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ONE

SABLE

I swore I’d never step foot on the grounds of Ashen Grove University ever again. Yet, here I am, driving toward the campus my father bled for. The stone archway looms ahead, cold and unwelcoming. The perfect little Wilson girl is coming home.I can almost hear my mother’s voice, shrill and grating, reminding me that this is where I belong.

Where I’d always belonged.

Ashen Grove University, tucked away in the remote woods of Indiana, is one of the nation’s oldest and most prestigious institutions. It’s the kind of place that grooms the next generation of CEOs—or polishes up the daughters of the elite to become perfect trophy wives.

Both roles I detest vehemently.

I pull into the first available spot in the parking lot, cutting the engine as my car sputters to a stop. The gothic architecture looms over my rusted sedan, casting shadows that stretch across the windshield.

Towering spires pierce the sky at every corner, and the arched, stained-glass windows glint in the late afternoon light. Even the trees lining the cobblestone lot seem arranged too perfectly, their branches forming a canopy that traps me beneath it.

The suffocating elitism seeps into every corner, wrapping around me like a noose. Feeling the urge to run before I drown in all this pretentiousness.

Following my incident in the spring, my mother insisted that this was where I belonged. Even though she couldn’t be bothered to take a single day off from her soul-sucking career to see me off.

Despite all my protest about transferring to AGU, she says I need to be closer to her, under her watchful eye. But the last thing I want is to be anywhere near the woman who demands everything and gives nothing. The further I am from that cold-hearted succubus, the better.

My first two years of college were spent at Lakeview University, outside of Chicago—a rival school of ours. I was happy where I was, at LU, making a name for myself versus allowing the Wilson name to carry me through life.

It’s the universe’s sick form of torture, binding me to a place I utterly despise. A place that feels too much like home.

And home is a dangerous place for my mind to be—a breeding ground for memories that threaten to pull me under.

I step out of the car, the early fall breeze dances across my skin and I curse myself for not putting on a thicker sweater. Other students mill around the sidewalk a few yards away. A few of them stop and stare at my car.

Yes, I can afford to go here.

I just have an insufferable mother who believes in hand-me-downs and the value of a lesson. They can keep their fucking Mercedes, Aston Martin’s, or whatever the fuck daddy buys them this month.

The rickety door to the car shuts, and I move to the trunk, pulling out my large orange suitcase and dropping it onto the pavement before grabbing my backpack and slinging it across my back. With a firm push, I try to secure the trunk shut, but it defies me by instantly popping open again, refusing to stay closed.

“Fucking piece of shit,” I grumble under my breath before slamming the trunk down again. This time there’s a large hand accompanying mine.

“First day nerves?”

My eyes reluctantly climb up the hand, to the inked arm, until they lock onto a pair of grayish-blue eyes that seem to sear into my soul. There’s a small flame that ignites within me, ready to burst and engulf everything around me. His dark brown hair has grown out a bit, revealing soft, wavy tendrils that artfully hover just above his eyebrow.

Silas Morgan .

His name grates on my nerves just as much as his perfectly sculpted face does.

“No, I’m just fine ,” I reply, the “fine” coming out in a huff that causes my bangs to blow away from my cheeks.

His brow furrows slightly, creating a deep crease between them while his lips form a thin line. He leans down to grab my suitcase and struggles to get the handle out of the sheath.

I swiftly snatch the suitcase from his grip and pull on the handle with a forceful tug, a sense of satisfaction washing over me as the handle finally breaks free and I can roll the suitcase with ease now.

Silas lets out a sigh. “Jesus Christ, Sable, I’m just trying to help.”

“Using the Lord’s name in vain, are we, Silas? Your mother would make you atone, or some shit, right?”

“Oh, please. I am certain my mother is going to burn in Hell one day.”

My eyes roll at his poor attempt to soothe my sour mood and I tug on my suitcase and begin to walk toward the large stone building, looking for any signage that would point me in the direction of admissions. His footsteps fall close behind me, and I will any deity listening up above to smite him so I can continue with my day accordingly.

“You don’t need to go to admissions. I already have your welcome packet.”

I whip around so fast he almost stumbles, nearly crashing into me. His face twists with irritation, eyes narrowing as he regains his balance. He’s dressed in a perfectly tailored black blazer, his white shirt crisp and open at the collar, exposing just a hint of the ink that sneaks up his neck. Dark jeans hug his lean frame, clean and polished, while scuffed black boots give his otherwise pristine appearance a casual edge.

“You already did my orientation for me?” My voice seethes, muscles tightening as I ball my fists, every nerve bracing for a fight.

“Not exactly.” His voice is smooth, dismissive. I can’t fucking stand it.

“Silas—” The name is a growl, my rage igniting at the sight of his smug smirk. My fists coil tighter, the sharp edge of my nails biting into my palms as the need to swing burns through me.

He steps into my space, close enough for the intoxicating mix of coconut and sandalwood to flood my senses, forcing me to focus on the overpowering scent of him. Before I can react, he snatches my suitcase from my grip. “Perks of being on student council.” His voice dripping with nonchalance as he strides toward the opposite direction of campus.

“There’s no way you’re on the student council.” My legs struggle to catch up.

“No, but I have friends who are.”

My eyes roll. Of course he does. Leave it to Silas Morgan to have the entire world wrapped around his little finger.

I sigh and continue to follow closely behind him, his broad shoulders navigate through the small crowd of students. The campus is a blend of the past and present, showcasing historic buildings alongside contemporary additions. Ancient brick pathways wind between the buildings, lined with towering oak trees that provide dappled shade. The historic structures, with their ivy-covered stone walls and ornate wooden doors. Among these historic buildings, there are modern facilities that stand out with their sleek glass facades.

Ashen Grove exists in its own bubble, untouched by the chaos of the outside world. The air here feels cleaner, almost serene, and the buzz of the city seems like a distant memory. Students mill about, chatting animatedly, their laughter and conversations merging into a pleasant background hum.

We walk in silence for a few minutes. The only sounds are the murmurs of other students and the distant chimes of a clock tower marking the hour. I take in the details of the buildings we pass—stone gargoyles perched on ledges, their grotesque faces weathered by time, and ivy creeping up the walls.

Silas leads me to a large building on the edge of campus. It’s slightly less grandiose than the main hall but still keeps the gothic charm. The sign above the door reads “Cromwell Hall.”

“This is it,” Silas says, holding the door open for me. I step inside, greeted by the scent of polished wood and the faint aroma of cleaning products. The foyer is dimly lit, with a few students lounging on worn leather sofas, chatting quietly.

We step into the elevator, and Silas immediately locates the button for the third floor, pressing it without hesitation. As we ascend, I feel a knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach.

The elevator doors open with a ding, and we step into a long hallway lined with doors. Each door has a small whiteboard attached to it, some already adorned with doodles and welcome messages.

Classes technically started a couple weeks ago. But my therapist didn’t clear me for virtual visits until yesterday, so I couldn’t start until now.

“Room three-one-two,” Silas says, leading me down the hall. He stops in front of a door near the end and hands me a key. “Here you go. Your roommate should be here soon if she isn’t already.”

I unlock the door and push it open, revealing a small but cozy room. There are two twin beds, each with a simple desk and chair beside it. One side of the room is already occupied, the bed neatly made with a floral comforter, and a few personal items arranged on the desk. I drag my suitcase inside and drop my backpack on the empty bed.

Silas leans against the doorframe. “Need any help unpacking?”

I force a smile, my fingers gripping the edge of the suitcase. “No, I’ve got it. Thanks, though.”

He nods, but doesn’t move, lingering like a storm cloud about to break. His eyes flicker with something unspoken, but he just offers a half-hearted smile. “Alright, I’ll let you settle in. If you want, I can show you around later.”

My hand shoots out to grip the door frame before it closes behind him. My knuckles turning knuckles white. “Why are you really here, Silas?” I spit out, my voice barely concealing the bitterness. He’s the last person I wanted to see. So, why he thinks I would want to gallivant around campus with him is beyond me.

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the way his fingers curl into a fist. “Maybe I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

I narrow my eyes, scanning his face for the lie. “You care now?”

His jaw tightens, and he takes a step closer, his eyes darkening. The air between us grows thick with tension. Every moment of silence charges something deep inside me that I don’t like or want to be ignited.“Sab. You know I would have seen you if I knew?—”

“Silas, not this?—”

He exhales, tension draining from his face as it softens, though the strain lingers. “Your mom asked me to get you settled since she couldn’t.”

“Of course she did,” I scoff, throwing my head back in frustration. “Tell my mother I don’t need her spies. And I sure as hell don’t need your overbearing ass sticking around.”

His expression is smug, which makes me want to slap it off of him.

“You liked my overbearing ass back in the day,”

Heat rushes up my neck, setting my cheeks on fire.

“Leave before I slam your pretty little face into my door, Silas.” My fingers squeeze the edge of the door, ready to make good on my promise.

“So you still think my face is pretty?”

“No, I think your existence is a disgrace to mankind.”

“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

“Get out of my life, Silas,” I growl.

“Too late, little devil.”

I slam the door. “Ugh.” I groan, kicking the desk chair.

Regret floods my mind. I should have worked harder, begged more, proved that I was worthy enough to stay at Lakeview University, instead of conceding so easily.

I figured that since Silas was the president of a fraternity now, that he wouldn’t be so keen on keeping tabs on me.

But of course I was wrong.

I’m always wrong.

For the next few hours, I take some time and arrange my belongings in the shared closet and in my dresser. The door opens when I am putting the finishing touches on my bedspread.

A girl with reddish hair walks in, her hands filled with textbooks and notepads. “Oh.” she struggles to get that word out as she juggles her heavy load. I move over and help her, taking a few of the books and placing them on her desk for her. She lets out a huff before putting out a hand for me to shake.

“Heather Reyes.”Her hand is pale, making the ink stains stark against her creamy skin.

I take her hand softly and shake it appropriately. “Sable. Sable Wilson.”

She’s beautiful, but not in a conventional way. Her green eyes are framed by thin black glasses. She’s shorter than me, slimmer, too. Her jeans hang loose on her hips, while her t-shirt hangs a few inches above.

“Well, I see you made yourself at home!” Her voice is perky, and she flutters around the room like a monarch as she places all of her books and pads away in her desk.

“Yeah. Sorry, I’m sure you were hoping not to have a roommate.”

Heather perches herself on her own bed, then kicks off her sneakers and tucks her legs into her Criss Cross style. Her eyes analyze me with every move she makes.

“Nah.” She flips her hand at me nonchalantly. “I hate being alone. I grew up an only child, so.” She shrugs, but before she can continue there’s a knock at the door. “Come in!” she hollers.

The knob turns and a man, taller than Silas, walks into our room. His muscles taut against his letterman jacket. His dark hair is cut military style, slicked back with pomade. He takes in the two of us, then smiles.

“Hey, ladies. Heather, I didn’t know you had a roommate.”

She giggles at his smile, and it’s almost too obvious that she thinks he’s hot. I mean, he is. But damn girl, reel it in.

“Today is her first day, Asher. Meet Sable Wilson.”

His blue eyes meet mine and my throat runs dry as I sheepishly bring my hand out to meet his. When he takes it, warmth ignites in my body.

Is this what attraction is?

He brings my hand slowly up to his lips and presses a soft kiss.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Asher Blackwood.”

The last name is familiar, but not sure from where.

I nod. “Nice to meet you.”

Heather beams a smile. “I have your Chem notes if you need them, Ash.”

He doesn’t even grant her the courtesy of eye contact, just nods. His gaze remains locked on me, and I become frozen in place. Heather fumbles through her bag and extends a notebook toward him. He takes them from her. But his eyes are on me, smoldering.

“I’d love to show you around AGU sometime, Sable.”

Butterflies erupt. And they shouldn’t, but they do. I don’t date. It just isn’t in my nature. I have one goal in mind: to be the director of my own art gallery. I don’t need any dickstractions.

The pause in the air lingers for far too long until Heather finally pops the bubble. “She would love that.” She pushes on his biceps and his form barely moves. Not until his smile turns upward into a curl.“Now go and remember to change a few of your answers to not get me in trouble again.”

“Nice to meet you, Sable.” He winks before walking away.

Heather shuts the door, her brows furrowed in confusion. She turns to me, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?” I tilt my head, genuinely puzzled.

She points at the door, frustration evident in her stance. “ That ! I’ve been working on him for the past year and a half.”

I climb into my bed, trying to hide my discomfort. “I didn’t do anything. He was the one drooling for no reason.”

Heather throws up her hands in exasperation, pacing the room. “He’s Omega Chi! He’s in line to be an officer next year. The only way I can get him to look at me is by giving him my homework.”

I raise an eyebrow, trying to process her frustration. “What’s so special about Omega Chi?”

Heather stops pacing and looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “What’s so special? They’re the top fraternity on campus. Connections, parties, future CEOs—you name it.”

Silas is the president of Delta Sigma Nu. I wonder, if I told Heather that, would she instantly want to get into his pants, too?

I sink back into my pillows, feeling awkward and slightly guilty. “I really didn’t mean to, Heather. Maybe he’s just...”

“Just what?” She sits on the edge of her bed, shoulders slumping. “Just magically interested in you?”

I shrug, feeling the weight of her disappointment. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s just a jerk who wants to get into the new girl’s pants?”

Heather sighs, rubbing her temples. “Maybe. But still, I’ve been trying for so long.”

I sit up, trying to bridge the gap. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not interested in him. He’s all yours.”

“No, if he wants you, then you HAVE to go out with him.”

I weigh my options. Going out with him may be a surefire way to get Silas to leave me the fuck alone. I just might have to.

“I’ll think about it. I’m not into Greek life.”

I look up and notice her sorority pennant above her bed and want to do a huge facepalm. Leave it to me to make a horrible first impression with my roommate who I’m stuck with until May.

“For the most part, the frat is mostly jugheads with huge dicks.”

I leave the conversation at that. My focus needs to be on my art and surviving this place. Heather’s ambitions are her own, and as long as they don’t interfere with mine, we can coexist peacefully.