The Jilted Heiress And Her Ruthless Savior

The heavy oak door of the dorm room slammed open.

The wood hit the drywall with a massive crash that vibrated through the floorboards.

Leighton stood in the doorway. She was gasping for air. Her blonde curls stuck to her sweaty forehead. She waved her iPhone in the air like a weapon.

Zoe sat cross-legged on the rug. The loud noise made her hand jerk. A thick streak of red nail polish smeared across her cuticle and onto her skin.

"What is wrong with you?" Zoe yelled. She wiped at the wet polish with her thumb. "You ruined my French tip."

Leighton did not look at her. She kept gasping.

"He bought them all," Leighton screamed. "Howell Hampton just bought every red rose in three states on the East Coast."

Genevieve poked her head over the edge of the top bunk. Her eyes were wide.

"Where are they?" Genevieve asked.

Leighton shoved her phone screen toward the center of the room. She opened the campus Snapchat group. A live video played on loop.

Hundreds of freshman fraternity pledges were running across the main quad. They carried massive bundles of red roses. They dumped the flowers directly onto the green grass.

Leighton turned her head. She stared at the desk in the corner. Her eyes were full of manic jealousy.

"Congratulations, Elinor," Leighton said loudly. "This is the apology of the century. He is begging for you back."

Elinor kept her eyes on the heavy macroeconomics textbook in front of her. She did not blink. Her eyelashes stayed perfectly still.

She reached out and turned the page. The thick paper made a dry scratching sound against the desk.

Zoe stopped wiping her ruined nail. She looked at Elinor's rigid back.

"Why are you just sitting there?" Zoe asked. "You need to change your clothes."

Elinor closed the textbook. The heavy cover hit the desk with a dull thud. The sound sucked all the air out of the room.

She reached down and pulled open the bottom drawer. She took out a clear plastic medical box.

Her fingers flipped the metal latch. She pulled out an unused EpiPen. The plastic casing felt cold against her palm.

Leighton dropped her phone. Her smile vanished. She stared at the needle.

"What are you doing?" Leighton asked.

Elinor turned her chair around. Her voice was completely flat.

"I have a fatal pollen allergy," Elinor said.

Genevieve sucked in a sharp breath. She covered her mouth with both hands. The realization hit the room. The sea of roses on the quad was not a romantic gesture. It was a death trap.

A warm spring breeze blew through the half-open blinds. It carried a thick, heavy scent of rose oil into the dorm.

Elinor felt her throat tighten. A sharp itch crawled down her windpipe, a warning sign of the swelling to come. Her lungs felt heavy. She frowned. She knew it hadn't reached the critical stage of anaphylaxis yet, but she needed to suppress the initial reaction. She popped open a small bottle in the medical box and shook out two strong antihistamine pills as a preventative measure. She grabbed her bottle of Evian water, throwing the pills into her mouth and swallowing them dry before drinking the water. She kept her eyes locked on the EpiPen resting on her desk, ready to strike her thigh if her breathing completely stopped.

Zoe stood up. Her face turned red with anger.

"He is an idiot," Zoe yelled. "How does your fiancé forget your medical history?"

Elinor pulled a tissue from the box. She wiped a drop of water from her chin.

"They are not for me," Elinor said.

The three roommates stared at each other. Their faces twisted in confusion. They could not process the information. In their minds, no one else on the East Coast deserved this kind of display except Elinor Clemons.

Zoe suddenly snapped out of her shock. "Are you kidding me?!" Zoe screamed, her face pale. She lunged across the room and slammed the half-open blinds shut, locking the window tight. "That bastard is actually trying to kill you!"

Genevieve scrambled down from the top bunk, her hands shaking. "Elinor, what do we do? Do you need us to call an ambulance? Let me get campus security!"

Leighton dropped her phone on the rug. "I'll go out there and stop them. I swear I'll rip those flowers apart."

Elinor raised a hand, stopping their frantic movements. "No," she said calmly.

Elinor did not say the name Carrie. She did not want the taste of that name in her mouth.

She grabbed her canvas tote bag. She shoved the EpiPen inside. "I will be fine. Do not engage with him."

She pulled out a black N95 mask. She stretched the elastic bands over her ears. The thick material covered the bottom half of her face. It blocked out the smell of the roses.

She walked to the door. She needed to get to the music building. It had the best air filtration system on campus.

Elinor stepped out into the hallway. Girls were running past her, heading toward the stairs to see the spectacle.

She turned the opposite way. She walked against the crowd, her shoulders stiff, heading toward the exit alone.

Elinor walked fast down the brick path. The trees blocked the sun. She kept her head down to avoid the wind blowing from the main quad.

A gust of wind swept across the bricks. It carried the rich, heavy scent of roasted peanuts and baking chocolate from the nearby campus cafe. The smell of the warm dessert hit Elinor's nose. Her chest tightened instantly. The familiar scent pulled her brain backward.

Three years ago. Northwood Prep.

The dining hall smelled like bleach and expensive perfume. The marble floors echoed with the voices of rich teenagers.

Tatum Prescott stood next to a long wooden table. Her arms were crossed. Her lips were curled in a vicious sneer.

Tatum reached out and pushed a tall glass of ice water. The glass tipped over. The freezing water flooded into Carrie Hutchinson's lunch tray. It soaked her cheap sandwich.

Carrie shrank back into her wooden chair. Her shoulders shook violently. Huge tears rolled down her cheeks and dropped into the wet food.

Elinor sat two tables away. She felt a knot form in her stomach. Tatum was going too far. Elinor pushed her chair back. She prepared to stand up and stop it.

The heavy double doors of the dining hall slammed open.

Howell marched into the room. He wore his custom navy blue uniform jacket. His face was red with fury.

He shoved Tatum out of the way. He stood in front of Carrie. He blocked her from the crowd like a shield.

Howell glared at the students laughing at the tables. He yelled at them. He called them disgusting snobs.

Tatum laughed in his face. She pointed at a brownie on the table. It was covered in crushed peanuts.

"She belongs with the trash," Tatum mocked. "That is all she deserves to eat."

Howell did not look at Carrie. He looked at the crowd. He wanted to prove a point. He reached down and grabbed the peanut brownie.

Elinor felt her heart stop. Her pupils shrank. She jumped up from her chair.

"Howell, no!" Elinor screamed.

Howell turned his head. He looked at Elinor. His eyes were cold. He thought she was just another snob watching the show.

He opened his mouth and took a massive bite of the peanut brownie. He swallowed it.

Five seconds passed.

Howell's face turned dark purple. His hands flew to his throat. His fingers dug into his own skin.

He stumbled backward. His legs gave out. He crashed into a chair and hit the marble floor with a sickening thud.

The dining hall erupted into screams. Carrie fell to her knees. She did nothing but cry hysterically.

Elinor ran across the room. She dropped to her knees next to him. Her kneecaps slammed into the hard marble. Pain shot up her legs.

She grabbed his backpack. Her hands shook so hard she could barely grip the metal zipper. She ripped it open.

She dug to the bottom and found his EpiPen. She pulled off the blue safety cap. She slammed the needle into his thigh muscle.

The ambulance sirens screamed through the quiet campus. The red and blue lights flashed against the windows, painting Elinor's pale face in harsh colors.

The memory shifted to the hospital room.

Howell opened his eyes. A clear oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth. White fog clouded the plastic with every breath.

Elinor sat in the plastic chair next to the bed. Her eyes burned. She reached her hand out to touch his arm.

Howell turned his head away from her. He looked past her shoulder. He looked at the corner of the room near the door.

Elinor had seen Carrie earlier, crying in the waiting room after a sympathetic teacher had driven her to the hospital. Carrie stood there now, having slipped past the distracted nurses.

Howell lifted a weak hand and pointed at Carrie. He wanted her.

Elinor's hand froze in the air. Her stomach dropped to the floor. Ice water flooded her veins. It was the first time she felt the physical pain of his betrayal.

A loud bell rang.

The memory shattered. Elinor blinked. She stopped walking.

She was standing in front of the massive gothic doors of the music building.

She took a deep breath. She pressed her hand against the black mask on her face. She pushed the heavy brass handle and walked inside.

Elinor stepped into the hallway of the music building. The air was cool and clean. The chaotic sounds of piano scales and violin strings echoed from the practice rooms.

She pulled the black N95 mask off her face. She folded it in half and shoved it into her coat pocket. She took a deep breath of the filtered air. Her lungs finally relaxed.

She walked past the main bulletin board. A bright red poster hung in the center. It advertised an SAT prep course.

The red ink burned her eyes. Her chest seized up again.

Eleventh grade. A rainy Saturday morning in Manhattan.

Elinor sat at a desk inside the Princeton Review center. The room smelled like dry-erase markers and stale coffee.

The tutor handed out thick stacks of practice tests. The wooden chair next to Elinor was empty.

She pulled out her phone. Her fingers dialed Howell's number. It went straight to voicemail. The automated voice grated against her ear.

The scene in her mind shifted to the edge of the city. A rundown trailer park.

Howell stood on the metal steps of a trailer. His clothes were soaked with rain. He knocked on the thin door.

Carrie opened it. She had dark purple makeup smeared under her eye to look like a bruise. She collapsed into Howell's chest. She sobbed and said her stepdad went crazy again.

Howell wrapped his arms around her. He held her tight. The SAT test and Elinor waiting in Manhattan vanished from his brain.

Carrie pulled away. She wanted to show him how strong she was. She walked to the cheap counter and picked up a plate of chocolate chip cookies. They were from a bulk bin at a discount grocery store.

She handed him one. She lied and said she baked them for him.

Howell took three of them. He ate them fast. He did not know the cheap factory line was covered in peanut dust.

Ten minutes later, his throat swelled shut. He fell onto the dirty fabric of the trailer couch. His body convulsed.

Carrie screamed. She dropped the plate. She panicked and dialed 911.

While the paramedics loaded Howell into the ambulance, the lead EMT pulled the emergency contact card from Howell's designer wallet and immediately notified his mother.

Back in Manhattan, Elinor's phone vibrated on the desk. The caller ID showed Beatrice Hampton.

Elinor answered. Beatrice's voice was like ice. She screamed at Elinor. She demanded to know why Elinor let Howell out of her sight. He was in the emergency room again.

Elinor's brain went completely blank. She grabbed her coat and ran out of the building. She flagged down a yellow cab and threw cash at the driver.

The emergency room at Mount Sinai Hospital smelled like rubbing alcohol.

Beatrice paced the hallway. She wore a pristine Chanel suit. Her high heels clicked sharply against the linoleum floor.

The doors swung open. A doctor walked out. He said Howell was stable, but the reaction was worse than the last time.

A nurse pushed Howell out on a stretcher. He looked pale and sick. Carrie walked behind the stretcher. She kept her head down like a scared animal.

Beatrice saw Carrie. Her face twisted with rage. She marched up to the stretcher.

She raised her hand and slapped Howell across the face.

The crack of her palm hitting his skin echoed down the long hallway. Beatrice screamed at him. She told him he was throwing his life away for a piece of trash.

Howell grabbed his red cheek. He turned his head violently. His eyes locked onto Elinor, who had just run up to the group.

His eyes were filled with pure hatred.

"Did you tell her?" Howell hissed. His voice was raw. "Did you track me and call my mother?"

Elinor stopped walking. Her wet trench coat dripped water onto the floor. Her feet felt glued to the tiles.

Her lips parted. She wanted to tell him she had been waiting for him all morning. She wanted to say she had no idea where he was.

But she saw the absolute disgust in his eyes. Her throat closed up. She swallowed the words.

Beatrice ordered the security guards to throw Carrie out. She turned to Elinor and told her to leave. She called the whole situation an embarrassment.

The memory faded. Elinor stood in front of the bulletin board. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin broke.

She closed her eyes. She shook her head to clear the sick feeling from her stomach. She turned and walked toward Practice Room B at the end of the hall.