Chapter 2 CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 2
YAEL
The knock comes way too early.
I bury my face in the pillow, pretending if I stay perfectly still, whoever it is will just evaporate.
Nope. Another knock. Louder.
“Yael.” Aaron’s voice. Of course.
I groan, dragging myself out of bed. My hair is a disaster, and my pajama shirt says I’m allergic to mornings. Accurate.
I yank the door open. “What do you want? It’s literally… morning.”
Aaron stands there, already showered, dressed, and looking disgustingly functional. “It’s eight a.m.”
“Exactly,” I deadpan. “Illegal.”
He pushes past me like he owns the place. “We need to talk.”
“Oh no,” I mutter, shutting the door behind him. “This is going to be one of those conversations, isn’t it?”
He crosses his arms. Yep. Full Big Brother Mode activated.
“Yael,” he says, like he’s addressing a courtroom. “We need to set some boundaries now that you’re here.”
I flop onto my bed dramatically. “Boundaries. Wow. We’re really doing this.”
“I’m serious.”
“You always are.”
He gives me that don’t push me look. I sigh. “Fine. Lay it on me.”
His jaw tightens. “Knox Hale is off-limits.”
Bingo.
I press my lips together to stop a grin. “I didn’t realize we were drafting the Ten Commandments of Dorm Life.”
“Yael.”
“Aaron.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “He’s a walking problem. He’s reckless. He gets into fights. He uses people. He’ll chew you up and spit you out, and I won’t be there to catch the fallout.”
I raise a brow. “You practiced that in the mirror, didn’t you?”
“Yael.”
“Okay, okay!” I hold up my hands. “I’m not interested. I swear. I’ll keep a ten-foot radius between me and Mr. Walking Problem.”
His eyes narrow. “Promise me.”
“Fine. I promise.” Famous. Last. Words.
Satisfied, he heads for the door. “Good. I’ll see you later.”
“Wow. Can’t wait to third-wheel your entire football team.”
He rolls his eyes and leaves.
The second the door shuts, I collapse back on my bed and stare at the ceiling. Knox Hale. I can practically hear his lazy drawl from last night. Princess.
Ugh.
I shake it off and get to work on my room. If I’m going to live here, it has to look like me. Within hours, fairy lights are strung, my plants are in the windowsill, my books lined up in aesthetic order (not alphabetically, because I’m not a monster). A soft playlist fills the room.
It’s… perfect.
By evening, I’m restless. I’ve unpacked, decorated, eaten, and stared at my ceiling. I need to move.
So I lace up my sneakers and head out for a jog. The campus at night is a whole different vibe. Quieter. Shadows stretch across the walkways, lampposts flickering in warm pools of light. L
I settle into an easy rhythm, headphones in, music pulsing through me. Turn left past the library. Right by the arts building.
And then—bam.
I collide with something solid. My breath knocks out of me as I stumble back.
“Easy there, princess.”
My stomach drops. Of course.
Knox Hale.
Leaning against a black motorcycle like he was born to pose for a bad decisions poster. Smoke curls around him. His jacket is unzipped, T-shirt white against his tanned skin. Hair messy in that perfect, ruined way. Eyes sweeping over me—slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing every inch just to annoy me.
I pull out my earbuds. “Don’t call me that.”
He grins. “What? Princess?” He says it again, slower, like he’s tasting it.
I cross my arms. “Yes. That.”
“Can’t help it,” he drawls. “You’ve got that look. Rich. Untouchable. Like you’d slap a guy for breathing wrong.”
“I might,” I shoot back.
His grin widens, sharp and amused. “See? Proves my point.”
I turn to leave. “This was fun. Bye.”
“Going for a run at night?” His voice follows me. “Bold.”
I don’t respond.
“You know,” he continues, way too entertained, “girls usually flirt with me when they bump into me. You? You glare like I stole your lunch money.”
“Maybe you did,” I mutter.
He laughs. Not polite. Not restrained. Real. Low and warm.
I hate that it sounds good.
“Princess, you’re cute.”
I whirl around. “Stop calling me that!”
He steps forward, smoke trailing behind him. “Then give me your name.”
My heart stutters. “No.”
He tilts his head. “No?”
“Exactly. No.”
He looks genuinely intrigued now, like I’m the first puzzle he’s been handed in a while. “You’re fun.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Night, princess.” His voice is soft, teasing, sliding down my spine like velvet.
I keep walking. I don’t look back. But my heartbeat’s thudding too loud.
Back in my room, I slam the door behind me like that’ll keep his voice out.
It doesn’t.
I lie on my bed, staring at the fairy lights.
Why does his voice keep replaying in my head? Why does the way he looked at me feel like a spark that hasn’t gone out?
I don’t like him. He’s trouble. My brother’s rival. Practically glowing with red flags.
And yet…
I press a pillow over my face and groan.
“Not happening,” I whisper. “Nope. No way. I’m not that girl.”
But w
hen I close my eyes, I can still see the curve of his grin. Hear the way he said princess like it was a secret.
And somehow, sleep doesn’t come easy.