Chapter 9 AFTERSHOCK
POV SYLVIE
My lips were still burning.
That was the only thought my brain could process as I sprinted away from the chapel garden, leaving Nathaniel standing there in the shadows. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. If I had turned around and seen even a flicker of regret—or worse, a smirk—on his face, I would have probably jumped into the university fountain and never come out.
I slammed the door of my dorm room behind me, my heart hammering a rhythm that felt like a death metal drum solo.
"Whoa, easy there, Flash Gordon," Chloe said, looking up from her laptop. She paused, her eyes widening as she took in my disheveled hair and the frantic look in my eyes. "Sylvie? You look like you just escaped a crime scene. Or a very intense make-out session."
"I... it was the wind," I stammered, throwing my backpack onto the floor. "And I ran. I have a lot of energy. Cardio is important."
Chloe closed her laptop, her expression shifting to full 'best friend investigator' mode. "Cardio? Sylvie, your lipstick is smeared and you’re vibrating. Did the Billionaire Prince finally stop being a statue and start being a human?"
"He kissed me," I whispered, the words feeling like lead in my mouth. "And I didn't punch him. Chloe, I didn't punch him! I think my brain is broken. My central nervous system has officially betrayed the Belrose bloodline."
I collapsed onto my bed, burying my face in my pillow. It still smelled like the sandalwood and cold air that clung to Nathaniel. I groaned into the fabric.
"Wait, back up," Chloe said, sitting on the edge of my bed. "He kissed you? Like, for real? No cameras? No Silas the Creepy Chaperone hiding in the bushes?"
"No one was there. He said we needed to... 'practice' for the engagement party. To make people jealous."
"Practice?" Chloe let out a bark of laughter. "That is the oldest, most pathetic line in the book. And you fell for it? The girl who literally corrected the Dean's grammar in her admission essay fell for the 'practice' line?"
"I didn't fall for it! I just... I was overwhelmed by the blog comments, and he was being... not an asshole for once. It was a momentary lapse in judgment. A biological anomaly."
"Sure, keep telling yourself that, babe," Chloe said, patting my leg. "But your 'anomaly' is currently the most searched topic on campus. Have you seen the latest post?"
I groaned, but I reached for my phone anyway. The Astoria Whisperer had updated again.
THE ASTORIA WHISPERER: SPOTTED!A certain power couple was seen leaving the Law Library in a rush, heading toward the chapel. Eyewitnesses say the tension was enough to melt the snow. Is the 'Fake Romance' theory dead? Or is Sylvie Belrose finally securing the bag?
The comments were even worse than before. Some people were calling us 'Relationship Goals,' while others were calling me a 'professional manipulator.' I turned the phone off and threw it across the room.
"I hate this," I said, staring at the ceiling. "I hate that everyone thinks they own my life because I’m wearing this stupid rock on my finger."
"Then end it," Chloe said, her voice turning serious. "The scholarship is back. You won. You can tell him to shove the trust fund and go back to being rivals."
I opened my mouth to agree, but the words wouldn't come out. Because I realized, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, that I didn't want to end it. Not yet. I wanted to know what happened if we 'practiced' again. I wanted to know why he looked so lonely when he talked about his family.
I was officially in trouble.
The next morning was the first "official" preparation for the Engagement Party. Silas had sent a car to pick me up at 7:00 AM. I was exhausted, grumpy, and currently sporting a pimple on my chin that I was convinced was a physical manifestation of my stress.
When I reached the Cavill townhouse in the city, the door was opened by a woman holding a clipboard who looked like she could kill a man with a single look.
"Miss Belrose. You're late. Three minutes."
"The bus was slow. Apparently, it doesn't have a Cavill engine," I snapped, pushing past her.
Nathaniel was in the dining room, looking perfectly put together in a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up. He was drinking black coffee and looking at a floor plan of the Astoria Ballroom. When he saw me, his hand hesitated for a fraction of a second, but his face remained a mask of cool indifference.
"You look like you didn't sleep," he said, not even a 'good morning.'
"And you look like you have no soul. Business as usual, then."
I sat down across from him, the silence between us stretching until it felt like it might snap. I waited for him to mention the kiss. I waited for him to apologize, or laugh, or tell me it was part of the plan.
He didn't. He just pushed a folder toward me.
"These are the guest lists. Elena’s family is at table four. My grandfather’s board members are at the head table. You need to memorize the faces and the names. If you call the CEO of Sterling Bank 'that guy with the bad toupee,' we’re done."
"I have a photographic memory, Nathaniel. I’m more worried about the guest list. Why is the entire student council invited?"
"To make it look 'inclusive.' My grandfather wants the students to see you as the new Queen of Astoria. It builds the brand."
"I don't want to be a brand! I want to be a lawyer!"
Nathaniel looked up then, his grey eyes locking onto mine. For a second, the mask slipped, and I saw the heat from the garden again. "In this world, Sylvie, you have to be the brand before you can be the lawyer. Play the game for six months. Then you can go back to your jeans and your twelve dollars."
"Is that all this is to you? A game?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.
Nathaniel stood up, leaning over the table until his face was inches from mine. The smell of his coffee and his skin was making it hard to think. "It started as a game. But games have rules. And you... you keep breaking all of them."
"Which rule did I break, Nathaniel?"
"The one where you weren't supposed to make me forget why I’m doing this."
Before I could respond, the woman with the clipboard cleared her throat from the doorway. "The florist is here, Mr. Cavill. And the jeweler wants to check the sizing on Miss Belrose’s second ring."
"Second ring?" I gasped. "How many fingers do you think I have?"
"One for the engagement, one for the 'official' announcement," Nathaniel said, pulling back and smoothing his shirt. "Go with her, Sylvie. Try not to bite the jeweler. He’s expensive."
The rest of the day was a blur of silk swatches, tasting menus that involved way too much truffle oil, and people poking at my hair. Nathaniel stayed in his office for most of it, but every time I passed the door, I felt his gaze on me.
By the time the sun began to set, I was sitting on the terrace of the townhouse, staring at the city lights. I felt like a doll being dressed up for a show I didn't want to perform in.
"You're doing that thing again," a voice said.
Nathaniel was standing by the glass doors, holding two glasses of sparkling cider. He walked over and handed me one.
"What thing?"
"The thing where you look like you're planning an escape route through the ventilation shafts."
"It’s an option," I said, taking a sip. "Seriously, Nathaniel. This party... it’s too much. The flowers alone cost more than my mom’s house. It feels... wrong."
"It's the Cavill way. We overcompensate for the lack of actual affection with a lot of expensive peonies." He sat down on the stone ledge next to me. "My grandfather is watching us, Sylvie. Silas reported back that we were 'quiet' today. He thinks the honeymoon phase is over before it started."
"Maybe because it never started."
Nathaniel looked at me, a strange look in his eyes. "Was it that bad? The 'practice'?"
My heart skipped a beat. "I... it was unexpected. And technically, it's a violation of our initial agreement regarding physical boundaries."
"You didn't pull away."
"I was in shock! It’s a common physiological response to trauma!"
Nathaniel let out a low, dark chuckle. "Trauma? Most girls would pay for that kind of 'trauma', Belrose."
"Well, I’m not 'most girls'. I’m the girl who’s going to beat you in the torts exam on Friday."
"We'll see about that." He reached out, his hand brushing against mine on the ledge. He didn't pull away. He just left it there, his pinky finger hooked over mine. It was a tiny gesture, but it felt louder than the entire engagement party.
"Sylvie?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't run away next time."
I looked at him, the city lights reflecting in his eyes, and I realized that I was terrified. Not of the board, not of Elena, and not of losing my scholarship. I was terrified because the girl who had everything figured out was disappearing, replaced by someone who wanted to stay in this golden cage just a little bit longer.
"I won't," I whispered.
As the cold wind blew across the terrace, I realized the 'practice' was over. This was the real thing. And the real thing was going to be a lot harder to survive.