Chapter 11 GHOSTS IN THE WIRES
POV SYLVIE
The results for the Torts exam were posted on the digital portal at 9:00 AM sharp.
I was sitting in the back of the campus cafeteria, nursing a lukewarm black coffee that tasted like burnt rubber and regret. My fingers hovered over the refresh button on my laptop, trembling just enough to be annoying. Across from me, Nathaniel was casually peeling an orange, looking like he didn't have a single care in the world.
"Just click it, Belrose. The suspense is making you look twitchy," he said, popping a slice into his mouth.
"I am not twitchy. I am being methodical. I’m waiting for the server lag to stabilize."
"You’re terrified."
"I am not—" I cut myself off as the page finally loaded. My eyes darted to the top of the list.
Belrose, Sylvie: 98/100 (A+) Cavill, Nathaniel: 98/100 (A+)
"A tie," I whispered, part of me relieved and the other part absolutely furious. "A literal, mathematical tie. You’ve got to be kidding me."
Nathaniel leaned over, glancing at my screen. He didn't look surprised. "Well, I suppose we’ll have to split those twelve dollars you bet. I'll take six."
"In your dreams. A tie means the bet is void. It means the universe is indecisive."
"It means we’re a matched set," he said, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that made my heart do a traitorous little flip. "The Board is going to love it. The 'Power Couple' actually having the power to match."
I was about to come back with a scathing remark about his ego when my phone started vibrating on the table. It wasn't a campus notification. It was a FaceTime call from my mother.
My blood turned to ice.
"I have to take this," I said, my voice suddenly small. I grabbed the phone and practically bolted for the exit, ducking into a quiet alcove near the vending machines.
I hit 'Accept,' and my mother's face filled the screen. She was sitting in our small kitchen back home, the floral wallpaper peeling slightly in the corner behind her. She looked tired, her eyes red-rimmed.
"Sylvie," she said, her voice trembling. "I saw the news. I saw the pictures on the internet. Someone at the diner showed me a blog post about... about an engagement?"
"Mom, listen—"
"A Cavill, Sylvie? You told me you were studying! You told me you were working three jobs to keep that scholarship! And now I see you wearing a ring that looks like it belongs in a museum, standing next to a boy who looks like he owns the world. People in town are talking. They're saying you've... you've changed. That you're selling yourself for a name."
The words felt like physical blows. My mother had worked double shifts at the tire shop for years just to make sure I had enough for textbooks. To her, the Cavills weren't just rich; they were the kind of people who looked down on people like us.
"It's not what it looks like, Mom. I'm still me. I'm still studying. The scholarship was... there was a problem, and this was a way to fix it."
"By lying?" she asked, a tear finally rolling down her cheek. "Did I raise you to be a lie, Sylvie? I didn't want you to be rich. I wanted you to be better."
"I am being better! I'm trying to survive!" My voice cracked, and I felt the hot sting of tears in my eyes. "If I lose this beca, Mom, I'm back in that basement. I'm back at the shop. I just... I needed a shield."
"A shield made of gold is still a cage, mija," she whispered. "Just... don't lose yourself. Don't forget where you came from just because you're sleeping in silk now."
She hung up before I could say anything else. I stood there, staring at the blank screen, feeling like the smallest, most pathetic person in the world. The emerald dress, the 98% on the exam, the billionaire "fiancé"—none of it mattered. I was just a girl from a small town who was lying to the one person who actually loved her.
"Sylvie?"
I jumped, nearly dropping the phone. Nathaniel was standing at the entrance of the alcove. He wasn't smirking. He looked... concerned? Or maybe he just hated seeing his "investment" looking like a mess.
"Go away, Nathaniel," I said, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.
"Was that your mother?"
"None of your business."
He stepped closer, ignoring my hostility. "She saw the news."
"Everyone saw the news! That's the point, isn't it? That's what your grandfather wanted! Well, congratulations. My mother thinks I'm a gold-digging liar, and half the town thinks I’ve gone 'Hollywood.' I hope your trust fund is worth it."
I tried to push past him, but he caught my arm. "Wait."
"Let go of me, Cavill."
"Sylvie, look at me." He didn't let go. He pulled me around until I was forced to face him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean, linen handkerchief. He didn't hand it to me; he used it to gently dab the tears from my cheeks.
"I didn't think about her," he admitted, his voice quiet. "I thought about my family. I thought about the Board. I didn't think about the people who actually know you."
"Because you don't have anyone like that," I snapped, though my anger was losing its edge. "You only have people who want something from you."
"Maybe," he said, his gaze softening in a way that terrified me. "But you're not one of them. You’re the only person who looks at me and actually sees a person, even if you hate that person."
He tucked the handkerchief away and rested his hands on my shoulders. "The Engagement Party is tomorrow night. It’s the biggest show we’ll ever put on. But after it’s over... we can find a way to tell her. Or we can find a way to make it look like it was a 'whirlwind romance' that faded. I won't let her think less of you."
"You can't control what people think, Nathaniel. Not even with your money."
"Watch me."
He leaned down, pressing a soft, brief kiss to my forehead. It wasn't "practice." it wasn't for Silas or the blog. It was just... quiet.
"Go to your dorm. Sleep. I’ll have the dress delivered at six. And Sylvie?"
"Yeah?"
"You earned that ninety-eight. Don't let a phone call take that away from you."
I watched him walk away, his head held high, the perfect heir once again. I wanted to hate him. I really did. It would be so much easier if he were just a villain. But as I walked back to my room, I realized the lie wasn't just for my mother anymore.
I was starting to lie to myself. I was starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't just a shield to him. And in the world of the Cavills, that kind of hope was more dangerous than any scandal.
I spent the rest of the day in a daze. Chloe tried to cheer me up with a pint of "emergency" cookie dough ice cream, but it tasted like cardboard. I kept looking at my phone, hoping for another text from my mom, but there was nothing.
When the sun went down, a large, black box was delivered to my door. It didn't have a card, just a logo I recognized from the atelier.
I opened it, and the room seemed to fill with light. It was a gown made of silver silk, looking like liquid moonlight. Attached to the hanger was a small, handwritten note in elegant, sharp script:
You aren't a cage, Sylvie. You're the storm that's going to break it. See you at eight. - N.
I ran my fingers over the silk, a shiver tracing its way down my spine. Tomorrow night, the world would see the "Future Mrs. Cavill." But as I looked at my reflection in the mirror—pale, tired, and eyes still puffy from crying—I realized I was terrified of what I was becoming.
I wasn't the girl with twelve dollars anymore. But I wasn't a Cavill either. I was something in between. Something new.
And as the clock ticked toward midnight, I knew that after the party tomorrow, there would be no going back. The "Academic Rivalry" was officially dead. The war had just begun.