Chapter 17
Jul 4, 2025
Grayson’s been acting like a ghost all afternoon—physically present but mentally orbiting some other planet.
He’s sitting across from me in the library, textbooks spread like he’s actually studying, but his eyes keep drifting to his phone. Every buzz makes him smile this secret little smile that makes my stomach twist into origami.
Who the hell is texting him?
“You’re distracted,” I say, not looking up from my notes.
“Just tired.”
Liar.
His phone buzzes again. Another smile.
I’m going to throw that thing out the window.
“West!” Brielle materializes like a perfectly contoured demon, dropping into the chair beside him. “History study group, right? Mind if I crash?”
Yes. I mind. I mind so fucking much.
Grayson doesn’t even glance at me. “Sure, whatever.”
Wow. Thanks for the consultation, partner.
She’s all cotton candy sweetness and predatory charm, giggling at jokes that aren’t funny, playing with her hair like she’s starring in her own personal music video.
Subtle as a brick through a window.
“God, Professor Williams is such a hardass,” she purrs, leaning way too close to Grayson. “I barely passed that last quiz.”
Doubt it. Brielle’s GPA is higher than her heels.
I try to focus on my notes, but she keeps glancing at me with this knowing smirk. Like she’s holding cards I can’t see.
What’s her game?
“I’m grabbing coffee,” Grayson announces, standing. “Anyone want anything?”
“Iced vanilla latte,” Brielle chirps. “Extra shot.”
Of course she does.
“Jules?”
“I’m fine.” With my crippling anxiety and growing paranoia, thanks.
He walks away, and I immediately regret not going with him. Because now I’m alone with Brielle, and her smile is making my skin crawl.
Abort mission. Find excuse to leave.
She’s rummaging through her bag, but her eyes are locked on Grayson’s phone sitting abandoned on the table.
Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare.
“Oops,” she says, reaching for it. “Almost knocked over his—”
“Careful,” I snap, too sharp, too fast.
She freezes, hand inches from his screen. “What?”
Play it cool. Don’t let her know she’s getting to you.
“Just… people are weird about their phones.”
She tilts her head, studying me like I’m a particularly interesting bug. “Are they?”
This is a trap. Everything about this is a trap.
“Brielle, what are you doing?”
“Nothing.” But her fingers are still hovering over his phone. “Just curious about what makes Grayson West tick.”
Over my dead body.
“Maybe ask him yourself instead of snooping through his personal stuff.”
Her laugh is crystal sharp. “Snooping? That’s a strong word.”
“It’s an accurate word.”
Please don’t look at his phone. Please don’t see the messages. Please don’t find the photos.
Because there are photos. And voice messages. And texts that would destroy my reputation and my sanity if they ever saw daylight.
“I’d wait forever for her.”
His words. My shame. My vulnerability wrapped up in digital evidence that could ruin everything.
“You’re awfully protective of him,” she observes.
“I’m protective of basic human decency.”
“Mmm.” She finally pulls her hand back, but the damage is done. I can see it in her eyes—she knows something. “How noble.”
She saw something. I know she did.
Grayson returns with coffee, and I want to grab him and shake him until he understands how close we just came to complete disaster.
Instead, I lean over and whisper, “Don’t ever leave your phone around her again.”
He frowns. “Why?”
“Because she’s hunting. And she thinks you’re prey.”
We’re prey. We’re both completely fucked.
“I’ll be careful,” he says, but careful isn’t enough. Not with girls like Brielle who smell secrets like sharks smell blood.
She leaves twenty minutes later, claiming cheer practice, waving like we’re best friends.
Lying bitch.
That night, I lie awake staring at the ceiling, mind racing through every possible scenario. Every text message, every photo, every stupid voice note where I told him things I’ve never told anyone.
What if she screenshots everything?
What if she sends it to the whole school?
What if she prints it out and staples it to every bulletin board on campus?
My reputation would be dead. My parents would disown me. I’d have to transfer schools, change my name, move to a different fucking continent.
She’s going to wait for Monday. When the hallways are packed. When everyone can see.
She’s going to burn me alive.
And the worst part? Part of me thinks I deserve it. For being stupid enough to trust him. For being reckless enough to let him in.
For being dumb enough to fall for the boy who ruins everything he touches.
Including me.
