LOGINAsher’s POV
Rumors died fast at Harrington when you gave them something better to chew on.
Unfortunately for Lila and I, nothing new came up. It was a Monday morning and Lila had spent her time with her father over the weekend.
And even though I'd never say it out loud, I had missed having her around the house. I pulled into the school's parking lot, and turned off the engine of my motorcycle but I didn't stand up.
I know I said this was fake, but I could not stop thinking about her, not that I'll admit it to anyone. No other girl had ever made me lose sleep before. Hell, I didn't even smoke my cigarettes this weekend.
A beat up Ford sedan pulled up into the lot just then. It wasn't flashy like all the other cars in the lot. I've never seen that car before so it must be her. I was right.
Lila stepped out, slinging her backpack over one shoulder as her dirty blonde hair caught the morning light. Her face was set in a frown but still effortlessly pretty in her vintage sweater, miniskirt and mismatched socks. She didn't even care what people thought about her.
She didn't look too busy adjusting her bag as she headed toward the school's entrance. I swung my leg over the bike and jogged to catch up, falling in step beside her before she could notice me. “Jesus, smile kid.”
I teased her by bumping her shoulder lightly with mine. She was startled and her eyes went wide. “Asher? What…are you..” she arched her eyebrows. “Were you waiting for me?”
I shrugged and tried to play it cool. “Your mom asked me to bring you lunch. Besides, the house was too quiet with you gone.”
She smiled then and I blinked and cleared my throat. God, her smile made me go weak in the knees. She ducked her head. “You're such a flirt. It's too early for this.”
I looked offended. “I'm not flirting.” I lied leaning closer as we walked. “I'm just stating facts, and I know you missed me too.”
She laughed, a tinkling sound that made me feel sheepish. “Do you tell yourself to sleep well at night, Asher?”
We pushed through the front doors of the academy then and heads snapped to us. A group of girls by the locker were giggling at me and when we passed by, I saw them hiding their phones like they were taking pictures of us.
"Step-siblings? That's messed up." I heard one of them say. "But they're kinda cute together..."
I slipped my arm around her waist because I could sense she was nervous. I pulled her in that possessive way we'd agreed on for the fake dating act, but somehow it didn't feel fake. “Ignore them.” I murmured in her ear.
Lila nodded. “It's easy for you to say because you're used to the spotlight.”
I spotted Vivian and her crew leaning against the locker close to the cafeteria. Her perfectly glossed lips twisted in a frown.
If looks could kill, Lila and I would be six feet under. She was practically foaming at the mouth while her minions whispered to each other.
Part of me felt a twisted kind of satisfaction. This is another reason why I wanted to do this fake dating thing, to get her off my back.
Before I could say anything to Lila, the intercom drew everyone's attention. “Asher Harrington, report to the principal's office immediately.”
I scoffed. “Great. What now?” I muttered out loud.
Lila squeezed my arm. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“Nah, I'll handle it, just wait for me.” I winked at her trying to play off how nervous I felt as I made my way to his office. I hated being called into the principal's office.
*****
“Asher. Take a seat.” Principal Hargrove was rifling through papers when I walked in.
The principal office lacked colour as always. It was filled with motivational quotes and posters and the overwhelming smell of coffee.
“Asher, we need to discuss your last results. It wasn't very impressive. I won't be reaching out to your father in regards to the ruckus your step sister caused. He seemed tense.”
I sneered at the older man. It was no news that I hated school because I was dyslexic but my father never acknowledged that. When it came to my father everyone worshiped him. “Thank you.”
“No…no don't thank me yet. To boost your grade this semester, you'll be required to take up extra credits or at least try to get your GPA up.”
But I wasn't fully listening to him anymore. Through the window of his office I had a clear view of the main hallway and I didn't like what I saw.
There was a new guy who was tall and built like an athlete with tousled red hair and a jawline that belonged in Hollywood.
Girls were already clustering around him, giggling and batting their lashes. What the hell? Even Vivian had peeled away from her locker posse and she was flipping her hair and smiling in his direction too.
But that's not what caught my attention. No, what hit me to the gut was when the new guy saw Lila, he smiled and made a beeline for her.
“Uh..excuse me sir.” I ran out of his office just in time to see him hug her and she was smiling up at him.
“Lila, baby! I have missed you.” he said loud enough for everyone to hear.
Lila hugged him back and she was laughing. “Oh my God what are you doing here?”
I didn't go to her, I just watched them feeling a strange knot tying in my chest.
Who the hell was this guy? And why was he calling her baby?
Lila’s POVThe floor of the art studio looked like a glitter bomb had gone off in a craft store. There were tubes of acrylic paint oozing onto the hardwood, stray sequins stuck to the bottom of my feet, and a bottle of high-gloss varnish that was dangerously close to tipping over.I sat cross-legged in the center of the chaos, staring at the blank, matte-black square of my graduation cap. It was supposed to be a symbol of completion—the final dot at the end of a very long, very messy sentence. Instead, it felt like a target."You're doing it wrong," Asher grunted. He was leaning against my drafting table, looking entirely out of place surrounded by pastel pinks and iridescent glitter. He was currently flicking a silver paint pen between his fingers like it was a switchblade."There is no 'wrong' in art, Asher," I said, not looking up as I carefully dabbed a sponge into a puddle of deep violet. "That’s the whole point. It’s expression. It’s soul.""It’s a hat, Monroe," he countered, t
Asher’s POVThe wind wasn't just cold; it was a physical weight, screaming past my helmet as we cleared the Silvercrest city limits. I could feel Lila’s fingernails digging into the leather of my jacket, her chest pressed so tight against my back that our heartbeats were fighting for the same rhythm.I didn't tell her where we were going. I didn't have to. After the disaster with the board and whatever hell Jax had put her through with that photo, she didn't need a conversation—she needed a goddamn escape. I pushed the Triumph harder, the speedometer climbing until the world became a blur of dark trees and streaking headlights.We hit the coast road forty minutes later. The salt air cut through the scent of gasoline, sharp and biting. I throttled down as we reached a jagged cliffside path I’d known since I was a kid—the kind of place where the "Private Property" signs were just suggestions.I killed the engine. The silence that followed was deafening, filled only by the rhythmic, viol
Jax povThe morning air in the Harrington administrative wing smelled like floor wax and old, expensive secrets. I stood in front of the heavy oak doors of the Board Room, my fingers digging into the straps of my portfolio bag. Usually, I felt like a whimsical outsider in these halls, but today, I felt like a gladiator heading into a lion’s den—mostly because I knew the lion had a blonde blowout and a trust fund named Sloane Van Doren.I didn’t have to wait for the summons. The doors swung open, and the silence that greeted me was thick enough to choke on.Six board members sat behind a long mahogany table. At the center was Principal Higgins, looking like he’d just swallowed a lemon, and to his left sat Mrs. Gable, the head of Admissions for NYU Tisch, who was visiting to "verify" the integrity of my scholarship.And there, leaning against the far wall with a look of feigned concern, was Sloane. She smoothed her skirt, her eyes tracking me with a glint of pure, unadulterated malice.
Jax’s POVThe air in the Sterling’s private club in New Haven didn't smell like the future; it smelled like cedarwood, old money, and the suffocating weight of a thousand expectations.I adjusted my tie in the gilded mirror of the foyer, my fingers feeling like lead. I was wearing the Sterling blue—the navy blazer that signaled I was part of the tribe. My father stood behind me, his hand resting on my shoulder. It wasn't a gesture of affection; it was a grip, a reminder that I was an extension of his own ambition."Smile, Jax," he murmured, his voice as smooth as the single-malt scotch he was already holding. "These are the families that will fund your first firm. These are the people who matter.""Right," I muttered, my jaw tight. "The people who matter."We stepped into the main hall, a sea of mahogany and brass. The "Yale Legacy Mixer" was exactly what I feared: a room full of people talking about hedge funds and offshore accounts while pretend-caring about "intellectual rigor." E
Asher’s POVI hate books…really.The scent of old paper and dust usually made me want to crawl out of my skin, but tonight, the library felt like the center of the damn universe.I stared at the open textbook on the floor, the words blurring into a mess of black ink that looked more like oil spills than actual sentences. History. European History. Apparently, I needed to know the exact date some royal idiot signed a treaty if I wanted to walk across that stage and keep the state investigators off Lila’s back.If I failed my finals, I was out. No diploma, no legal standing, and no way to stay in Silvercrest while the "Princess" drama turned Lila’s life into a target range."Focus, Asher. Who led the unification of Germany?"Lila was sitting cross-legged on the rug opposite me. She’d ditched the "Princess" panic for a few hours, wearing an oversized sweater that swallowed her frame and a pair of reading glasses she usually only wore when she was doing fine-detail sketches. She looked so
Lila’s POVThe envelope was heavy. Not just physically, with its high-gsm paper and embossed NYU seal, but heavy with the kind of life-altering weight that made my hands go numb. I sat on the floor of my new art studio—the one I’d technically bought along with the rest of the school—surrounded by the smell of linseed oil and the ghost of the revelation from the basement.I didn't open it for twenty minutes. I just sat there, staring at the purple torch logo of NYU Tisch. This was the dream. The one I’d scribbled in the margins of my notebooks since I was ten years old. Manhattan. The Village. A place where my "whimsical" style wouldn't be a scholarship curiosity, but a voice.Finally, I slid my finger under the flap.Dear Lila Monroe, It is with great pleasure...I stopped reading. My heart didn't do a happy dance; it hit a wall. I was in. I was officially a New Yorker. But as I looked around the studio, the victory felt hollow. Three months. That was the countdown. In ninety days, th







