Chapter 24 Chapter 23
Harper POV
By morning, the tequila courage is gone, but the ache isn’t.
Lila’s curled against me like a human emotional support blanket, and for a second, I almost believe I’m okay.
But memory is cruel.
Logan’s room.
Sophia.
Her hand on his chest like she belonged there.
My heart breaking fast and stupid.
I shower, scrub my face clean, and pull on armor instead of clothes — cream sweater that fits like I earned every curve, pleated skirt, sleek hair, red lip because red means war.
I am not crawling. I will not beg. Not today. Not ever again.
The lecture hall feels colder than usual. I slide into my front-row seat — controlled, poised, the girl who always has her shit together.
Then he enters.
Logan.
Late. Jaw clenched. Exhaustion in the way he moves.
I don’t turn. I don’t let him see the tremor in my hands.
Power is not looking at someone who once felt inevitable.
Halfway through lecture, my phone buzzes.
You didn’t deserve that.
I’m sorry.
I shove my phone deep in my bag like burying it might bury the sting.
When class ends, I move first — fast and sharp, grabbing my bag like armor.
He steps behind me. Close.
Too close.
“Harper—”
“Don’t.”
The single word slices the air between us. I don’t look back.
If I do, I’ll see remorse and ruin and I cannot break twice in 24 hours.
Outside, campus buzzes — laughter, coffee, morning light. A world moving forward even if I feel paused.
Footsteps join mine.
Cole.
Casual hoodie, messy hair, warm eyes — like he’s the soft landing you find right before you fall apart.
“You look like you haven’t blinked since last night,” he says.
“I’m fine.”
“You just lied to me and God in the same sentence.”
I almost smile. Almost. “I don’t owe anyone a breakdown.”
“Didn’t ask for one,” Cole says. “Just checking if I need to bury a body or alibi a sorority president.”
One involuntary breath escapes me — half laugh, half heartbreak.
We cross the quad. Sun warms my face. My heartbeat starts to slow.
Then Cole stops walking.
Looks at me. Really looks.
“Harper, you deserve someone who sees you,” he says. “And if nobody else is going to step up and show you that, then let me.”
My breath catches. “Cole…”
He lifts a hand — not to shush me, just gently holding space. “I’m not saying this because I pity you. And I’m not offering charity. You’re a beautiful woman — strong, smart, respected, someone who built her life with her own damn hands. That’s attractive as hell.”
Heat pricks behind my eyes.
“And you deserve to be taken out and admired,” he continues. “Not as someone’s what-if, or backup plan, or almost.”
I swallow hard. “I thought you and Logan were friends.”
“We are.” Cole doesn’t flinch. “And he’s a damn fool. He’s too wrapped up in chasing shiny, shallow things to see what’s real right in front of him.”
My heart stutters at the honesty — brutal, clean, unflinching.
Cole’s voice softens. “I won’t pretend I don’t know there’s history there. But I’m not asking to replace anyone. I’m asking because you deserve to be wanted out loud. And yeah…”
A slow breath. A knowing half-grin.
“…maybe I also want him to see the thing he never had the guts to reach for.”
There it is. Truth. Sharp but not cruel.
A strange, powerful pulse hits my ribs — pride? Temptation? Hope?
“I… don’t know,” I whisper.
“You don’t have to.” Cole steps back, hands in pockets, easy. “Just know this: if you choose me, it won’t be to spite him. It’ll be because I see you. And I’d be proud to.”
My throat tightens.
“Thanks, Cole.”
“Anytime, Harper.”
He walks away — steady, strong, not waiting for an answer but leaving the door open like a gentleman and a threat at the same time.
I turn—
And see him.
Logan.
Across the quad, still as stone, watching.
Jaw locked. Eyes burning.
Hands balled like he wants to punch time itself.
For a breath, I think he’ll come over.
He doesn’t.
He turns and walks the other direction like leaving me there hurts him more than staying could.
I breathe once.
Twice.
Stand taller.
I walk too — toward the life I built, not the boy I used to hope would choose me.
I don’t look back.
Not because I don’t want to.
But because this time, wanting isn’t enough.