Chapter 22 – Suspicions
Sam's POV
I couldn’t look at Elias the same way after finding that note under my mattress.
She never told you everything.
The words replayed in my head every time my eyes landed on him. His careless smirk, his lazy confidence, the way he carried himself like nothing in the world could touch him—it all looked different now. Like maybe it was just a mask. Like maybe he knew far more than he let on.
I didn’t want it to be him. God, I didn’t. Because for all the irritation, for all the times he pressed my buttons and got under my skin, he was also the only one who ever looked at me like I wasn’t just another name on the roster.
But then again, maybe that’s exactly why he was dangerous.
At breakfast, the guys were loud as usual, tossing insults and jokes across the table, clattering forks against plates. I barely tasted the food in front of me, my mind gnawing at the words of the note.
I tried not to stare at Elias, but my eyes kept drifting to him anyway. The way his hand moved when he buttered his toast. The flicker of his gaze when one of Declan’s lackeys made some crude joke. He didn’t laugh. He never did. He just watched. Observed.
And I couldn’t help but think: was he watching me, too?
He caught me staring. Of course he did. His mouth curved into the faintest hint of a smile, the kind that always made me want to punch him. Or kiss him. Or both.
“Something on my face, Hale?” he asked lightly, voice carrying over the chaos of the table.
Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I forced myself to look away. “No.”
But my denial was weak, flimsy. And judging by the smug gleam in his eyes, he knew it.
The rest of the day dragged like an anchor. Every time I turned, Elias seemed to be there. Walking a few steps behind me, lingering in the doorway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Always close enough to make me nervous, but never too close to call him out.
I told myself it was coincidence. That I was imagining things. But the truth was uglier: I didn’t believe in coincidence anymore. Not in this place.
When we finally made it back to our room, the silence between us felt loaded. He sprawled on his bed with a book, casual as ever. I sat on mine, notebook in my lap, pretending to write while my thoughts circled like vultures.
If Elias had left those notes, he wanted me to break. To slip. To confess something I couldn’t.
But why?
And what did he mean about my sister?
Hours later, I snapped my notebook shut and shoved it under the mattress, my chest tight. Elias looked up at the sound, his brows lifting slightly.
“You’ve been twitchy all day,” he said, his voice low.
“I’m fine.”
“You always say that when you’re not.”
I glared at him, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Why do you care?”
He smirked faintly, but there was something sharper in his eyes, something I couldn’t pin down. “Just making an observation.”
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Because for a second, it felt like he saw straight through me, like the walls I’d built around myself weren’t enough.
Like maybe he already knew.
That night, I lay awake listening to his breathing. Slow. Even. Or maybe just faked.
My mind spun with possibilities. Elias had the intelligence. The sharp eyes. The constant observation. If anyone in this dorm could put the pieces together, it was him.
He could have slipped the notes under my mattress. He could have written them in that neat, deliberate script. He could have been the one who knew about my sister.
But if that was true… then why tell me? Why not expose me outright?
Unless he was waiting for the perfect moment.
The thought made my stomach twist into knots. I rolled onto my side, clutching the blanket, watching the faint rise and fall of his chest in the dim light.
If Elias was the one leaving the notes, then he held all the power.
And I had none.
The next day, I tested him. Just little things.
I mentioned the stairwell casually when the group was around, gauging his reaction. His eyes didn’t flicker. His posture didn’t shift. Nothing.
Later, I dropped a line about my sister—not directly, but vague enough to see if he’d bite. He just tilted his head, curiosity flickering across his face, then let it go.
Too controlled. Too careful.
It almost convinced me it wasn’t him.
Almost.
But when I got back to the room that night, there was another note waiting on my pillow.
This one was shorter. Colder.
You’re not as alone as you think.
My hands shook as I crumpled the paper, my pulse thundering in my ears. I whipped around, and there he was—Elias—standing in the doorway with that maddeningly calm expression.
Our eyes locked. His gaze dropped, just for a second, to the crumpled note in my fist.
Then he smiled. Slow. Knowing.
My blood turned to ice.