Chapter 108 Chapter 107
Harper POV
The mirror feels like it’s judging me.
Not in a cruel way.
In a who are you trying to convince? kind of way.
I stand in front of it in my room, smoothing my hands down the sides of the dress for the third time, even though it doesn’t need smoothing. It fits like it was made to silence every doubt I’ve ever carried.
Simple.
Black.
Dangerous in its restraint.
It hugs my curves in a way I’m not used to seeing on myself—like the dress is reminding me that I’m not just a title, not just the sorority president, not just the girl who always has everything under control.
I’m a woman.
Lila is perched on my bed behind me, watching with the satisfied air of someone who has personally orchestrated a moment.
“Oh,” she says softly. “He’s going to suffer.”
I glance at her in the mirror. “Lila.”
“What?” she says innocently. “It’s the night before the auction. The mingling event. The bidders are going to be there. Logan is going to be there. And you—” she gestures at me like she’s presenting art— “are going to walk in looking like a problem.”
I huff out a breath, but I can’t stop the small smile that tugs at my mouth.
When I bought this dress, it wasn’t for tonight.
Not really.
It was for revenge.
I remember standing in the boutique with Lila, still raw from the second time Logan slept with me and then vanished like daylight made me inconvenient.
I’d been hurt.
Humiliated, if I was honest.
And Lila had grabbed the hanger off the rack like she was grabbing a weapon.
“Try it on,” she’d ordered.
“It’s not me,” I’d protested.
“That’s the point,” she’d said. “Let’s make him regret it.”
I’d rolled my eyes.
Then I’d stepped into the dressing room.
And when I’d looked in the mirror…
Something had shifted.
It wasn’t about Logan, not really.
It was about seeing myself differently.
Seeing that confidence could be as simple as fabric and shape and permission.
It’s amazing how a black dress can make you feel like you could ruin someone’s life politely.
Tonight, I need that.
Because tonight is not just another event.
Tonight is the preview.
The warm-up.
The moment where donors and alumni and wealthy strangers get to sip champagne and decide which student they want to bid on like we’re curated experiences instead of people.
It’s the night before the auction.
And my stomach has been in knots all day.
I reach for my earrings, gold hoops that feel slightly too bold, and slide them in anyway.
Lila hums approvingly.
“Okay,” she says. “We’re going for ‘campus icon’ with a side of ‘don’t test me.’ Love it.”
“I’m not trying to—”
“Yes you are,” she interrupts. “And you should.”
I turn away from the mirror, grabbing my clutch.
The truth is, I am nervous.
Not because of the bidders.
Not because of the donors.
Not even because of Daniel Meyers, who will probably be lurking in the corner like a man-shaped spreadsheet.
I’m nervous because Logan Shaw will be there.
And I haven’t really seen him since that night.
The night he showed up at my door jealous and reckless and honest.
The night we kissed like we were trying to erase every boundary we’d built.
The night I ran in the morning.
The texts after.
You’re in my head too.
We’ve been busy since then.
School. Practice. Meetings. Auction prep.
A thousand obligations filling every hour so we don’t have to talk about the thing that sits underneath all of it.
But busy doesn’t erase tension.
It just delays it.
I haven’t seen him in person.
Not really.
Not close enough to read his face.
Not close enough to know if he’s still thinking about me.
Or if he’s already locked it away like everything else.
I take a slow breath.
Lila stands, smoothing her own dress.
“You ready?” she asks.
“No,” I admit.
She grins. “Perfect. That means you care.”
We make our way downstairs, the sorority house buzzing with girls getting ready, heels clicking on wood floors, perfume hanging in the air.
Outside, the night is crisp.
The campus lights glow warm against the dark sky.
The mingling event is being held in one of the university’s event halls—string lights, champagne flutes, the kind of atmosphere designed to make money feel charming.
As we approach, I can already hear the hum of voices.
My heart beats faster.
Lila nudges me. “Remember. Shoulders back. Chin up. Make them all forget how to breathe.”
“Lila…”
“I’m serious,” she whispers. “Tonight is not about being dateable. Tonight is about being undeniable.”
The words settle into my chest like armor.
We step inside.
The room is full.
Donors in suits. Alumni with too-white smiles. Students scattered like decoration.
And then—
I see him.
Logan.
Across the room.
Tall, dark suit, hair still slightly damp like he didn’t fully tame it.
He looks… unreal.
His gaze lifts, scanning.
And then it lands on me.
For a second, everything else fades.
His expression shifts so quickly I almost miss it.
Surprise.
Something darker.
Hunger.
His eyes drag over the dress like it offends him that I can look like this without him.
My pulse stutters.
Lila leans close, smug. “Oh yeah. He’s suffering.”
I should look away.
I don’t.
Logan takes one step forward—
Then stops.
Like he’s remembering where he is.
Who’s watching.
What this is.
The space between us stretches, charged and dangerous.
Tomorrow, people will bid.
Tomorrow, someone might win.
Tonight, we pretend this is all just for charity.
But the way Logan is looking at me…
It doesn’t feel like pretending.
It feels like the beginning of something neither of us can control.
And I don’t know if I’m terrified…
Or thrilled.