Chapter 3 No.3

The coffee shop on campus was loud, a chaotic mix of espresso machines hissing and students complaining about midterms.

Eliza sat in the corner booth, clutching a latte like a lifeline. The caffeine was making her hands shake worse, but she needed it to combat the fog in her brain.

Azalea was sitting opposite her, scrolling through Instagram with a grimace.

"Everybody is talking about how you vanished," Azalea said, not looking up. "Claudine is posting passive-aggressive quotes about 'loyalty' and 'trash taking itself out.'"

Eliza flinched. A drop of foam spilled onto her thumb. "Let her talk."

"Oh, I am," Azalea said darkly. "I'm commenting with vomit emojis on every single post."

Eliza reached for a napkin to wipe her hand. As she moved, the cashmere scarf she was wearing slipped slightly to the side.

Azalea gasped.

The sound was so loud that two people at the next table turned around. Azalea dropped her phone onto the table with a clatter.

"Eliza! What is that on your neck?"

Eliza's hand flew to her throat. She felt the tender spot just below her ear. A dark, purplish bruise against her pale skin.

She had seen it in the mirror this morning and had been trying not to think about it. The memory of the night was hazy, obscured by alcohol. She remembered stumbling. She remembered Dallas catching her. Had he held her too tightly? Or was it... something else? She couldn't be sure, and the uncertainty was terrifying.

"It's nothing," Eliza stammered, pulling the scarf tighter. "The car door hit me on the way out this morning."

"Bullshit," Azalea hissed, leaning over the table. Her eyes were wide, predatory. "That's not a door, that's a hickey. A world-class, possessive, 'stay away from her' hickey. Who is he?"

Eliza's heart hammered against her ribs. She couldn't say Your Dad. She absolutely could not say that.

"It's... complicated," Eliza said, looking down at her cup. "An older guy."

Azalea's eyebrows shot up. "Older? Like... Anson's age?"

"Older," Eliza whispered.

Azalea opened her mouth to scream, but her phone cut her off. It began to ring, vibrating violently against the wooden table.

The Caller ID flashed: The Bank.

That was her contact name for Dallas.

Azalea answered immediately, her posture straightening instinctively. "Yes, Daddy?"

Eliza held her breath. She could hear the deep rumble of Dallas's voice on the other end, though she couldn't make out the words. The sound alone made the hair on her arms stand up.

Azalea frowned. "Right now? But we have class in an hour."

She listened for another few seconds, then sighed. "Okay. Fine. We're coming."

She hung up and looked at Eliza, confused.

"He wants us at the flagship store downtown."

Eliza's stomach dropped. "Both of us?"

"Yeah. He says you need 'appropriate attire' for a dinner tonight."

"Dinner?" Eliza squeaked.

"Apparently." Azalea gathered her bag. "Come on. You don't keep The Bank waiting."

They walked back to the parking lot. The silver Aston Martin was gleaming in the sun, drawing stares from a group of fraternity guys.

Eliza unlocked the car. She slid into the driver's seat, the leather molding to her body. She pushed the start button, and the engine roared to life, a guttural growl that vibrated through the floorboards.

"You'll get used to the high life, eventually," Azalea laughed, buckling her seatbelt.

Eliza pulled out of the lot, merging onto the main road toward the city. The skyline loomed ahead, glass towers reflecting the afternoon sun.

She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. She adjusted the scarf again, ensuring the mark was covered.

Whether it was a bruise or... something else, Dallas had left a mark on her. And he had done it in a place that was hard to hide.

It felt like a brand.

Suddenly, the dashboard screen lit up. Eliza had paired her phone to the car's Bluetooth earlier.

A text message notification popped up on the center console, huge and undeniable.

Sender: Anson Hyde

Message: Stop playing games. Come home. You belong here.

Azalea saw it. She let out a low whistle.

"He's obsessed," Azalea said, shaking her head. "It's actually creepy. Good thing you have a new 'older man' to distract you."

Eliza gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Yeah. Good thing."

She drove faster, putting distance between herself and the university, between herself and Anson. But she was driving straight toward the man who had put a ring on her finger and a mark on her neck.

And she had no idea what his game was.