Emma’s POV:

I stared at Nicholas’s name flashing across my screen, my thumb hovering indecisively.

The warm cocoon of blankets I’d just settled into suddenly felt like little protection against the conversation that awaited.

Across the room, Olivia shifted in her sleep, her breathing deep and rhythmic. I glanced at her peaceful form, then back at my still-vibrating phone.

I can’t do this here.

With a quick swipe, I silenced the call.

Nicholas and I had plenty to discuss, but not at midnight with my roommate sleeping a few feet away. I wasn’t about to leave my warm cocoon of blankets to have a hallway confrontation, nor was I willing to disturb Olivia’s sleep.

I wasn’t the one who would inconvenience herself for someone else’s comfort.

Especially not for someone who’d just betrayed my trust so completely.

As soon as I declined the call, I noticed a string of unread messages from Nicholas. The first few had come while I was still in the shower:

Where are you?

Did you leave?

Hello??

Each subsequent message grew increasingly impatient, culminating in the most recent one sent just now:

Why aren’t you picking up your phone?

I took a deep breath, steadying my fingers as I typed a reply:

I’m back at my dorm. Olivia is asleep. Can’t talk right now.

The message was delivered with a soft swoosh.

Three dots appeared immediately, pulsed for several seconds, then disappeared. No response followed. Typical Nicholas—demanding immediate attention but offering none when it didn’t suit him.

I placed my phone face-down on the nightstand and sank deep into my pillow, desperately willing sleep to come. But my mind had other plans entirely.

Behind my closed eyelids, scenes replayed on loop:

The girl’s confused expression as she opened the door, wrapped only in a towel. Nicholas’s ringtone came from inside that same room. His voice came through the door—muffled but unmistakable—calling out “Who is it?” with a sharp edge of irritation.

And then, the memories flooded back—how we’d coincidentally ended up at the same university, meeting naturally during freshman orientation when we recognized each other from brief family introductions years before.

The early days of our relationship flashed before me: Nicholas waiting outside my morning classes with coffee and a croissant, running across campus with an umbrella when an unexpected shower caught me between buildings, sitting quietly beside me during late-night study sessions in the library.

After losing my father at eight, warmth had become a rare commodity in my life.

Victoria was always working multiple jobs, leaving little time for emotional connections. I’d learned self-reliance out of necessity, not choice.

So when Nicholas arrived with his attention and care, I mistook it all for love and dove headfirst into the relationship without hesitation.

I’d thought myself lucky then—having a relationship both families approved of, a clear path forward that seemed to promise stability.

What I hadn’t understood was how unpredictable human emotions could be, how Nicholas’s interest in me would gradually wane like a tide pulling away from shore.

The attentive boyfriend was slowly replaced by someone checking his watch, his phone, and looking past me rather than at me.

“He’s just busy with his internship.”

“The Prescott family has high expectations.”

“He’s under a lot of pressure.”

Nicholas did spend the night with someone. Just not me.

Olivia looked skeptical but didn’t push further.

I dragged myself through my morning routine, moving on autopilot through shower, breakfast, and my first two classes. Professor Laurent’s lecture on investigative journalism ethics passed in a blur of unabsorbed information.

As I was leaving the communications building, my phone rang. My mother’s name flashed on the screen.

“Emma, darling, how are you feeling today?” Victoria’s perfunctory greeting barely masked her eagerness to get to her real questions.

“Fine, Mom.”

“The gala must have been wonderful. You didn’t come home last night. Were you with Nicholas?” Her voice held that hopeful lilt that made my stomach tighten.

“No, Mom. I went back to my dorm.”

There was a pointed silence before Victoria’s disapproving sigh filled my ear.

“Emma, really. Do you have any idea how many girls would throw themselves at someone like Nicholas Prescott? Good-looking, Harvard Business School, family connections—you need to hold onto what you have.”

I gripped the phone tightly, my knuckles whitening.

What could I possibly say? That the boy she was so desperate for me to “hold onto” was already being held by someone else?

“I have to go, Mom. Professor Laurent needs to see me about a paper. I’ll call you later.”

I hung up before she could respond, knowing the excuse was flimsy at best.

However, I’d barely taken ten steps when a familiar figure materialized directly in my path.

Nicholas stood there, brow furrowed, his expression radiating unmistakable annoyance. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his designer jeans, his stance wide as if he’d planted himself deliberately to ensure I couldn’t pass without acknowledgment.