Three

Eli

I was starting to think the library was the only place on this entire campus that didn't feel like a movie set.

Nobody was trying to sell me on a Greek life party or looking at my worn-out backpack like it was a total biohazard.

I had a stack of research papers for my sociology seminar spread out in front of me and I was deep into a chapter on social stratification (which was ironic, considering where I was) when the chair next to me pulled back.

I didn't even look up, just assumed it was Petra or some other student looking for a place to crash. Then this scent hit me, and it wasn't the library smell—it was something crisp, like expensive soap and cold air.

"That’s a heavy start for a Tuesday morning," a voice said.

I stiffened. I knew that voice—it was smooth, controlled, and way too familiar. I slowly turned my head and found Cain Calloway sitting right there. He wasn't wearing the designer blazer from yesterday, just a simple navy sweater that probably cost more than my car, but he looked different, less like a statue and more like a person.

I leaned back, clicking my pen. "Are you lost, Cain? I’m pretty sure the VIP lounge is in the other building, bro."

He didn't snap back or even look annoyed. Instead, he gave me this small, almost tired smile that caught me totally off guard. "No VIP lounge. Just looking for some peace. And I noticed you were reading Miller’s critique on class mobility. It's a bit cynical, don't you think?"

I blinked, looking down at my book, then back at him. "You've read it?"

"Assigned reading for my father’s expectations," he said, leaning a bit closer, his eyes fixed on mine. "But I actually found the section on inherited privilege fascinating. Miller argues it’s not just about money, but the invisible language of the elite—the way they hold themselves, the way they take up space."

"Like sitting at the head of a table because you think it belongs to you?" I asked, my voice dry.

Cain laughed, and it wasn't mocking, it was genuine. "Exactly like that. I totally deserved that call-out, Eli. I’ve been thinking about it since yesterday. I realized I never actually apologized for being an ass."

I stared at him, waiting for the punchline, but it didn't come. He stayed there, looking at me with this intense, attentive focus, and he wasn't checking his phone or looking around to see who was watching us. He was just... listening.

We ended up talking for almost an hour. We didn't talk about the school or the twins or whatever weird reputation he had, we talked about the text. He was smart—like, scary smart. He picked apart arguments with a precision that showed he’d actually done the work, but more than that, he was warm. He asked me what I thought, and when I answered, he nodded like my opinion actually mattered.

By the time he stood up to leave, my brain felt like it had been through a total blender.

"I’ll see you in class, Eli," he said, tapping the table twice. "And for the record, I think you’re right about the third chapter. Miller was definitely reaching."

I watched him walk away, feeling totally unsettled. I’d spent the last twenty-four hours building a wall against these people, labeling them as arrogant, shallow jerks, and then Cain Calloway goes and acts like a human being. It was irritating. I couldn't name the feeling in my chest, but it felt like the ground had shifted an inch to the left.

I needed coffee. Badly.

Fast forward to three in the afternoon. The campus coffee shop was packed—a sea of laptops and the constant hiss of the espresso machine. I was standing in line, staring at the menu and trying to decide if I wanted to spend my last five dollars on a latte or just get a plain black coffee and regret my life choices.

Suddenly, the back of my neck prickled, which is that weird instinct you get when someone is staring at you.

I felt a presence behind me, not just someone standing in line, but a heavy, solid weight. Whoever it was was standing way too close, and I could feel the heat radiating off them. I stayed still for a second, my heart doing a weird little thud against my ribs.

I turned around, ready to tell someone to back the hell up.

It was Cole.

He didn't say a word. He didn't have a book, he didn't have a smile. He was just standing there, dressed in all black, looking at me like I was the only thing in the room. His expression was completely blank, but his eyes were like total magnets.

"Can I help you?" I snapped, my voice a little sharper than I intended.

He didn't answer or even blink, he just kept staring.

I’m used to people staring; I’m the scholarship kid, the outsider. I’ve had people look at me with pity or curiosity or even disgust, but this was different. Cole wasn't looking at my clothes or my cheap shoes, he was looking at me. It was like he was trying to see through my skin, trying to find the exact spot where I’d break.

I decided right then that I wasn't looking away first. I’ve never been out-stared in my life because I grew up in a neighborhood where looking away meant you were a target, so I planted my feet and stared right back.

The seconds stretched out. The girl at the counter called out a name, the steamer hissed, and someone laughed nearby, but all I could hear was my own breathing. Cole’s eyes were darker than his brother’s and more predatory, and there was a physical tension between us that felt like a live wire. It was suffocating, and it made the hair on my arms stand up.

My eyes started to sting, and my heart was racing, a frantic drumming in my ears. I wanted to say something, to curse him out, to move—anything to just break the spell.

Finally, I couldn't take it—the pressure was too much. I jerked my head away, looking back at the menu with a frustrated huff. My face felt hot, and my hands were actually shaking.

"Next!" the barista yelled.

I stumbled forward, practically tripping over my own feet to get to the counter, and ordered the first thing I saw, not even caring what it was. As I waited for my drink, I could still feel him behind me, and he hadn't moved or said a single syllable.

When I finally got my cup, I turned to leave, intending to march straight past him. But as I walked by, he leaned in just a fraction, and he didn't touch me, but his shoulder brushed mine.

"See you around, Eli," he whispered. His voice was a low growl, vibrating right against my ear.

I didn't look back. I pushed through the glass doors and into the cool afternoon air, taking a deep breath, and I was vibrating with pure, unadulterated irritation.

What the hell was wrong with these two?

One brother spends the morning being the most charming, intellectual guy I’ve ever met, making me feel like maybe I was wrong about everything. Then the other brother spends the afternoon acting like a literal shadow, stalking me in a coffee shop and trying to mind-game me into a heart attack.

It was too much, it was weird, and most of all, it was confusing.

I walked back toward my dorm, my coffee cooling in my hand. I tried to focus on my sociology notes, but I couldn't stop thinking about Cain’s smile and Cole’s stare. They were playing some kind of game, I was sure of it, because nobody just happens to stumble into your life twice in one day like that.

But what was the goal? To annoy me? To run me out of the school?

I thought about the library, the way Cain had looked at me when we were talking about the book, and it had felt real. But then I thought about the coffee shop, the way Cole had looked at me like I was a puzzle he was about to solve, and that had felt real, too.

I reached my room and slammed the door, dropping my bag on the floor. I caught my reflection in the mirror, and my cheeks were still flushed, and I looked super frustrated.

"Get a grip, Eli," I muttered to myself. "They’re just rich kids. Don't let them get in your head."

But as I sat down at my desk, I knew it was too late. They were already in there: Cain was the warm light, and Cole was the cold dark, and I was caught somewhere in the middle, wondering which one was going to pull me under first.

I opened my notebook and tried to write, but all I saw were those two faces. I had forgotten their names yesterday, but today, they were the only things I could remember.

It was going to be a long semester.