Two

~HARPER’S POV~

My alarm screamed at five. 

I slapped it silent and stared at the ceiling like it owed me answers. Sleep never came.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Asher’s cold blue stare pinning me to that brick wall, his breath mixing with mine in the freezing air, and that low “good girl” still ringing in my ears like a warning I was too stupid to run from.

I dragged myself up, pulled on the stupid Sterling uniform — plaid skirt that felt too short, white blouse stiff as a cage. My stomach was a knot. 

Breakfast was a no-go. I would probably throw it up anyway.

Dad was already in the tiny kitchenette, lacing his boots. He looked up, surprised.

“Morning, kid. Bus doesn’t come for another hour.”

“Yeah… extra studying,” I lied, forcing a smile that hurt my face. “Gonna hit the main library early.”

He pointed at me, eyes soft. “I’m proud of you, Harper. I know this move hasn’t been easy.”

Guilt stabbed straight through my ribs. If he knew I’d sold myself last night just to keep his job, he’d drag us both out of here before sunrise. “Love you, Dad. See you tonight.”

The walk up to the main estate was brutal. Thin coat flapping in the wind, head down, boots crunching snow. I slipped inside the massive front doors and found the library like I was walking to my own execution.

I pushed the doors open.

“You’re late.”

Asher sat behind the big desk, typing on a silver laptop. He didn’t even glance up.

“It’s five fifty-nine,” I muttered.

“If you’re not early, you’re late. Sit.”

I crossed the thick rug, boots sinking in. “I’d rather stand.”

He stopped typing. Slowly lifted his head. Those blue eyes pinned me harder than his hands had last night. “I wasn’t asking, Harper.”

My jaw clenched so tight it ached, but I pulled the leather chair out and sat. He slid a sleek black phone across the desk.

“This is yours now. Encrypted. Synced to my calendar. Turn it on.”

“I already have a phone.”

“You had a piece of junk that hit the concrete. Turn it on.”

I picked it up. It was heavy and expensive. The second the screen lit, my stomach dropped. His schedule was insane — practices, weights, film, media, everything. No room for my own life.

He leaned back, watching me. “First thing: you answer this on the first ring. Every time.”

“What if I’m in class?”

“Step out.”

“I will fail.”

“Not my problem.” His voice stayed flat. “Second: you don’t talk to anyone on the hockey team unless I say you can.”

“I don’t want to talk to your meatheads anyway.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” He tapped the desk once. “Third: you don’t lie to me. Ever.”

“I’ve got nothing to lie about.”

“We will see.” A small pause, then softer, almost amused, “And stop looking at me like you’re planning how to poison my coffee.”

I frowned. “Like what?”

“Like that. Fix your face. Learn to hide it.”

He didn’t wait for me to argue. “Kitchen. Kingston blend. Black. Two ice cubes. Go.”

I stared at him. “You want me to fetch your coffee?”

“I want you to do what I tell you.”

“I’m your assistant, not your damn maid.”

Asher’s fingers paused on his own phone. He unlocked it slowly, holding it up so I could see my dad’s contact right there. “Want me to fix that problem for you?”

The threat landed like a punch. 

I stood up without another word, turned, and walked out. My hands shook the whole way to the kitchen. When I came back and set the mug down, coffee splashed over the side.

Asher looked at the spill, then at me. He touched the mug. “It’s cold.”

“It’s steaming.”

“Make it again.”

“No.”

His eyes darkened. He stood, towering over the desk. The air in the room got thinner.

“Excuse me?”

“I said no.” I planted my hands on the desk and leaned in, heart beating. “Drink it or dump it. I’m not your servant. I’m keeping your secret. I’m doing your schedule. That’s it.”

We stared at each other. The silence felt alive, pressing in on my chest. I waited for the outbreak. For him to grab the phone and end everything.

Instead, the corner of his mouth twitched. He picked up the mug, took a long, slow drink, eyes never leaving mine.

“Get your coat,” he said quietly, setting it down. “We’re going to campus.”

“I will take the bus.”

“You ride with me.”

“People will talk. I’m scholarship. You’re… you. It doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t have to.” He grabbed his keys. “You lost the right to be invisible last night. Let’s go.”

I sighed and followed him to the garage. He skipped all the flashy cars and went straight for a matte black SUV. “Get in.”

I climbed into the passenger seat. The whole interior smelled like him — cedar and mint, thick enough to choke on. He started the engine.

“Seatbelt.”

I reached for it. The strap locked up tight.

“Move your hands.”

Before I could argue, Asher leaned all the way across the console. His broad chest filled my space, arm brushing my lap as he grabbed the buckle right by my hip. 

His face was inches from mine. His warm breath on my cheek. That scent everywhere. My heart slammed so hard I was sure he could hear it.

“I can do it myself,” I whispered, voice way too small.

“You were taking too long.” His eyes flicked up to mine for half a second, something dark and satisfied in them. Then he clicked it in and slowly sat back. “Don’t speak for the rest of the ride.”

“Gladly,” I muttered, but my skin was still buzzing where his arm had been.

The drive was hell. Every red light felt like forever. When we finally pulled into Sterling’s lot, half the school turned to stare at the big black SUV. Asher parked right up front like he owned the damn building.

I reached for the door.

“Wait.”

He got out, walked around, and opened it for me.

“What are you doing?”

“Grab my hockey bag from the trunk.”

My mouth fell open. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious. Grab it.”

I marched to the back, hauled the massive canvas bag over my shoulder. It smelled like old sweat and tape and weighed a ton. 

My shoulder screamed.

“Walk behind me.”

I followed him up the steps. 

The second we stepped through the double doors, the hallway went dead quiet. Everyone parted like he was Moses. But they weren’t just looking at him anymore. 

They were looking at me — the scholarship girl carrying his shit like some kind of pet.

My cheeks are burning, eyes on the floor.

“Harper!”

Chloe’s voice cut through. She was at her locker, pink hair wild, face pure horror.

“Keep walking,” Asher said without turning around.

I stopped anyway, bag digging into my shoulder. “Hey, Chloe.”

“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed, grabbing my arm. “Why were you in his car? Why are you carrying his bag?”

“I’m… his assistant now,” I muttered.

“You’re dead,” she whispered. “He’s gonna eat you alive.”

“Harper.” Asher’s voice cracked like a whip. He’d stopped a few feet ahead. “Did I say you could stop?”

“I was just talking to my friend.”

“You don’t have friends anymore. You have me.” He jerked his chin. “Come here.”

Before I could move, a sugary voice floated down the hall.

“Asher!”

Sloane glided up — perfect blonde hair, tailored uniform, hand already sliding down his arm like she owned the spot. 

She didn’t even glance at me.

“Sloane,” Asher said, voice flat.

“Still on for lunch? Daddy wanted me to ask about the merger.”

“Cancel it, Harper,” Asher said, eyes on me now.

Sloane finally noticed me and wrinkled her nose like I smelled bad. “Who the hell is she?”

“Just a stray my father picked up,” Asher answered smoothly, that cruel little gleam back in his eyes. “Her dad’s the new rent-a-cop.”

Sloane laughed, short and mean. “Why’s she carrying your bag?”

“Community service,” he said.

I dug my nails into my palms until they stung. I wanted to drop the bag right there. I wanted to scream at both of them. But I just stood, biting the inside of my cheek, tasting blood.

“You’re awful, Ash,” Sloane giggled, stepping closer.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” He shifted away from her hand. “Harper. Tell Sloane my schedule.”

“He’s busy,” I gritted out.

“Busy doing what?” Sloane snapped, glaring like I was trash on her shoe.

“Reviewing films. Right, Asher?” I put every bit of hate I had into his name.

He gave a small nod. “Right. Go put the bag in the locker room, Harper.”

“I’m not allowed in the boys’ locker room.”

“You are today. Move.”

I adjusted the heavy strap, shoulders screaming, pride in pieces, and walked past them. The athletic wing doors swallowed me. The hallway was empty, but my face still burned. Anger finally pushed past the fear, hot and sharp.

Asher thought he could break me. Thought money and power meant I would just roll over.

He was wrong.

He wanted me this close? Fine.

But I was going to make him regret every single second of it.