’m going to build a tiny shrine over her grave. I’m going to light candles.
Remind me how I ended up here again.
Ah yes.
I asked to come here.
But I didn’t ask to have Madison as my roommate — with Ashley, Bree, and Chelsea in the same dorm.
Nor did I ever expect Maddie is actually one of Drew's guards and Bree, Chelsea and Ashley are all heiresses whose parents hired Starnes Security to watch over them.
I spent years hiding my identity from them when they knew who I was all along.
I must've looked like an idiot.
Someone nudges me. “Your turn.”
I sigh internally and look over at Madison.
Boring things come to mind, but then movement catches my eye.
A certain brunet with silver eyes checks his watch, exhales a puff of smoke, and pretends he’s not listening.
My smirk grows, slow and evil.
“Never have I ever... said I love someone whose name rhymes with Axe—”
I don’t even finish.
A half‑filled cup of beer hits me square in the face.
Cold. Sticky. Everywhere.
I should be angry. I should be disgusted.
Instead, I start laughing.
Because Madison’s wide eyes and flushed face are too hilarious to ignore as she lunges toward me and yanks me upright.
“Oh, poor you. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
She drags me out of the room like she’s rescuing a wounded soldier, and I glance back at the brunet.
Max Knight is staring at us with an expression somewhere between shocked and amused.
Mission accomplished.
Madison rounds on me the second the bathroom door shuts.
“Seriously, Alex?”
“What?” I give her my most innocent smile.
“I never said I loved him,” she hisses, checking the stalls like we’re about to conduct a drug deal.
“Lies,” I say. “I recorded it. Maybe don’t drink so much next time.”
Her glare could peel paint.
She steps closer. “Where’s the recording? Give it to me or I’ll bury you alive in the woods.”
I roll my eyes. “How about I bury you instead? The brother thing? Seriously? I’m complaining to Drew. He can get me a new babysitter.”
She folds her arms with a smug smile. “Go for it. If you think I’m bad, wait till you see who he was going to assign you instead of me.”
I try not to react, but curiosity betrays me.
“Who could possibly be worse than you?”
Her smile shifts — smug to dangerous — and a shudder runs down my spine. This is not the harmless, air‑headed girl I thought she was. This is the version of Maddie who hides knives behind dimples.
“Remember Dahlia?”
I blink. “Seb’s friend? How do you know her?”
Maddie’s smile widens, slow and lethal.
“She’s my older sister.”
Oh.
Well, fuck.
I see it now.
The eyes.
The same dangerous smile.
The hugs that can kill you slowly, like a python.
And then— an image burns itself into my mind.
Dahlia bent over Sebastian’s desk. And Sebastian doing something I never needed to see. A sight so scarring it makes my stomach revolt.
Nausea spikes so fast it’s blinding, and I lurch toward the sink, retching violently.
“Yeah,” Maddie says, patting my back a little too forcefully, “I’m not sure what she did to make you react like that, but imagine seeing her every day instead of me.”
The nausea worsens. This time bile comes up, burning my throat.
“You know,” Maddie says once I’m done, “you’re going to have to learn to control that if you want to survive here.”
I look at her through the mirror.
Her face is a blank mask.
I know she’s saying it out of concern, but if I didn’t know her, I’d never be able to tell.
“How am I supposed to do that?”
She’s silent for a moment. Then, in a voice so soft I almost miss it:
“You tell me. You used to do it better than all of us.”
Before I can ask what she means, the bathroom door swings open and two girls stumble in, giggling and slurring their words.
Maddie’s expression doesn’t change.
“I think we should head back to our dorm,” she says lightly.
I nod, rinse my mouth, and try to make myself look presentable — or at least functional.
The moment we step out of the bathroom, I get the sense of being watched.
However, there's no one there.
I pick up my pace a bit and Maddie naturally falls into place beside me.
"So, what are you doing for Christmas?" she asks.
"Staying here. What else would I do?"
"Go to Drew's obviously," she responds.
I stop walking so I can look at her properly. Unsurprisingly, she halts immediately too. Must be that guard training.
"Why would I go to Drew's? Isn't this a boarding school?"
She raises a brow... "Yes, but students with families usually go home, you know."
Families…
The word hits me like a blade.
Aunt Cat. Kai. Noah.
And—no. Not him. Not now.
The hallway suddenly feels twenty degrees colder, though I know it’s just the sweat freezing on the back of my neck.
A low, static ringing builds in my ears, drowning out the ambient noise of the dorms.
“Forgot my name already, sweetheart?”
His voice slides in from behind me — too close, too familiar — and when I turn, he’s leaning against the wall like he never died.
Smirk in place. Arms crossed. Eyes bright with that infuriating mix of affection and accusation.
“Wow,” he says, tilting his head. “One mention of Christmas and you’re already picturing the whole family. Except me, apparently.”
My stomach drops. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” He pushes off the wall, stepping closer. “Don’t remind you that you left me bleeding on the floor? Don’t remind you that you kissed me goodbye and then ran?”
His tone is light. His words are knives.
“Stop,” I whisper.
“You know what hurts most?” he continues, circling me like he’s studying a crime scene. “Not the bullet. Not Kristoff. Not even dying.”
He leans in, voice dropping to a whisper only I can hear.
“It’s that you’re trying so hard to forget me.”
My breath stutters.
“But you can’t,” he says softly. “Because I’m still here. I’m always here. And you can’t outrun what you did.”
His fingers brush my cheek — cold, unreal — and the hallway tilts.
“So go on,” he murmurs. “Run. Like you always do.”
I shouldn’t.
It doesn’t make sense.
But my body is already moving.
One step. Then another. Then I’m gone.
I don’t know where I’m going — I’m not choosing anything — I’m just moving.
Down the hallway. Around corners. Through the doors and into the garden.
I don’t know how long I run or even where I run to, but there’s this pull, like I know exactly where I’m going even if I don’t.
“Artemis,” a voice whispers through the trees — soft, childlike, impossibly close.
A child's laugh follows and I instantly turn left, into the forest.
Branches whip past me. Shadows blur. And then, after what feels like forever and no time at all, I burst onto a concrete path.
It leads to a fence with an open gate, a padlock hanging uselessly off it.
Mausoleums fill the walled space, each one carved with symbols of Belladonna’s founding families. I move closer to one flanked by two large wolf statues — Wolfe. Then Monroe. Then Starnes.
I count all the families.
And then I’m standing in front of the one marked with ravens.
The Ivanovs.
My family.
Next to it is a slightly smaller mausoleum, columns and intricate designs twisting together in marble. Angels and knights. Softness and steel.
Before I can figure out which family it belongs to, an anguished cry slices through the silence.
It comes from inside.
I freeze. Debate. Fail.
My feet carry me through the archway before I can think.
The crypt is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that feels intentional.
Cold air wraps around me like a hand.
And there — at the center — is a statue.
A white marble angel, carved with impossible softness, looks down on two cherubs playing in a small fountain. Roses climb in an arch above them, pale pink and white, blooming in a place where nothing should bloom.
A spike of pain goes through my head, making me wince.
I don’t know this place. I shouldn’t know this place. But something inside me twists like I’ve been here before.
Two bronze plaques sit just below the dais, gleaming faintly in the dim light.
I take a step toward them—
—and my foot catches on something.
I stumble forward, crashing hard onto the cold stone floor.
A groan sounds beside me.
Not mine.
Someone else.
I push myself up, heart pounding, and look—
Straight into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.
He’s sitting against one of the columns, legs sprawled, a half‑empty bottle beside him. His hair is tousled, his face streaked with dirt and dried tears, his expression raw in a way that makes my chest tighten.
Alexander Andrews. The cold, untouchable heir to the Andrews empire.
Except he doesn’t look cold now.
He looks breakable. He looks human. He looks… beautiful.
His gaze locks onto mine, unfocused at first, then sharpening like he’s trying to understand why I’m here — why I’m in front of him — why I feel familiar.
“Who… are you?”
He reaches out, fingers brushing my arm, gentle despite the alcohol, despite the grief carved into every line of his face.
The touch sends a shock through me.
Warm. Soft. Wrong. Right.
I swallow hard, unable to look away from him.
His eyes search mine — slow, careful, almost reverent — like he’s trying to place me, like he’s trying to remember something he’s forgotten, like he’s seeing something he shouldn’t.
“Do I…” he starts, voice barely audible. “Do I know you?”
My breath catches.
Because the way he says it — the way he looks at me — feels like a confession.
Like longing. Like recognition. Like something dangerous.
I open my mouth to answer—
—but the fountain behind us shifts.
A soft splash. A ripple. A sound that shouldn’t echo this loudly.
My vision tilts.
Water spills over the edge. Cold. Rushing. Rising.
The roses blur. The angel blurs. Alexander’s face blurs.
And suddenly I’m not in the crypt anymore.
I’m somewhere else.
Somewhere wet. Somewhere violent. Somewhere blue.
Waves slam into me. Salt burns my throat. The world spins. Rocks loom ahead, jagged and merciless.
I fight the current — arms flailing, lungs screaming — but the water drags me under.
Cold. Dark. Endless.
A hand reaches for me—
Then everything goes black.
