Chapter 4

Caden’s pupils constricted.
“Are you...?” For a split second—he didn’t hide it fast enough—there was a flicker of something sharp in those icy blue eyes. Not fear. Not concern. Something closer to...excitement. He wanted this. He wanted to hear her say it. Alora saw it instantly. The rush of eager energy beneath the surface. And then—just as fast—he masked it, forcing his expression into a mock-concerned frown. “I mean, if something’s wrong, Rara... you know you can tell me. I’ll help. Whatever you need.” His voice was carefully measured, soft. But too careful. Too polished. She felt the bile rise in her throat. The memory of his locker room voice echoed—“If she gets pregnant, we’ll handle it.” Handle it for who, Caden? For her? Or for Brielle? Her skin crawled. “Don’t,” she said, her voice cold as ice. Caden blinked. “What?” Before he could fake another word, she stepped forward and shoved him hard, flat-palmed against his chest. “Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me. Just stay away.” Her stomach twisted—not from the lingering cramps this time, but from pure disgust. Without giving him a chance to react, she turned and walked away, her pulse hammering. She didn’t look back. Caden stood frozen, hands half-raised, staring after her as she disappeared through the clinic doors. The clinic doors hissed shut behind her. Alora stopped just outside, the spring air sharp and cold against her flushed skin. Another sharp cramp twisted through her stomach, but this time, the physical pain barely registered. What stuck was that moment—watching Caden go still and silent. The same guy who’d laughed in front of his teammates about “handling it” if she got pregnant—terrified now when she threw it back at him. Coward. And not once—not one goddamn time—had he asked if she was okay. When he looked at Brielle, his whole expression changed—concern, softness. With Alora? Just calculation. Just cold, nervous self-preservation. ‘I’ll never believe a word out of his mouth again.’ She gripped the test results so hard the edges bit into her palms. That boy she’d once thought might be her Romeo? Dead and buried. ‘I won’t let him touch me. Not ever again.’ She walked faster as she headed back toward campus, each step purposeful despite the dull ache in her gut. But no matter how fast she moved, the whispers followed. She could feel them—eyes on her, conversations cutting off when she passed. Her stage-trained composure held firm, every step controlled and deliberate, the only thing keeping her from crumbling under their stares. White magnolia petals drifted from the trees lining the path, scattering across the brick walkway. How many times had she walked here with Caden? Just last week, he’d plucked a blossom and tucked it behind her ear, leaned down with that cocky smile and whispered: “Nothing out here comes close to how beautiful you are.” The memory made her stomach churn. She pressed her lips into a thin line and tightened her grip on the folder in her hands. The results were clear—no pregnancy, no infections. Elevated stress markers, lingering effects from the emergency pill. The doctor had offered a pointed look, part concern, part judgment. “Be more careful next time.” There wouldn’t be a next time. Not with Caden. Not with anyone. Not for a long, long time. Back on campus, the brick buildings loomed taller than ever, no longer familiar or safe. Four more days. Just four more days. Then I’m out. Her dorm came into view. She swiped in with shaking fingers. Before the door even closed behind her, Eve came flying at her, phone in hand, panic all over her face. “Alora! You need to see this!” Without waiting, she shoved her phone into her hands. “Your photos...they’re everywhere on the campus app. You know—those kinds of photos!” For a beat, Alora’s mind went blank. Then she looked. Image after image—explicit, graphic, flooding the feed. Her hands gripped the phone tighter. Her gut twisted—not with humiliation, but with a cold, burning rage. For one sickening second, she wondered—had Caden recorded her? The nausea hit instantly at the thought. But as she forced herself to look closer, it became obvious. The photos were photoshopped badly. “They’re fake,” she said, her voice steadier than expected. “None of them are real.” Eve let out a shaky breath. “I know. You’ve got that birthmark on your thigh. These don’t even show it. It’s a terrible edit.” But the comments—vicious, disgusting—were everywhere. “People won’t care.” Eve’s voice broke. “They’re already running with it. Alora, wait—what are you doing?” Alora had already grabbed her phone, her fingers flying across the screen, her heart hammering but her grip steady. “Calling campus security. Then the police. Whoever did this? I’m going to make damn sure they regret it.” A few locker room jokes? That, she’d stomached. This was criminal. And she wasn’t staying quiet anymore. Not now. Not ever again. She had a damn good idea who was behind it. Just as she was dialing, their other roommate Fiona burst in, breathless. “Alora! Your boyfriend’s in a fight outside the dining hall!”