Chapter 156 Choosing the Battlefield

Chapter 156 Choosing the Battlefield
The morning after Mila’s sleepwalking episode, the apartment felt wrong. Wrong in the way a place feels when something fragile has cracked inside it. She’d left early for her classes, insisting she was fine, insisting she didn’t need to stay home, insisting she didn’t want to “hover.” I let her go because she needed the routine, but the image of her standing barefoot on the balcony ledge kept replaying in my head like a glitch in a video file.

By noon, I’d already paced the length of the living room twice, checked the balcony latch three times, and made coffee I didn’t drink. When the elevator chimed, I didn’t bother pretending I wasn’t waiting for it.

Theodore stepped out first, carrying a laptop bag and looking like he hadn’t slept. Gavin followed behind him, wearing sunglasses indoors and holding a pastry box he’d clearly bought to soften whatever lecture he planned to give.

“You look like hell,” Gavin announced, handing me the box.

“Good morning to you, too,” I muttered.

Theodore didn’t waste time. “What happened?”

I gestured toward the living room. “Sit. I’ll explain.”

They dropped onto the sofa — Gavin sprawling like he owned the place, Theodore sitting upright. I stayed standing, because sitting felt too passive.

“She sleepwalked,” I said. “Last night.”

Gavin’s sunglasses slid down his nose. “Sleepwalked? As in… wandered around? Or as in—”

“She walked onto the balcony,” I cut in. “Barefoot. Eyes open. Completely unresponsive.”

Theodore’s expression tightened. “Jesus.”

“She didn’t wake up until I pulled her back,” I said, the words coming out sharp. “She fought me. She thought I was someone else. Something else.”

Gavin’s bravado evaporated. “Is she okay?”

“She’s exhausted,” I said. “And she’s pretending she’s fine because she doesn’t want me to worry.”

Theodore rubbed his forehead. “This isn’t normal stress. This is trauma resurfacing.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. The kind that wasn’t judgmental — just concerned. Just human.

Then Theodore exchanged a look with Gavin — one of those silent, loaded glances that meant they hadn’t come here to check on me.

“There’s something else,” Theodore said, leaning forward. “We’ve been digging.”

My jaw tightened. “On what?”

“On who,” Gavin corrected, dropping his sunglasses onto the coffee table. “Vane.”

Theodore opened his laptop, turning the screen toward me. “We’ve confirmed everything. The surveillance stills. The asset‑forfeiture reports. The shell corporations. He’s not a rumor. He’s here.”

“In the city?” I asked.

Theodore nodded. “Arrived three days ago. Quietly. No public meetings. No digital footprint. But his associates are moving. We’ve tracked two of them to Alverstone’s administrative wing.”

My pulse kicked hard.

Gavin tapped the screen. “And Duane? He wasn’t freelancing. He was being fed. Someone gave him access to the archive keys. Someone gave him instructions. Someone wanted him close to Mila.”

I exhaled slowly, the pieces clicking together with a sickening clarity.

Theodore continued, “We’ve mapped out fifteen years of Vane’s associates. Drivers. Couriers. Accountants. Every person who’s ever touched his money. And two of them have ties to the Stones.”

Gavin’s voice softened — rare for him. “Nate… this isn’t campus drama anymore. This is a syndicate cleaner tying up a decade‑old debt.”

Gavin exhaled slowly. “So what’s the plan? Because you’re not the type to sit around and hope this resolves itself.”

I didn’t answer immediately. Because the plan — the real plan — had arrived in my inbox an hour earlier.

I walked to the kitchen counter, grabbed my phone, and tossed it onto the coffee table. The screen lit up with the message I’d left open.

A digital invitation. Gold foil. Salvatore crest embossed at the top.

Gavin groaned. “Your mother sent you a gala invitation? That’s not a peace offering. That’s a declaration of war wrapped in hors d’oeuvres.”

“She wants me there,” I said. “She wants Mila there.”

Theodore leaned forward. “You’re not actually considering going.”

“I am.”

Gavin stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “Nate. Buddy. Friend. Occasional menace. You cannot take Mila to a Salvatore gala. Alexandra will eat her alive and use the bones as table décor.”

“She won’t touch her,” I said.

“That’s not the point,” Gavin snapped. “The point is that Alexandra doesn’t invite people she doesn’t intend to use.”

“I know,” I said again, calmer this time. “And that’s exactly why I’m taking Mila.”

Theodore blinked.

I sat down finally, elbows on my knees, hands clasped. “Alverstone is tearing her apart. The rumors. The whispers. The board. The photos. Every day she walks into that campus, she’s fighting a battle she didn’t start. And they’re winning because they think she’s alone.”

“She’s not alone,” Gavin said.

“They don’t know that,” I replied. “Not really. Not publicly. Not in a way that matters.”

Theodore’s eyes narrowed. “You want to make it public.”

“I want to make it undeniable.”

Gavin let out a low whistle. “You want to brand her.”

Theodore leaned back, processing. “You want to walk her into a room full of Salvatore allies, investors, politicians, and media — and make it clear she’s yours.”

“She is,” I said.

“That’s not the issue,” Theodore said. “The issue is what Alexandra will do when she realizes you’re making a statement she didn’t authorize.”

“She already knows,” I said, tapping the invitation. “This is her way of pretending she’s in control.”

Gavin rubbed his temples. “Nate, this is dangerous.”

“So is everything else,” I said. “At least this way, I’m choosing the battlefield.”

Theodore studied me for a long moment. “You’re doing this for her.”

“I’m doing this because she deserves to walk into Alverstone without being treated like a scandal waiting to happen. Because she deserves to be seen as someone worth protecting, not someone worth exploiting.”

“And you think a gala will fix that?” Gavin asked.

“No,” I said. “But it will change the narrative. It will make the board and campus think twice. It will make anyone watching her think twice.”

Theodore nodded slowly. “You’re not wrong.”

Gavin sighed. “I hate that you’re not wrong.”

I leaned back, letting the tension settle. “I’ll tell her tonight. I’ll give her the choice. But I’m taking her.”

Theodore glanced toward the balcony door. “And what about the sleepwalking?”

“I’ll handle it,” I said. “I’ll keep her safe.”

Gavin snorted. “You say that like you’re planning to glue her to your side.”

“If I have to,” I said.

Theodore stood, grabbing his laptop bag. “We’ll help. Whatever you need.”

Gavin rose too, adjusting his sunglasses. “I’ll find out who’s on the guest list. If Alexandra is planning something, it’ll be in the seating chart.”

I nodded.

They headed toward the elevator, but Theodore paused at the door. “Nate?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re doing the right thing. Just… be careful.”

“I will.”

The elevator doors slid shut, leaving the apartment quiet again.

Then I picked up my phone, opened the invitation, and stared at the gold crest.

Alexandra had no idea what I was bringing with me.

Someone she couldn’t control.

Someone she couldn’t break.

Someone I wasn’t going to let her touch.

Mila would walk into that gala beside me.

And the world would see exactly who she belonged to.