Chapter 179
Lily's POV
Ellie was already moving, crossing the space between us in two quick strides. Her eyes went to my phone screen, and something shifted in her expression—sharp and alert, like a predator catching a scent.
"Answer it," she said.
"But what if it's—"
"Answer it." There was something in her voice, some authority I'd never heard before. Her eyes—God, were they actually glowing slightly in the dim morning light?
I hit accept before I could overthink it, my hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped the phone. I fumbled it to my ear.
"H-hello?"
Silence. Background noise—people talking, footsteps, the distant sound of a car engine. Then:
"Lily."
My heart stopped.
"Lily, it's me. Don't say anything, just listen. I only have five minutes."
Ryan's voice. Rushed, urgent, pitched low like he was trying not to be overheard. But unmistakably him—the way he pronounced my name with that tiny pause before the second syllable.
I bit down hard on my lower lip, tasting copper, because if I didn't I was going to start crying and I couldn't, I couldn't, not when he only had five minutes and he was alive, he was alive and talking to me and—
"I'm so sorry," Ryan said, and his voice cracked on the words. "God, Lily, I'm so sorry. I know you must be terrified and angry and I'm sorry, but you need to listen very carefully right now because I can't—I don't have much time."
Across from me, Ellie had gone completely still, her eyes locked on my face. I realized she could probably hear both sides of the conversation, but I couldn't process that right now.
"My grandfather died three days ago," Ryan continued, words tumbling out fast. "Heart attack. They kept it quiet—the board, the lawyers, the whole fucking vulture circle. I got pulled out by 'family representatives.' Private car to the regional airport, private jet to Aspen. They said it was to 'handle the arrangements' and 'discuss the transition.'"
A bitter laugh, sharp and unlike him. "They brought me to the manor. The west wing—you know how I always said I'd never take you there? Now you know why. It's beautiful and massive and feels like a goddamn mausoleum. They took my phone 'for security reasons.' Set up a whole communications protocol—anything I want to send has to go through Marcus, the head of security. Said it was to protect me from media attention and 'opportunistic individuals' trying to take advantage during a difficult time."
I could picture it—Ryan, my Ryan who couldn't stand being told what to do, who'd once skipped two days of class to drive to a protest three states over—trapped in some palatial prison, smiling and nodding while men in suits controlled every word he spoke.
"The roommates," I managed to choke out. "Jackson said—"
"I know. They told them I had a family emergency, needed to take a week off. Probably told your whole campus the same thing." Another sound in the background—footsteps? A car door? Ryan's voice dropped even lower. "I'm at a gas station right now. Two miles from the estate. The security detail stopped for coffee and I... I took a phone from the guy buying it. Disposable. He won't notice for another few minutes."
He was risking so much just to make this call. The thought made my chest hurt.
"Lily, you cannot call Carter Industries." The urgency in his voice spiked. "Whatever you were planning—and I know you, I know you were probably going to call every department until someone gave you answers—you can't. Please. The board, specifically Vice Chairman Hendricks and his faction, they're looking for pressure points. People who might influence my decisions. If you put yourself on their radar—"
"So what am I supposed to do?" The words burst out before I could stop them. "Just... pretend you don't exist? Act like everything's fine while you're being held prisoner by your own family?"
"Not prisoner. Not exactly." But he didn't sound convinced. "It's complicated. There are legal obligations, inheritance procedures, board restructuring. It's all legitimate on the surface, but underneath..." He trailed off. "Some of these people, they don't want a twenty-year-old college student making decisions about billions of dollars. They want control. And they're not above using... pressure... to get it."
"Pressure." My laugh was hollow. "You mean threats."
"I mean I need you to be invisible to them." His voice gentled, became almost pleading. "Lily, please. No calls to the company. No social media posts. Don't tell anyone except Ellie about this call. If anyone—anyone—approaches you claiming to be from my family or from Carter Industries, or says they're a lawyer or an investigator, you walk away. You don't engage. You don't confirm you even know someone named Ryan Carter."
The full weight of what he was asking hit me like a physical blow. Not just silence. Complete erasure of our entire relationship.
"For how long?" My voice came out small, childlike. "Ryan, for how long?"
The silence on the other end stretched so long I thought the call had dropped. Then:
"A year."
"What?"
"I need... Lily, I need a year. Maybe less if I can—but I can't promise that. A year to untangle this mess, to establish my legal standing, to figure out who I can actually trust in this fucking snake pit. A year to make sure that when I come back, I can actually stay. That they can't just..." He sucked in a shaky breath. "That they can't just lock me up again."
A year. Three hundred and sixty-five days. Two complete academic semesters.
"And what am I supposed to do during this year?" The anger was building now, hot and sharp behind my ribs. "Just... sit here? Go to class? Pretend my boyfriend didn't vanish into thin air? Go on dates with other guys? What, Ryan?"
"I—" He faltered. "I don't know. I just... I need you to be safe. That's all I care about right now. Your safety."
"What about what I care about?" My voice was rising despite myself. "What about the fact that we've been together for three months? That every Sunday morning you'd bring me coffee from that place off campus that makes it the way I like? That you taught me how to shoot a three-pointer and I taught you how to make actual edible stir-fry and we talked about—"
My breath caught. We'd talked about spring break. About meeting each other's families. About next year, moving into an apartment together off campus.
About a future.
"Did any of that mean anything to you?" The question came out broken. "Or was I just... what? A fun college experience for the billionaire playing at being normal?"