Chapter 3: Campus Shadows

Myra's POV

Monday mornings at Blackwood University always felt like stepping into a different world. The sprawling campus blended modern glass buildings with older stone halls that sat near the edge of pack territories. For me, it was a kind of sanctuary—a place where I could lose myself in books, lectures, and the quiet satisfaction of doing well. I had kept a perfect GPA since my first year, double-majoring in pack history and literature. Professors often praised my papers. Study groups asked me to lead. It was the one part of my life where I felt steady and in control, even when everything else felt complicated.

I adjusted my backpack and walked toward the history wing. My thoughts kept drifting away from the upcoming exam and back to the weekend I had spent at the Thorn mansion. Sophia and I had stayed up late talking, but my mind had returned again and again to David. And now to Lila. Her bold comments about him still sat uncomfortably in the back of my thoughts, mixing with a quiet, stubborn jealousy I didn’t want to examine too closely.

He barely notices me, I reminded myself. But someone like Lila could change that. The idea of her moving easily through his world—confident, open, unafraid—made something tight settle in my chest. I pushed the thought down as I entered the lecture hall for Advanced Pack Alliances.

The room was already filling with students. I took my usual seat near the front, opened my notebook, and prepared my pen. Excellence, I had learned, was not luck. It was discipline. While others spent their free time chasing connections or distractions, I buried myself in research—historical mating bonds, power structures, the ways packs had risen and fallen. There was a quiet irony in it. I could write carefully about Alpha authority and still feel unsettled by the presence of one particular Alpha.

Class began smoothly. Professor Hale moved into a discussion of territorial treaties, and I took notes quickly, already outlining ideas for my next paper. My phone vibrated once. Sophia had sent a light-hearted message about the previous day’s pack drama. I smiled faintly, replied, and returned my attention to the lecture.

Then the door at the back of the room opened. Late, as usual.

Jax Harlan walked in with his usual confidence—broad-shouldered, easy in his movement, the kind of presence that drew attention without effort. He was a star forward on the university’s wolfball team, popular, loud, and someone I had learned to avoid when possible. Tall, athletic, with messy blond hair and a reputation for treating attention like something he was owed. He was a beta from a respectable pack, but his attitude often made him difficult to deal with.

His eyes scanned the room and, predictably, landed on me. A familiar smirk pulled at his mouth as he dropped into the seat directly behind mine.

“Well, if it isn’t Little Miss Perfect,” he said, loud enough for nearby students to hear. “Buried in books again, Myra? What’s the matter—too good for actual fun?”

I kept my eyes on my notes. “Some of us care about our futures, Jax. You might try it sometime.”

He chuckled and leaned forward slightly. “Feisty today. You know, if you spent less time with those dusty texts, you might actually enjoy yourself. I could help with that.”

Heat rose in my face, but it was irritation more than anything else. Jax had been like this for months—needling me in class, in the library, at campus events. He made comments about my “good girl” image, my friendship with Sophia, the way I kept to myself. He acted as though he disliked me, but the way his attention lingered sometimes suggested otherwise. His reputation as someone who treated interest like a game made him the last person I wanted attention from.

“Keep dreaming,” I muttered, shifting in my seat. His closeness was uncomfortable. I focused harder on the lecture notes in front of me.

Professor Hale gave us a warning look, and Jax finally eased back with a low laugh. Still, throughout the class he continued with quiet comments—remarks about how I was “wasting” my time on books, offers to “help me study,” and jabs about how I probably spent too much time thinking about people out of my reach. Each comment only sharpened my annoyance. While he talked, my mind drifted again toward David. Not in the way Jax assumed, but in the quieter, more complicated way that had followed me for years. The difference between the two men felt vast. One was noise. The other was something I still couldn’t name cleanly.

When class ended, I gathered my things quickly, hoping to leave without another exchange. Jax stepped into the aisle before I could pass.

“Running off to the library again, bookworm?” he asked. “Or heading back to that fancy mansion?”

My stomach tightened at the mention of the Thorn house. “None of your business.”

He stepped a little closer, voice lower. “Come on, Myra. You’re always so serious. Let me take you out sometime. I bet there’s more to you than the perfect-student act. I’ve seen the way you look at certain people—like you’re waiting for something.”

For a brief moment his expression shifted, something more genuine flickering behind the usual confidence. He liked pushing. He liked attention. But whatever he thought he saw in me had nothing to do with him.

“I’d rather study alone,” I said evenly, and moved past him. My shoulder brushed his chest as I went. He inhaled sharply, but I didn’t look back.

The rest of the afternoon I spent in the library. I finished a research paper draft two days early, helped a first-year student with citations, and met briefly with my advisor, who once again praised the clarity of my work. Academics remained the one place where I felt steady. No one here saw the quieter restlessness I carried—the thoughts that returned to the same person no matter how carefully I tried to redirect them.

By late afternoon, as I walked back toward the dorms, my phone buzzed.

**Sophia:** Lila’s still at the house. Dad’s been in meetings all day. Dinner tonight?

My pulse quickened. Back to the mansion. Back near him. Lila’s presence still felt like a quiet threat—someone who spoke her interest openly while I kept mine carefully hidden.

Jax’s comments replayed in my mind as I walked, mixing with the older, more complicated feelings I had never fully settled. He could never understand what I carried. Only one person sat at the center of it.

David Thorn.

The Alpha who still barely seemed to see me.

Yet.

I imagined walking into the house later, the familiar weight of his presence somewhere nearby, the careful distance that always remained between us. Campus life kept me grounded—focused, capable, excellent on the outside. Inside, the quiet pull toward him continued, slow and persistent, for a man who still treated me as little more than his daughter’s friend.

The tension was only growing.​