Chapter 17: The Cracks in the Golden Boy
It started with the texts.
At first, they were spaced out—occasional check-ins masquerading as politeness.
Hey. Just wanted to make sure you got home safe.
Saw you left early today. Everything okay?
Missed seeing your face in Lit. Next week?
Evelyn didn’t respond.
She didn’t need to.
She had made herself clear.
But Nathaniel had always been the kind of boy who didn’t understand the word no. To him, a boundary wasn’t a wall—it was a challenge.
So when the texts didn’t work, he started showing up.
She saw him the next day after class, leaning casually against her locker like nothing had ever happened.
“Evie,” he greeted her, smile as charming as it was unsettling.
She didn’t stop walking.
He followed.
“I just want to talk.”
“We already did.”
“I wasn’t finished.”
She turned sharply. “But I was.”
Nathaniel’s smile flickered, just for a second.
“I get that you’re upset,” he said, voice lowering. “But shutting me out isn’t the answer.”
Evelyn stepped back. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“Come on,” he said, softer now, eyes pleading. “We were good together. You can’t pretend what we had didn’t mean something.”
“I’m not pretending,” she said. “I’m remembering.”
And with that, she walked away.
But the appearances didn’t stop.
Nathaniel started turning up everywhere—places he never used to be.
The library. The photography lab. Even the literature club, claiming he was “trying new things.”
Evelyn felt the pressure closing in again, like invisible hands tightening around her freedom.
She kept her distance, but her skin crawled whenever his eyes found hers across the room.
And they always did.
Clara noticed first.
“He’s getting bolder,” she said one day as they sat beneath the old oak tree near the east wing.
Evelyn nodded, watching him from a distance.
“He doesn’t like losing control,” she muttered. “And I was his favorite puppet.”
Clara frowned. “What are you going to do?”
Evelyn looked at her, jaw set. “Cut the strings.”
One afternoon, Evelyn found a box waiting on her front porch.
Wrapped in pale pink ribbon.
No return label.
Inside: a silver necklace she’d once admired in a store window two years ago—in the previous timeline.
Her heart stopped.
She remembered pointing it out while walking with Logan—how she’d said it reminded her of her mother’s wedding ring.
She’d never told anyone else.
She picked up the note tucked inside:
“You always wanted this. I remember everything. – N.”
Evelyn dropped it like it burned her.
Liam was furious when she told him.
“That’s not a gift,” he snapped. “That’s a message. He’s saying he still owns a piece of you.”
“He doesn’t,” she said.
“But he thinks he does,” Liam growled. “And that makes him dangerous.”
The next week, Evelyn walked out of the Lit Club late to find her tires slashed.
All four.
A note under her wiper read:
“Careful where you walk. You’re not invincible.”
She didn’t cry.
She didn’t panic.
She just took a photo and sent it to Liam and Clara.
Then she filed a report.
The police took the note, said they’d “look into it.”
But Evelyn didn’t wait for justice anymore.
She made her own.
She confronted Nathaniel in the courtyard two days later.
Public. Open. Safe.
“I know it was you.”
Nathaniel looked at her, all golden smiles and polished teeth.
“Know what was me?”
“Don’t play dumb.”
He chuckled. “I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”
She stepped closer. “You’ve always been good at twisting the truth. At pretending to care when really all you want is control.”
“You’re upset,” he said calmly. “That’s understandable. Emotions are tricky.”
“Emotion didn’t slash my tires.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Good,” she said. “Then you won’t mind me filing a restraining order.”
His expression cracked—only for a second.
Then it vanished.
“I’ve never hurt you,” he said. “But you keep pushing me like I have.”
“That’s because you did,” she whispered.
“You’re going to regret this,” he said softly, his voice turning sharp. “I loved you.”
“No,” she said. “You owned me. And I’m not yours anymore.”
Later that night, her phone buzzed with a final message:
“You’ll remember me, Evelyn. You always do.”
She stared at the screen until the battery died.
Then she deleted his number.
And blocked it.
But the damage lingered—like smoke after a fire.
She stayed alert, watched every shadow, every unfamiliar car on the street.
She felt the weight of his obsession pressing against her chest like a reminder.
Nathaniel Hawthorne had shown his true self.
And now Evelyn knew exactly who she was up against.