Chapter 37 The armour
Chapter 37: The Ghost’s Armor (Elena’s POV)
The invitation to the Lake House wasn’t an olive branch. It was a summons to an execution.
I sat at my small desk in the West Wing, the moonlight stretching long, skeletal shadows across the floor. I didn't need to be a genius to figure out Chloe’s game. She wanted me on her turf—away from the safety of the Vance mansion, away from the cameras, and surrounded by a hundred people who viewed me as a curiosity at best and a parasite at worst.
"She thinks I'm going there to be a victim," I whispered, my voice sounding raspy in the quiet room.
I leaned back, my eyes landing on my reflection in the dark window glass. I looked tired. The dark circles under my eyes were a testament to the hours I’d spent digging through the encrypted files I’d managed to skim from the school’s server before the security tightened. I had names. I had dates. But I needed one more thing to tie the Millers to the exam leak—something physical.
And I had a feeling that something was hidden at the Lake House.
My mind kept drifting back to the library. To Liam. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the heat of his body trapping me against the books. I felt the way his breath hitched right before Jax interrupted us.
“You’re a liar and a coward.”
I’d called him that to his face, but as I sat in the dark, I wondered if I was talking to myself too. I was lying to myself if I said I didn't feel the pull. It was a sick, twisted magnetism. How could I feel anything for a boy who had stood by while his world broke me? How could I want to reach out to the same person who had called me "dirt" just hours before?
"It's just the adrenaline," I lied to my reflection. "It’s the survival instinct."
I stood up and limped toward the small closet Marcus Vance had filled with "appropriate" clothing when I first arrived. Most of it was bland, muted stuff meant to make me blend into the background. But tucked at the very back was a dress I’d bought with my own meager savings months ago, back when I thought Northview was going to be my dream.
It was a deep, midnight blue—almost black. It didn't have the designer labels Chloe wore like armor, but it fit me perfectly. It made me look sharp. It made me look dangerous.
"I won't be your 'charity' tonight, Liam," I muttered, running my hand over the fabric.
The next three days were a blur of cold shoulders and heavy silence.
I avoided the main house as much as possible. When I had to go for tutoring, I stayed strictly on the math. I didn't look at Liam’s face. I didn't acknowledge the way he lingered after I finished a problem, or the way he seemed to be on the verge of saying something every time I packed my bag.
He was back to being the King. He was surrounded by his team, laughing at their crude jokes in the hallways, and keeping Chloe tucked under his arm like a trophy. He was proving to the world that the library incident was just a lapse in judgment.
But I saw the way he watched me when he thought I wasn't looking. I saw the tension in his shoulders when someone mentioned the Lake House. He was terrified. Not for me, but for what I represented—the crack in his perfect, plastic life.
Friday night arrived with a heavy, humid heat. A black SUV pulled up to the West Wing entrance. No maid, no driver. Just a text from an unknown number: The car is outside. Don't be late.
I took a deep breath, straightened my midnight blue dress, and grabbed my cane. I didn't use the wooden one tonight. I’d polished the sleek, black metal one I usually kept for formal occasions. It felt less like a crutch and more like a scepter.
The drive to the Lake House took forty minutes. The further we got from the city, the darker the roads became, the trees closing in like walls. When we finally pulled through the iron gates, the music hit me first. A low, thumping bass that vibrated in the soles of my shoes.
The Lake House was a glass-and-stone monster perched on the edge of a black expanse of water. It was glowing with light, and the driveway was packed with sports cars that cost more than my mother’s house.
I stepped out of the car, my heart thudding.
"You can do this, Elena," I whispered. "Just a tutor. Just a guest."
I walked toward the entrance, the thump-click of my cane swallowed by the music. As soon as I stepped inside, the air changed. It was thick with the scent of expensive alcohol, heavy perfume, and the kind of arrogance you can only find in a room full of teenagers who have never been told "no."
The crowd parted as I moved. The whispers started instantly.
"Is that the Ghost?"
"She actually showed up."
"Look at that dress. Who does she think she is?"
I kept my head high, my eyes scanning the room. I saw Jax at the bar, a red cup in his hand, laughing with a group of hockey players. I saw Chloe in the center of the room, wearing a dress that looked like it was made of liquid gold, surrounded by her court of cheerleaders.
And then I saw Liam.
He was standing by the glass doors leading to the deck. He was wearing a dark shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, a drink in his hand. He was talking to some scout, but his eyes were roaming the room.
The moment he saw me, he froze.
The drink in his hand tilted slightly, nearly spilling. His gaze swept over me—from my hair, down the curve of the blue dress, to the steady grip I had on my cane. For a second, the "Playboy" mask slipped. He looked floored. He looked like he’d been hit by a puck he didn't see coming.
I didn't smile. I didn't wave. I just gave him a cold, imperceptible nod and turned toward the bar.
I needed to find the Millers' private study. I knew Arthur Miller kept a secondary server here for his "off-the-books" business. If the evidence was anywhere, it was in this house.
I was halfway to the stairs when a hand gripped my elbow.
"You actually came," Liam’s voice rasped in my ear.
I didn't turn around. I could feel the heat of him standing right behind me, his presence overwhelming the noise of the party. "Chloe invited me, remember? And your father wanted me to fix the 'image problem.' I’m just being a good guest, Liam."
"You look..." He paused, and I could hear him swallow hard. "You shouldn't be here, Elena. This isn't the library. These people aren't your friends."
"I don't have friends in this zip code, Liam. I have enemies and I have targets. Which one are you tonight?"
I finally turned to face him. He looked troubled. His eyes were darting around the room, checking to see if Chloe was watching.
"I'm the guy trying to make sure you don't get hurt," he hissed, leaning in close. "Jax and the guys are already five drinks in. They’ve been talking about you all day. Just... stay near me."
"Near you?" I let out a soft, mocking laugh. "So you can tell them I'm a 'side of dirt' when they get too close? No thank you, Captain. I’ve had enough of your protection for one lifetime."
I pulled my arm away and started to move past him, but he stepped in my path, his chest inches from mine.
"Elena, I'm serious. This isn't a game."
"It's been a game since the moment your car hit me," I snapped, my voice low and sharp. "The only difference is, I’m finally playing to win."
I pushed past him, my cane hitting the floor with a defiant strike. I didn't look back at him. I couldn't afford to. Because for a second, when he looked at me in that blue dress, I saw the boy who had caught me at the rink. And that boy was the only person who could truly break my heart.