Chapter 14 THE FRAT HOUSE AMBUSH
POV SYLVIE
If the "Virginity Vortex" had been my private rock bottom, the walk across Astoria’s Quad the following Monday was the public equivalent of being paraded through the streets in stocks.
Silas hadn’t said a word to the press, of course. He was a professional vault. But he had reported back to Arthur Cavill, and Arthur, in his infinite wisdom, had decided that the best way to "cement" the news was to leak a tiny, suggestive detail to the alumni newsletter: “The young couple spent a quiet, intimate morning at the city townhouse following their successful debut.”
"Intimate morning," I muttered, slamming my locker shut. "I was wearing a pillow as a shield and screaming about my morals. How is that intimate?"
"In billionaire-speak, 'intimate' means anything that happens behind closed doors," Chloe said, leaning against the lockers and popping a piece of bubblegum. "Look on the bright side, Sylvie. Half the girls in the nursing school are currently staring at you like you’ve just won the lottery and a Nobel Prize at the same time."
"I don't want to win the lottery! I want people to stop looking at my neck to see if I have hickeys!"
"Do you?"
"Chloe!"
"Just checking!" she laughed, but then her face went serious. "Look, be careful today. Elena Vane has been camped out in the student lounge all morning with the Alpha Beta girls. They’re hosting the 'Winter Kickoff' party at the Delta house tonight. And guess who just got a VIP invite?"
I looked at the pink card Chloe was holding. It was scented. It smelled like expensive desperation and vanilla.
"I’m not going to a frat party," I said. "I have to prep for my Constitutional Law seminar. I’m not spending my Friday night drinking cheap beer out of red cups while someone vomits on my shoes."
"You have to go," a voice said from behind us.
Nathaniel was there, looking infuriatingly handsome in a charcoal grey pea coat. He looked like he’d stepped off a winter fashion billboard, while I looked like a girl who had spent the morning trying to hide a pimple with too much concealer.
"I don't have to do anything, Cavill. My contract says 'public appearances,' not 'keg stands'."
"Arthur wants us there. Elena’s father is a major donor to the Delta house renovation. If we don't show up, it looks like we’re hiding. And in this town, hiding is an admission of guilt." Nathaniel stepped closer, his eyes dropping to mine. "Besides, I hear they have a really nice terrace. For... practicing."
I felt the heat rush to my face, the memory of the "Virginity Vortex" morning hitting me like a physical blow. "You are a menace to society."
"And you're the guest of honor. Wear something that doesn't involve a hoodie, Belrose. I'll pick you up at nine."
The Delta house was a sprawling mansion that smelled of old wood, spilled vodka, and the frantic pheromones of two hundred nineteen-year-olds. The music was so loud I could feel the bass vibrating in my molars.
I was wearing a black leather skirt and a sheer turtleneck—edgy enough for a frat party, but "academic" enough that I didn't feel like a total sellout. Nathaniel was stuck to my side like a shadow, his hand resting possessively on my waist.
"Try to look like you're having fun," he whispered in my ear, his breath tickling my skin.
"I am having fun. I’m currently calculating how many health code violations are happening in that kitchen."
"Sylvie! Nathaniel! So glad you could make it!"
Elena appeared through the crowd, looking like a literal ice queen in a white sequined mini-dress. She was holding two sapphire-colored cocktails. "It’s so rare to see the campus’s favorite 'it-couple' at a common frat party. I thought you’d be too busy... well, you know. Recovering from your 'intimate' morning."
She handed me one of the drinks. Her smile was sharp, like a razor blade hidden in a marshmallow.
"We like to keep in touch with the commoners, Elena," I said, taking the drink but not sipping it. I wasn't an amateur. I’d seen enough Law & Order to know you don't drink anything handed to you by a rival. "It keeps us grounded."
"Of course. Anyway, Nathaniel, your old rowing teammates are in the back yard. They’ve been dying to see you. Sylvie, why don't you come with me to the VIP lounge? The girls want to hear all about the ring."
Nathaniel hesitated, his grip on my waist tightening. "I should stay with her."
"Oh, don't be so protective, Nate! It’s just us girls. We won't bite... much." Elena laughed, a high, tinkling sound.
I looked at Nathaniel and gave him a small nod. "Go. See your friends. I can handle a few sorority girls. I’ve survived three years of your ego; this is a vacation."
He lingered for a second, his gaze searching mine, before he finally let go. "Don't leave the room without me."
As soon as Nathaniel disappeared toward the yard, Elena’s demeanor shifted. The "ice queen" mask didn't fall, but it grew colder. She led me toward a smaller room upstairs, away from the main roar of the party. A few of her Alpha Beta friends were already there, sitting on leather couches, holding their phones like weapons.
"So, Sylvie," Elena said, sitting down and crossing her long, tan legs. "Let’s be real for a second. We’re all adults here—mostly. This engagement is a joke. We know it, the Board knows it, and eventually, the press will know it."
"If it’s a joke, why are you so obsessed with it?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
"Because I hate a mess," Elena snapped. "And you’re a mess. You’re a scholarship girl who got lucky with a camera and a desperate boy. But Nathaniel doesn't do 'poor.' He doesn't do 'struggle.' He’ll grow bored of your 'authentic' life in a week. Especially when he finds out about... well, this."
She tapped her phone screen and turned it toward me.
My heart stopped.
It was a video. It was grainy, taken from a distance, but the silhouettes were unmistakable. It was me and Nathaniel in the garden the night of the "practice" kiss. But the way it was edited—with a timestamp and a caption—made it look like we were arguing, like he was forcing me into the kiss, and then me running away in "tears."
"If this goes out," Elena whispered, "the narrative changes. It’s no longer a whirlwind romance. It’s a scandal-ridden heir harassing a vulnerable student to save his image. Harassment is an expulsion offense, Sylvie. For both of you."
I felt the walls closing in. The room felt ten degrees hotter.
"You wouldn't," I breathed. "It would ruin Nathaniel’s reputation, too."
"Nathaniel is a Cavill. He’ll go to London for a year, wait for it to blow over, and come back to a pile of money. But you? You’ll be the girl who cried wolf. You’ll lose your degree. You’ll be back at that tire shop before the weekend is over."
Elena stood up, walking toward me until we were inches apart. "Leave him. Break the engagement tomorrow. Tell the press you realized you weren't ready. Do that, and the video disappears. Stay, and I hit 'post'."
I looked at the sapphire drink in my hand. I looked at the girls on the couch, their phones ready to record my breakdown.
For a second, the "Virginity Vortex" panic returned. I wanted to run. I wanted to cry. I wanted to call my mom and tell her I was coming home.
But then, I remembered the Torts exam. I remembered the 98%. I remembered Nathaniel’s hand on my cheek, telling me I was the storm.
I looked at Elena and did something she didn't expect. I laughed.
"What's so funny?" she hissed.
"You are," I said, my voice steady and cold. "You’ve spent your whole life being a 'safe' choice, Elena. And you’re so terrified that someone like me—someone with 'nothing'—can walk in and take what you think belongs to you. But here’s the thing about people who have nothing: we aren't afraid to lose."
I took a step toward her, my eyes narrowing. "Post the video. Go ahead. But before you do, you might want to check the metadata on the original file. Because I’m a law student, Elena. And I know that unauthorized recording in a private university space without consent is a felony in this state. If you post that, I won't just sue you. I’ll make sure you spend your graduation in a courtroom."
Elena’s face went pale. The girls on the couch looked at each other, suddenly terrified.
"You’re bluffing," Elena whispered.
"Try me. I’ve got twelve dollars in my bank account and a hell of a lot of spite. What have you got? A sequined dress and a daddy who’s tired of paying for your mistakes?"
I turned and walked out of the room, my heart hammering but my head held high. I didn't stop until I reached the backyard.
Nathaniel was there, talking to a guy in a letterman jacket. As soon as he saw me, he excused himself and rushed over. "Sylvie? You’re pale. What happened? Did she—"
"I’m fine," I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the gate. "But we’re leaving. Right now."
"Why? What did she say?"
"She tried to blackmail me with the 'practice' kiss. She thinks she has us trapped." I looked up at him, the adrenaline finally fading and leaving me exhausted. "Nathaniel, she’s not going to stop. This isn't just a game anymore. It’s a war."
Nathaniel looked back at the house, his jaw setting in that hard, dangerous line. Then he looked at me, and his expression softened. He reached out, tucking a stray hair behind my ear.
"Then let's win it," he whispered. "Together."
As we walked away from the house, the music fading into the cold night air, I realized that for the first time in my life, I wasn't fighting for a grade or a scholarship. I was fighting for the boy holding my hand.
And as the "Virginity Vortex" faded into the background, a new, much more dangerous feeling was taking its place. It was the feeling that, for better or worse, I was exactly where I was supposed to be.