Chapter 40 CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 40
YAEL
I didn’t sleep.
Not even for a minute.
I spent the whole night lying in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every word I’d yelled at him, every expression that crossed his face, every moment I wished I could shove back into my mouth before it left.
He’s not my dad.
I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes.
I didn’t mean it.
Not like that.
Not in the way it came out.
It was morning before I realized I never even changed clothes. I grabbed the first hoodie I found, tugged on shoes without socks, and practically ran out of my dorm.
Aaron’s dorm was on the other side of campus — the athlete building, the one with security cameras, ID scanners, and doors heavier than a bank vault. But I didn’t care.
I knocked so hard my knuckles stung.
The door swung open, and Aaron stepped out, rubbing his face, clearly expecting someone else. His voice was rough with sleep.
“What? I said I’m com—”
Then he saw me.
His whole body froze.
I didn’t give him time to speak.
I threw myself into his chest and hugged him so tightly I knocked the air out of both of us.
“Aaron—I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean it—”
He stiffened from shock before his hands came up, warm and steady, pressing against my back.
“Hey,” he murmured, a little laugh slipping out, “stop crying. I can’t even understand you.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated like a broken record. “I was angry and stupid and—you’re not my dad and—you’re not but—you’re everything—”
He let out a long breath, resting his chin on my head. “Yael. Calm down.”
I shook my head into his chest, crying harder. “ I felt so horrible.”
He stroked the back of my hair. “You should feel horrible,” he said, then sighed, “but I wasn’t perfect either.”
I pulled back just enough to see his face. “You’re admitting that?”
He rolled his eyes. “Reluctantly. Don’t make it weird.”
I sniffed, trying to wipe my face with my sleeve.
His brow softened. “Did you sleep at all?”
I shook my head.
“Great,” he muttered. “You’re going to collapse.”
“I just wanted to fix things first.”
He touched my cheek gently, wiping a tear with his thumb. “You did.”
Only then did I realize how exhausted he looked too — dark circles, messy hair, that lingering tightness in his shoulders that only appeared after he fought someone.
He stepped back. “Come in.”
I walked inside.
And then my eyes landed on his hands.
Raw knuckles.
Skin split.
Slight swelling.
I grabbed his wrist immediately. “Aaron.”
He pulled his hand back like it was no big deal. “It’s fine.”
“What happened?”
“A little fight.”
“A little fight?” I repeated. “Aaron, your knuckles look like you fought a metal wall.”
He grunted.
“Slightly bigger than a wall.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
My stomach dropped.
I knew that tone.
He did something.
Something he wasn’t telling me.
But I didn’t push.
Not now.
Not after last night.
He cleared his throat, shifting the topic. “When’s your debate thing again?”
“Two p.m.”
He nodded. “Okay. You’re sleeping until then.”
“I can’t—”
“Yes,” he cut in. “You can. And you will.”
Before I could argue, he gently pushed my shoulder toward the bed.
“Lie down.”
“Aaron—”
“Yael,” he said, voice firm but soft, “you haven’t slept. You’re shaking. Go to sleep. I’ll handle everything else.”
I stared at him.
He wasn’t angry anymore.
Just concerned, tired, and trying so damn hard to hold himself together while taking care of me like he always did.
I crawled into his bed without another word.
He pulled the blanket over me, smoothing it near my shoulder like he used to when I was little and he took care of me after nightmares.
“I’ll go to your dorm and bring your things,” he said quietly. “Your bag, notes, whatever else you need.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m doing it.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“Okay.”
He paused.
“Yael?”
I blinked up at him. “Yeah?”
He leaned down and pecked my forehead — light, warm, familiar.
“Don’t scare me like that again.”
My heart twisted. “I won’t.”
He nodded, straightened his shirt, and headed for the door.
Before he left, I whispered, “Aaron?”
He turned with a raised brow.
“I love you.”
Something softened in his eyes. “Yeah,” he murmured, “I love you too.”
The door closed quietly behind him, and for the first time in hours, my body relaxed.
I curled into the blanket — his blanket — and breathed in the faint smell of his cologne mixed with laundry soap.
My eyes fluttered shut.
Warmth spread through my chest.
Peace settled over my exhaustion.
I fell asleep instantly.
I woke up at exactly 12:03 p.m., blinking into a room that definitely was not mine, wrapped in a blanket that definitely belonged to my brother, and for a split second I panicked before the memories of last night — the fight, the apology, the crying — came crashing back.
My stomach made an embarrassing noise, loud enough to echo in the quiet room, and when I sat up, I saw a tray on the table beside the bed with a note stuck under the juice bottle.
Eat. — Aaron
I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt, grabbed the food, and inhaled it like someone who had not eaten real sustenance in twenty-four hours. Scrambled eggs, toast, fruit, even a cup of coffee that he must’ve ordered from the café three buildings away because Aaron didn’t brew anything besides trouble.
After eating, I stretched, grabbed my phone, and almost laughed at the chaos of notifications from Maya, Jordan, and Liam asking if I was alive, if Aaron murdered me, if I needed a paramedic or therapy. I texted them I was fine, then headed to Aaron’s bathroom for the fastest shower known to mankind.
When I came out in a towel, I finally noticed the second bag he’d left.
Not the makeup and underwear bag — I saw that earlier — this one was bigger and had a tiny sticky note:
Wear this. Don’t ask questions. — A.L.
I opened it and nearly choked.
A white suit.
A whole white suit.
Tailored. Sharp. Clean lines.
And loafers with just the tiniest heel — the only kind I actually tolerated for more than twenty minutes.
“Aaron,” I whispered to no one, shaking my head, “why are you dramatic like this?”
I laughed anyway, because of course he would pick something like this. He wanted me to look like a senator running for office by the age of twenty.
I dressed slowly, did my makeup in the mirror — soft glam, something that made me look awake instead of emotionally wrecked — and stared at myself.
The suit was perfect.
But wearing all of it felt too stiff.
So I left the blazer folded on his bed and kept only the waistcoat and trousers, pairing it with the loafers. Comfortable, sharp, and definitely something Knox wouldn’t see coming.
Which…
Which I wasn’t thinking about.
At all.
Not even a little.
I grabbed my notes and walked quickly to the debate hall, arriving at 1:30.
The room was empty and quiet, the sunlight from the windows hitting the tables in warm strips. I took a deep breath, set my bag down, and started practicing my opening argument.
“Proposition three contradicts the ethical framework,” I said under my breath, flipping through my highlighted printout. “Unless they restructure the— wait, no, that part is weak—”
I adjusted my tone, speaking out loud, pacing slowly between chairs as if the audience was already in front of me.
“Your claim collapses the moment you consider international precedent, because—”
The door clicked.
Footsteps entered.
But I kept talking — partly because I was in the zone, partly because stopping would make it obvious I was startled.
“—and if you analyze the moral architecture behind— behind—”
I lost the sentence.
Because Knox walked in.
In black.
With that maddeningly effortless confidence he always carried like second skin.
He paused by the door for one second, eyes dragging over my outfit, over the waistcoat, up to my face, before he blinked like he didn’t expect me to look like this.
I pretended not to notice.
My heart pretended not to combust.
“Uh-huh,” Jordan said brightly behind him as she entered, “look who came early today. That’s new.”
Knox didn’t answer, still staring in my direction for a second too long before he walked to the front table.
Jordan bumped my shoulder, whispering, “You look like you’re about to win a presidential election.”
“Shut up,” I whispered back.
More students filed in chatting loudly.
“You ready?” Jordan whispered, dropping into the seat beside me.
“No,” I whispered honestly.
Knox sat on my other side, close enough that I could feel his warmth even with space between us. He placed his notes down, tapped his foot once, and leaned back casually.
“You’ll be fine,” he murmured, not looking at me.
Before I could tell him to shut up, the doors at the back opened again and the audience started filing in — professors, students, alumni,donors.
The room filled fast, the air buzzing with that specific academic tension.
I inhaled slowly, smoothing my waistcoat. Jordan squeezed my knee once. Liam gave me a thumbs up. Knox just glanced my way again before looking forward.
Then the moderator, Professor Alain, stepped on stage.
“Welcome to the annual Academic Gala Debate. Today’s topic—”
He said the topic.
And my blood drained out of my body.
This was not the exact topic we prepared.
It was close, but reworded in a way that changed half the implications and forced a completely different ethical angle.
My throat closed. “Oh my God,” I whispered. “We’re screwed. We’re—this isn’t the same—how—why—”
“Yael.”
Knox’s voice cut through everything.
I turned to glare at him. “Do you not hear him? That is NOT what we—”
“Yael,” he repeated, quieter this time, steady, grounding.
I froze.
“Listen,” he said. “Don’t think yet. Just listen. We can work with this.”
“But—”
“Hey.” He nudged my arm lightly. “You’re the best analyst in this row. Trust yourself.”
My heart shouldn’t have fluttered at that, but of course it did.
Stupid traitor heart.
I sucked in a breath.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay.”
“Good.” He nodded. “Take notes. We adapt.”
The debate began.
And for four solid hours — FOUR — we went back and forth with the other school like our lives depended on it.
Jordan opened strong with her signature calm-knife voice. “Your framework collapses once the international implications are considered, because your proposal doesn’t account for systemic constraints—”
The opposing lead shot back instantly, “On the contrary, our model addresses the constraints directly by—”
Knox leaned forward, elbow brushing mine as he whispered, “Their sources are weak. Hit that angle when it’s your turn.”
I nodded, scribbling notes so fast my hand cramped.
Then it was my turn.
I stood, heart pounding, and walked to the podium.
Every eye in the room followed.
“Under the revised topic,” I began, voice trembling for half a second before stabilizing, “your framework ignores the moral implications at the root of the argument. If your foundation collapses ethically, your practical application is void.”
A soft murmur spread through the audience.
I locked eyes with Jordan.
Then Knox.
Knox gave a tiny nod — just a millimeter — but it was enough.
I continued stronger.
Longer.
Sharper.
When I finished, Jordan whispered loud enough for only our side to hear, “Killed it.”
The other team fought back — aggressively — and we countered right back.
Knox’s turn was next, and of course he spoke like someone who’d swallowed a microphone and charisma tablet.
“The problem with your argument is simple,” he said calmly, “it looks strong until you touch it. Then it falls apart.”
The audience laughed. Professors smiled.
The opposing team looked murderous.
We rotated through speakers, crossfire rounds, rebuttals.
Jordan nearly verbally stabbed a guy.
Liam had the audience laughing without meaning to.
Knox shut down a third-year from the other school so thoroughly the poor guy lost his train of thought.
And I managed to counter one of the trickiest moral questions thrown at us.
By the time the moderator stood again, my legs felt like jelly and my brain felt like warm oatmeal.
“That concludes the debate,” Professor Alain announced. “Final scoring will be conducted tonight. The winner will be announced tomorrow at the Academic Awards Luncheon.”
The hall erupted — applause, chatter, people greeting professors, handshakes, laughter.
I exhaled like I’d been underwater for four hours.
Jordan groaned dramatically and fell against me.
“My soul left my body three times,” she muttered.
“Same,” I whispered.
Knox packed his notes quietly, glancing at me.
“You did well.”
I blinked at him. “You’re being nice.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
The crowd slowly thinned as people drifted out of the hall, buzzing about the debate, their voices echoing against the high ceiling. Jordan stretched her arms dramatically.
“Okay, I’m done functioning as a human,” she groaned. “I have… a thing.”
“A thing?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes. A thing,” she repeated, already grabbing Maya’s wrist. “Come on, you’re coming with me.”
“Wait— where?” Maya protested.
“Somewhere far from here before I collapse in public,” Jordan said.
Liam blinked, confused. “Am I invited?”
“No,” Jordan replied instantly.
Maya laughed. “Liam, come on. They can manage without us.”
And before he could even reply, Jordan dragged both of them toward the exit like a tornado with legs.
“Text me!” Maya called over her shoulder.
“Don’t die!” Liam added.
“Can’t promise!” Jordan shouted.
And just like that, they were gone.
Leaving me alone.
With Knox.
The room felt too big. Too quiet. Too full of him.
He walked toward me slowly, shoving his hands into his pockets, still wearing that calm, unbothered expression that somehow made my heartbeat do very stupid things.
“You did great,” he said, voice low, soft, annoyingly warm.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
His eyes flicked over my outfit, and something shifted in his face. Something sharp. Dark. Intent.
Then, quietly — too quietly — he said,
“You look beautiful.”
I froze.
My breath literally stopped existing.
“And I want to do things to you,” he added, like he was commenting on the weather.
My brain combusted on the spot.
“What— what— excuse—?!”
He tilted his head slightly, amused. “What? You asked.”
“No, I did NOT ask—”
“You were thinking it.”
“I WAS NOT—”
He stepped closer. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m overheating from stupidity,” I snapped.
His smile made my stomach drop.
“You’re cute when you lie.”
“I’m not cute,” I muttered, crossing my arms, “and you’re bluffing.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”
The way he said it — the quiet confidence, the restraint simmering under it — sent an electric shiver down my spine.
I needed to leave.
Immediately.
Before my brain melted out of my ears.
I grabbed my notes and headed toward the elevator.
He followed.
Of course he did.
We stepped inside and the doors slid shut.
It was only a five-floor descent, but it felt like the air turned thicker the second the doors sealed us in together.
He leaned back against the rail, eyes fixed on me.
Not moving.
Not blinking.
Just staring like I was something he wanted to unwrap slowly.
I swallowed. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like— like you’re planning something.”
He stepped forward.
Very, very slowly.
“Maybe I am,” he said.
“Knox—”
Before I could form an actual word, he reached out, pressed the emergency door-close button, and the doors slid shut again.
One beat.
Two.
Three.
Then he kissed me.
Hard.
Fast.
Like he couldn’t hold back anymore.
My breath hitched as his mouth moved against mine, heated, hungry, controlled only by the thin line of sanity he’d been holding onto all day.
His hand slid to my waist, pulling me closer.
My fingers curled into his shirt instinctively.
His lips deepened the kiss, rougher this time, like he’d wanted this since the moment he saw me at the podium.
A soft sound escaped my throat — humiliatingly honest — and his grip tightened, like he heard it and it did something to him.
The elevator hummed around us.
Time malfunctioned.
My brain malfunctioned.
Everything malfunctioned.
His forehead pressed to mine as we caught our breaths.
“Yael,” he said, voice rough and low enough to melt steel, “if you keep kissing me back like that, I’m not going to stop.”
That snapped me out of it.
Instantly.
I pushed lightly at his chest.
“Knox— I can’t.”
He blinked, breath uneven. “Why?”
“Because,” I said, trying to sound firm even though my voice wobbled, “I don’t… do things with people I’m not dating. Everything we've done was a bad judgement on my part.”
His eyes darkened — not angry, not surprised, just… alert, sharp, like he was memorizing the words.
Then he stepped back slowly.
“Okay.”
Just one word.
Soft, steady, not a hint of mockery.
The elevator dinged.
The doors opened.
I bolted out so fast I prob
ably left my soul behind.
My heart was beating loud enough to echo down the hallway.
I didn’t even glance back — I couldn't — I practically sprinted to my dorm, nearly tripping over my own feet.
The moment my door shut behind me, I fell against it, pressing a hand to my chest.
“What the hell,” I whispered. “What the actual hell.”
My lips still tingled.
My knees felt weak.
My brain? Gone. Completely gone.
One thing was painfully clear —
I was in trouble.
Deep, impossible, Knox-shaped trouble.