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JD

E leven Weeks Later – Cambridge, Massachusetts

My boots looked out of place on the cobblestones—dust-scuffed leather against manicured brick. The campus tour group drifted ahead, chattering about dorm assignments and Econ prerequisites, while I trailed behind like a storm cloud nobody noticed until the first crack of thunder.

I kept my hands shoved deep in my pockets, fingers brushing the worn edge of Skye’s letter.

Endless days since she vanished, and I still carried the damn thing like a talisman—or maybe a curse.

Months since I woke up holding a blanket that smelled like sun-warmed honey instead of her skin.

Empty silence from every private investigator who’d promised me they could find anyone for the right price.

Turns out money can’t buy ghosts. I raged at my parents—at everything.

But rage didn’t bring back my Skye. It was clear she was gone and staring at the smug looks on my parents faces 24/7 only fueled my fire.

So I left. Decided I’d use their money to pay for a degree so I could get a good job and cut those strings for good.

“Mr. Northport?” A chipper student ambassador jogged backward to match my stride, her crimson polo three shades brighter than her lipstick. “We’re headed to Widener Library next. Just thought you’d like to know!”

I offered a grunt that might’ve passed for thanks. She didn’t flinch at the lack of charm—probably used to trust-fund introverts who’d rather commune with Nietzsche than freshmen. She spun back to the flock, ponytail swishing. I stared after her, half impressed. Pretty girl, quick smile.

Still not Skye.

Not the girl who said I was her sun god and kissed me like I was the only future she’d ever wanted. Not the girl who ran with nothing but my heart in her pocket and the scent of desert sage clinging to her hair. Not the girl who left me a letter instead of goodbye.

I should’ve been angry. I *was* angry. But that fury kept folding into grief until I couldn’t tell which was which. So I did the only thing I could. I boarded the private jet my father sent, let my mother’s handler set up my dorm, and signed up for a class load that would make an overachiever cry.

Because if I couldn’t find Skye, I’d make myself unfindable too.

Let them think I was falling in line. Let the Northport name carry me through ivy-covered halls and secret society handshakes and bullshit internships with senators who owed my father favors.

Let them think I gave up.

But I hadn’t .

This place—they could have it. The trust funds, the dynasties, the silver spoon legacy? I’d take every damn cent and turn it into my own escape route.

Because one day, I’d build a life they couldn’t touch. One they’d never claim as theirs.

And when I found her again—if I found her—I’d have something real to offer. My name scrubbed clean of theirs. My money made with my own two hands. My world, not theirs.

But until then, I walked through this place like a ghost.

Skye had vanished into desert dust.

And I’d left my heart buried right there with her.