Chapter 69 Chapter 68
Lila POV
I close Harper’s door quietly behind me.
Not because I’m being polite.
Because if I don’t, I’m going to go find Logan Shaw and ruin his week.
The hallway is dim, lit by the soft lamps we keep on at night. The house is doing that low, familiar sorority thing—someone laughing in the common room, someone else arguing about a TV show, the faint hum of a dryer somewhere in the back.
Normal.
Everything feels normal.
Which is almost offensive.
Harper is not normal right now.
She’s sitting on her bed staring at the same wall she’s been staring at for twenty minutes, trying to convince herself she’s fine. Trying to convince herself this doesn’t hurt.
It hurts.
I saw it on her face earlier today.
Not in the dramatic, crying-in-the-bathroom way.
In the much worse way.
The quiet, stunned, “oh… okay” way when Logan walked past her like she didn’t exist.
Like she was invisible.
Like she wasn’t the girl he’s slept with.
Twice.
My jaw tightens as I head down the stairs.
I’ve seen a lot of guys be idiots.
But Logan?
Logan is being precise about it.
He’s not being loud. He’s not being cruel in a way people can point at and condemn.
He’s being cruel by subtraction.
No eye contact.
No hello.
No acknowledgment.
Like if he pretends hard enough, she’ll just… disappear.
And maybe that’s exactly what he wants.
I reach the bottom of the stairs and stop, gripping the banister harder than necessary.
The look on Harper’s face in the quad keeps replaying in my head.
The exact moment she realized he was avoiding her.
The exact moment something inside her cracked.
I’ve known Harper long enough to recognize that look.
It’s the same one she had freshman year when she thought she didn’t belong here.
The same one she had sophomore year when she thought everyone was only being nice to her because she was useful.
The same one she had before she learned how to stand taller and stop apologizing for taking up space.
And Logan Shaw just dragged her right back there without even touching her.
I hate him a little bit for that.
Okay.
A lot.
I go into the kitchen and grab a bottle of water, more to give my hands something to do than because I’m thirsty. I twist the cap off too hard and it squeaks in protest.
The conversation we just had in her room keeps looping in my head.
Why does he get to decide what this is?
Why does he get to act like nothing happened?
Why does he get to walk away clean?
And the worst part?
She’s right.
If she did what he’s doing, people would already be whispering.
If she slept with him twice and then started pretending he didn’t exist, she’d be branded something ugly by the end of the week.
But Logan?
He’s just being a guy.
He’s just “focused.”
He’s just “not a relationship type.”
Funny how that excuse only works in one direction.
I lean against the counter and stare at the wall like it personally offended me.
I’ve seen him the last couple of days.
At practice when I went with Harper to drop off paperwork.
In the student union.
Outside the rink.
He’s not okay.
And he’s not subtle about it either.
He’s playing like he’s trying to take someone’s head off.
Snapping at teammates.
Walking around like he’s one bad comment away from punching a wall.
And yet—around Harper?
Nothing.
Not even tension.
Just… absence.
Like he erased her.
Except he didn’t erase the part where he looks wrecked.
Which tells me everything.
I push off the counter and head toward the common room, where a few girls are half-watching a movie and half-doing homework.
They glance up when I walk in.
“Everything okay with Harper?” Jenna asks.
I hesitate for half a second. “She’s… had a rough couple days. Give her some space tonight.”
They nod. No questions. Good.
I don’t want to explain this.
Because if I start explaining it, I’m going to start planning.
And I am absolutely already planning.
I go back upstairs, not to Harper’s room, but to my own. I shut the door and lean against it for a second, exhaling slowly.
This isn’t about drama.
This isn’t about revenge.
This is about someone finally learning that you don’t get to treat people like they’re disposable.
I pull my phone out.
Scroll.
Stop.
Stare at a name for a long moment.
This is… probably a bad idea.
Which usually means it’s exactly the right one.
I open the message thread and type:
We need to talk.
I delete it.
Too vague.
Type again:
Are you free tomorrow?
Delete that too.
I don’t want polite.
I want honest.
I want warning.
I finally type:
I’m about to blow up the calm with the Ice Gods. Need your brain.
My thumb hovers for a second.
Then I hit send.
The message goes through.
My heart beats a little faster.
Not with nerves.
With resolve.
I set the phone down and stare at the ceiling.
I’m not trying to start a war.
But if someone insists on acting like they’re untouchable…
Well.
Sometimes you remind gods they bleed.
⸻
I pass Harper’s door again on my way to the stairs.
Her light is still on.
She’s sitting at her desk, working.
Being strong.
Holding it together.
I almost go in.
Almost tell her I’ve got something brewing.
But I don’t.
Because this isn’t about her needing to be rescued.
This is about Logan Shaw needing to learn something.
And some lessons only stick when they’re uncomfortable.
I keep walking.
And for the first time since this whole mess started, I feel like something has shifted.
Not exploded.
Not even visible yet.
Just… moving.
Like the moment right before a storm breaks.