UNSCRIPTED TIES

CHAPTER SIX

CALLUM’S POV

This granny's got to be kidding me, how is she calling now? I groaned, my smile vanishing instantly. I didn't even know when I'd uttered, "She wasn't calling me, Ian... she was calling you."

He picked up the phone, debating whether to answer or let it ring out, pacing the floor as if searching for the right words.

Getting furious, I spoke in a sharp whisper, "Just pick up, dude."

He glared at me, his knuckles white, before finally swiping to answer. "Hello?" he managed, his voice tight.

A shrill voice pierced through the room, loud enough to hear snippets reminding him his 30 minutes were up and that he needed to get home to prepare for his book study and his deliveries at the restaurant.

Ian's face drained of all color, his eyes widening in panic. He couldn't even manage a goodbye before the phone dropped from his hand and clattered to the floor. Slowly, he turned to face me, his mouth agape, unable to utter a single word.

"What's wrong, dude?" I asked, unable to process the panic behind his phone call.

"I'm late," he said, rubbing his temple. "Nonnie gave me thirty minutes to clean up the mess here, and my time is up before I could even touch my assignment."

"That's nothing, man. What are friends for? Or... are we not quite there yet?" I gave him a questioning look.

"Friends?" A faint smile flickered across his face before the anxiety took over again. "I won't argue with that, but I need to move my ass. I can drop back by this evening to finish cleaning, but right now I have to get to the library before it closes at six to grab those reference books."

"If I may ask... which school or library are you even talking about?" I asked out of genuine curiosity.

"My university is every student's dream—state-of-the-art tech, incredible grant scholarships, top-tier professors..."

"What's the name?" I cut him off before he could go on a full rant.

He chuckled softly, the innocent pride in his voice unmistakable. "Charleston de Witt University. Popularly known as CdWU. It's super prestigious... word on the street is the founder's own son even goes there."

I felt the air pull from my lungs as the familiar name hit me like a physical blow. His eyes were wide and open, completely clueless that he was staring straight at the founder's son he'd just mentioned.

I forced a stiff nod, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat before I ended up ruining everything.

Looking at how worked up he was, I realized I needed to put his mind at rest. "Hope you know that the owner of this house is Beatrice de Witt, and that ultimately makes me her..."

"Grandson? CdW? Are you for real?" Ian gasped, the color draining from his face as shock registered. "The almighty CdW? Like... the golden boy?" He let out a breathless chuckle and dipped into a dramatic, sarcastic little bow.

"Yeah, sure. And for your information, my name is Callum, though I'd prefer you call me Cal for short," I replied with a faint smirk. "The key to the library—and practically every door in that university—is right here with me. Just a word from me, and you get anything you want."

He stared at me for a beat, his jaw slightly slack as he tried to reconcile the guy standing in front of him with the legendary heir everyone talked about on campus.

"So... you're telling me I've been stressing over a 6 PM curfew when I'm standing in the living room of the guy who basically owns the building?"

"Pretty much," I said, leaning back against the counter with a shrug. "So sit down, breathe, and let me make a phone call. Your assignment is getting done today.”

"Wow, Callum—I'm so grateful for that. I'm indeed happy! If you need any help or assistance around here, instead of calling Grandma, just call me."

"Stop being so dramatic, dude," I said, eyeing him with a puzzled look. "It's making me feel uncomfortable. It feels like people think I'm some untouchable figure, and I really don't get why you're acting like this."

"So you don't know?" Ian asked, pausing. "Rumor has it that you don't have any friends, that you're always alone, that you take lectures in complete isolation, and things like that."

"Nah, that's just a complete lie," I replied, rolling my eyes. "I had a friend, and I take lectures online—not alone, just remotely. Walking around campus is a hassle. Besides, how did you get admitted? Sorry if that sounds rude, I'm just curious."

"That's a long story," Ian said softly, a trace of pride softening his voice. "All thanks to hard work and my grandmother. She worked for your Nana for years, and she was given the application forms. Ever since then, I worked my ass off to get the grades needed to maintain it."

I blinked, the realization suddenly hitting me. 

"You know... that scholarship was actually my idea. I asked my family for it as a birthday gift, never knowing the beneficiary would end up standing in my living room."

"I'm... I'm so grateful for that," Ian whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he started to bow again.

I reached out, catching his shoulders and lifting him up slowly before he could go all the way down. "I asked you to be my friend, right? So just treat me like one. I'm not your boss or your master. Stop bowing—leave that to the staff back at the estate, okay?"

Ian looked up, his dark eyes searching mine for any sign of condescension, but finding only quiet sincerity. A genuine smile finally broke across his face.

"Alright, Cal. Friends it is. But if we're really friends, you're helping me carry these library books."

"Deal," I chuckled. "Now sit down before your thirty minutes are officially up.”

"To make you feel comfortable around me, we're gonna do the cleaning together. And I'll give you a lift to the restaurant afterward to put your Nonnie's mind at rest," I paused. "Is that okay?"

"Nope. Leave the dirty work to me—I'll get it done in a jiffy," Ian said, jumping up immediately. 

He grabbed a cloth and began aggressively dusting off the top of the wardrobe, sending a cloud of grey particles straight into the air and making me sneeze violently.

I reached out, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him back toward the living room. "Your cleaning supplies are over here, right? Let me show you I'm serious."

I picked up a bottle of glass cleaner, but another loud sneeze shook my whole frame.

Ian leaned on his broom, watching me with an amused grin. "You look like you're about to wage war on dust mites, Cal—and losing.”

"Shut up," I muttered. "Just tell me what to wipe before I change my mind.”

He grabbed the rag from my hand and gently pushed me toward the hallway. "Instead of fighting dust in here, why don't you wait outside, golden boy?"

Golden boy, my foot. I sighed, admitting to myself that I just didn't want to leave his side.

"Ian, let's just go to the restaurant instead," I said. "Your time is up anyway."

Before he could finish arguing, his stomach let out a loud, traitorous growl.

I stepped closer, leaned in, and lightly nipped his earlobe. Ian flinched, a sharp shudder running through him. "You're going to do what I said, okay?" I murmured against his ear. "Your stomach has already betrayed you."

He raised both hands in defeat. "Alright, I give up!"

"Good boy," I smirked, tossing him his jacket. "Now snag your phone and let's go."

"Besides, browsing the stacks is half the fun," he added, adjusting his bag. "I like finding things I wasn't even looking for."

"Fine. But I'm driving you there, and I'm walking in with you. Consider it your VIP pass."

Ian blinked, a slow grin taking over his face. "Are you sure you want to be seen with a guy carrying a mop bucket, golden boy?"

"Let them talk," I said, grabbing my car keys. "It'll give the campus something new to rumor about.”

"I'd rather drop the supplies at the restaurant first, and..."

"And grab something to eat," I cut him off, tossing a pointed glance at his midsection. "Because I am not listening to that stomach of yours throw another tantrum today."

Before he could argue, I slammed the front door shut behind us and headed across the yard toward the shade of the large mahogany tree where my car was parked. But as I rounded the rear bumper, I froze in my tracks.

Leaning right against the trunk of the mahogany tree, right beside my sports car, was a squeaky, rusted old bicycle with a wire basket strapped to the handlebars.

I stopped dead, staring at the contraption in utter disbelief, before slowly turning around to face him.

"Ian... please don't tell me you rode here on this.”

"Yes, I did. It's the fastest way to get here—my place is a bit far, you know," Ian admitted, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.

"Oh, my world," I muttered, shaking my head in sheer disbelief as I pressed the key fob.

I opened the trunk for him to load his cleaning supplies, watching as he carefully stowed the bucket and rags. He climbed into the passenger seat shortly after, and in silence, I pulled out from beneath the mahogany tree and headed down the street.

As I accelerated onto the main road, I caught the reflection of a dark, tinted sedan pulling out from the side alley behind us, matching my speed down to the second.

"Hey, Cal?" Ian asked softly, looking out the side mirror. "Is it normal for a black SUV to follow you every time you leave your house?"

I checked the rearview mirror, my chest tightening as the realization hit me—my family’s security detail wasn't just monitoring me anymore; they were taking notes on him.