Chapter 58 Chapter 57
Harper POV
The Alpha Chi living room is too loud.
Too many voices. Too much perfume. Too much excitement packed into one space that usually feels like home.
Tonight it feels like a stage.
I stand at the front of the room with my laptop open, a legal pad in my hand, and my president voice firmly in place. Calm. Organized. Unshakeable.
Inside, I feel like glass.
“Okay, guys,” I say, clapping once to get their attention. “Let’s bring it in. We’ve got a lot to cover.”
The chatter slowly dies down. Girls drop onto couches and chairs and the floor. Lila settles into a seat near the front, watching me a little too closely, like she’s waiting for me to crack.
I won’t.
Not here.
Not in front of them.
Behind me, the big whiteboard still has last week’s color-coded planning notes. Tonight, in bold letters, it reads:
ALPHA CHI / TITANS CHARITY AUCTION
Just seeing it makes something tight and ugly twist in my chest.
I breathe in. President Harper. Not… whatever else I am right now.
“So,” I begin, forcing brightness into my voice, “as you all know, the hockey team partnership is official. The date auction is next Friday night. We’re the closing segment.”
That gets squeals. Actual squeals.
“Closing segment?” someone says. “That’s huge!”
“It means the most money usually comes in at the end,” another girl says. “That’s when people are drunk and generous.”
Laughter ripples through the room.
I smile. Professionally.
“We’ll have five Alpha Chi reps in the auction,” I continue. “Paired with five Titans. Each pair gets introduced, quick speech, then bidding.”
A hand shoots up. “Do we get to pick who we’re paired with?”
Another hand. “Is it true Logan Shaw is the final one?”
There it is.
The room buzzes like someone just dropped a match into dry grass.
My pulse stutters, but I don’t let it show.
“Yes,” I say evenly. “He is.”
“Oh my God,” someone whispers. “That’s going to be insane.”
“People are going to lose their minds.”
“I heard alumni are already asking about it.”
“And you’re with him, right?” a girl blurts out, grinning. “Because you’re the president?”
Every eye in the room turns to me.
I feel it like heat.
“Yes,” I say. “I am.”
My voice sounds steady. I’m proud of that.
Lila shifts in her seat, her mouth pressing into a thin line.
Someone laughs. “Wow. That’s… kind of perfect.”
Perfect.
If only they knew.
I glance back at my notes. “Anyway. Logistics. We need volunteers for setup, check-in, cleanup—”
“But like,” another girl interrupts, leaning forward, eyes bright, “are you two, you know…”
She makes a vague gesture between her fingers.
Together.
The room goes quiet in that way that’s very, very loud.
I straighten. “No.”
Too sharp. I soften it. “This is a charity partnership. That’s it.”
A few of them exchange looks.
“Okay, but—” someone starts.
“Moving on,” I say briskly, before anyone can finish that thought. “Decor. Theme is Winter Formal. Silver, white, navy. Lila, you’re still on centerpieces?”
Lila nods. “Yep. Already priced them out.”
“Good. And social media—”
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I ignore it.
“—needs to start pushing the event harder. We want full attendance.”
Another buzz.
I keep talking.
“Tickets will be sold at the door and online—”
Buzz.
This time, Lila’s eyes flick to me.
I stop.
“Sorry,” I say. “Two seconds.”
I pull my phone out.
A message preview.
Unknown Contact:
Can’t wait to see you get auctioned off, President 😉
My stomach drops.
I don’t open it. I don’t have to. I already know what kind of message it is.
I lock the screen and slide my phone back into my pocket.
“Okay,” I say, forcing a smile. “Where were we?”
The meeting continues, but it’s like I’m watching it through glass.
Every time someone mentions the hockey team, my chest tightens.
Every time someone jokes about the auction, about dates, about “winning a Titan,” I feel a little more exposed.
By the time we wrap up, I’m exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with planning.
The girls start filing out, buzzing, excited, already talking about dresses and bids and which Titan is “hotter in person.”
Lila hangs back.
Of course she does.
She waits until the room is mostly empty before crossing her arms and leaning against the arm of the couch.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” I say automatically.
She gives me a look. “Want to try that again?”
I close my laptop. “I’m fine.”
“Harper.”
I exhale slowly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
She studies me for a second, then nods. “Okay. But you don’t get to pretend this isn’t a lot.”
“I’m not pretending.”
“You’re performing,” she says gently.
That lands a little too close to home.
Before I can respond, one of the girls pops her head back in. “Oh! Harper, just so you know—someone from the Titans posted about the auction already. It’s blowing up.”
My stomach twists. “Posted?”
“Yeah. Group photo from practice. Caption’s like, ‘Get your wallets ready.’ Logan’s tagged.”
Of course he is.
“Cool,” I say. “Thanks.”
She leaves again.
Lila watches me carefully. “You want to know what I think?”
“Not particularly.”
“I think you should be mad,” she says. “And I think you’re being way too calm about all of this.”
“I don’t have the luxury of falling apart,” I say quietly. “I’m running this.”
She sighs. “You’re allowed to be a person, too.”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t feel like one right now.
⸻
Later that night, I’m in my room, pretending to study.
My phone is face-down on the desk.
I haven’t checked it in hours.
I already know there will be more messages. More jokes. More comments. More assumptions.
They say sex changes things.
It has.
Just not the way I wanted.
There’s a knock on my door.
I open it to find one of the younger girls—Maddie, I think—hovering awkwardly.
“Hey,” she says. “Um… I just wanted to say… the auction thing is really cool. You and Logan are going to raise so much money.”
“Thanks,” I say.
She hesitates. “Also… you’re, like, really lucky.”
Lucky.
I smile. “Goodnight, Maddie.”
She leaves.
I close the door and lean my forehead against it for a second.
Lucky.
My phone buzzes again.
This time, I pick it up.
Another message.
This one from a number I know.
Logan:
PR just told us the event posters are going up tomorrow.
That’s it.
No how are you. No last night. No anything.
Just logistics.
My chest aches.
I type.
Delete.
Type again.
Delete.
Finally, I send:
Harper:
Good. I’ll make sure the house promotes it.
Three dots appear.
Disappear.
Nothing.
I set the phone down slowly.
So that’s what we are now.
Professional.
Clean.
Distant.
Like it never happened.
Like I never happened.
I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the whiteboard across the room filled with plans and schedules and lists.
I tell myself I’m fine.
I tell myself I don’t care.
I tell myself he’s just being himself.
But something ugly and sharp curls in my chest anyway.
Because I saw the way the girls looked when his name came up.
And I know exactly what they’re thinking.
And the worst part?
So does he.