Chapter 5- The Wrong Answer

Asher's pov.

The professor’s voice faded into the background, mixing with the scratching of pens against paper.

Everyone around me was hunched over their desks, desperate to capture every word. I leaned back, my own notebook open, but my pen wasn't tracing chemical bonds or reaction formulas.

Instead, the graphite moved in soft, precise strokes, carving out the sharp line of a jaw and the intensity of a gaze I couldn’t shake.

Seeing Leonard at the gallery yesterday… he looked different. Even more striking than the first time. The memory of him standing among the paintings made the air in my lungs feel thin.

I let out a slow, silent exhale, my chest tightening as the rest of the day flashed back.

The panic of seeing my father at the exhibition. Rushing into that cramped, dusty storage room to avoid being seen. I could still feel the itch of insulation against my skin and the relentless pounding of my heartbeat while Brady and Trevor stood guard outside for hours.

By the time they signaled the coast was clear, the mood was dead. Trevor’s club plans had evaporated, and we’d all slunk away like criminals.

And in the end, I couldn't return the bracelet to the owner.

"Asher," a harsh whisper cut through my thoughts.

I didn't look up, my fingers shading the curve of Leonard’s cheekbone. "Not now."

"What are you doing?" Trevor hissed, leaning over. His eyes widened as they landed on the page. "Is that… are you actually sketching in the middle of Thermodynamics? Look at me, man. Have you lost your mind?"

I ignored him, as my hand dived into my backpack. My fingers brushed past heavy textbooks and crumpled loose-leaf paper, searching for the cool, familiar touch of the metal links. Nothing.

My heart skipped a beat. I dug deeper, shoving aside my laptop sleeve. Empty.

Panic, cold and sharp, flared in my stomach.

I checked the small front pocket. Then the pockets of my denim jacket. I stood up slightly, checking my jeans, my hands moving with a energy that finally drew Brady’s attention from the other side.

"What are you looking for?" Brady whispered, his brow furrowed.

"The bracelet," I breathed, my voice tight. "I can't find it. It's gone."

Trevor leaned back, shaking his head. "Forget the bracelet. You’re drawing portraits of a guy you barely know while the lecturer is literally giving us the quiz hints. Priorities, Ash."

"I was supposed to return it," I muttered, the guilt gnawing at me. "I had it. I know I had it."

Brady adjusted his glasses, looking unimpressed. "Are we even sure it belongs to Leonard Michaels? It’s an assumption, Ash. It could belong to any of those socialites at the gallery."

"Exactly," Trevor added, turning back to his notes. "The person lost it. If they’re lucky, the universe will find a way to get it back to them. Let it go."

I stared at the sketch. The eyes I had drawn seemed to judge me. I was certain it was his. Why else would it have been right there? The thought that it might be important, something he actually cared about, sat like a stone in my gut.

***

The cool afternoon air did little to lift my mood as we spilled out of the lecture hall. My backpack felt heavier than usual, sagging against my shoulder.

"Why the long face?" Trevor asked, throwing a heavy arm over my shoulders. "We’re free. For a few hours, at least. Clubbing? My treat."

Brady rolled his eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. "Here we go again? Really, Trevor?"

"Hey, we couldn't go last time because of Mr. Buzzkill," Trevor argued, referring to my father. "We can make up for it this evening."

"We have a quiz tomorrow," Brady reminded him pointedly. "And unlike you, who’s some kind of freakish engineering genius, both Asher and I actually need to go home and study if we want to pass."

It was the annoying truth. Trevor acted like a total party animal, always chasing girls and talking about the next big rager, but he was the only one who was actually here because he loved Chemical Engineering.

He grasped concepts before the professor even finished explaining them. Brady, on the other hand, was just here for the future paycheck.

"Brady’s right," I said, sliding out from under Trevor’s arm. "After the quiz tomorrow. We’ll go then."

"Promise?" Trevor asked, pointing a finger at me.

"Promise."

We parted ways at the corner, the two of them heading toward the dorms while I turned toward the transit stop.

I hopped into a taxi, but as the driver asked for my address, the thought of my mother’s inevitable criticism made my throat close up.

If I went back now, I’d just have to endure hours of my mother’s sharp tongue and her endless criticisms.

"Change of plans," I said. "Drop me at the cafe on 4th."

I needed a moment of quiet.

As the taxi pulled up, the sight of five men in sharp black suits standing like stone sentinels in front of the glass doors made me pause.

I approached the entrance, only to be blocked by a wall of a man.

"Closed," he said, his voice like gravel. "Rented out for a private session. Come back in an hour."

I sighed, stepping back onto the sidewalk.

"Rich people," I murmured, kicking a loose pebble.

Why couldn't they use one of those high-end, overpriced lounges downtown? Why take over a place for normal people?

I leaned against the brick wall, staring at the bodyguard.

There was something familiar about him, but I couldn't place it.

I waited. I paced the length of the block. I sat on the cold pavement until my legs cramped.

Finally, exactly after an hour, the chime above the door echoed through the quiet street. The door swung open.

I stood up, brushing the dust off my jeans, and froze.

Leonard Michaels stepped out.

The afternoon sun caught in his dark hair, lighting the strands for a second.

Our eyes locked, and the breath I was holding died in my throat. It wasn't just a look, it was a pull, an invisible tether that made the crowded street feel empty.

He paused, his gaze narrowing slightly as he recognized me. He walked toward me like he was used to people moving out of his way

"It's you... from the gallery," he said, his voice a smooth, low baritone.

I forced my vocal cords to work. "Yes. We… we meet again."

An awkward silence stretched between us. I cleared my throat, gesturing vaguely at the building behind him. "I see you like this cafe too. Leonard."

He tilted his head, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "They make the best coffee in the city. Though, I don't recall telling you my name."

I felt the heat creep up my neck. I rubbed the back of my head, looking anywhere but at his piercing eyes. "You’re… kind of famous. Hard not to know."

"Really?"

“And I told you my name already,” I added before I could stop myself. “Back at the bridge.”

His gaze sharpened slightly. “You did?”

“Asher.”

He repeated it quietly, like he was testing how it sounded. “Asher.”

I nodded quickly, my heart suddenly racing for no reason at all. I felt his gaze lingering on me, observing, calculating.

"Actually," Leonard said, his expression turning serious, "at the exhibition… I lost something. Something very important to me. I’ve been looking everywhere, but it’s gone."

The guilt hit me like a physical blow. My hands went clammy inside my pockets.

"Did you happen to notice anything?" he asked, stepping closer. "Anything… missing?"

The truth was right there, on the tip of my tongue.

"I found it. I had it with me but then I lost it again."

But the words died before they could form.

What would he think? That I was a thief? Or just incompetent?

I swallowed hard, forcing my expression to stay neutral. "No," I lied, the word feeling like lead. "I didn't notice anything."

The air between us grew heavy as I waited for his reaction. I held my breath, hoping he wouldn't see through the lie. My lungs burned, but I didn't dare move until he spoke.

Leonard finally gave a slow, measured nod. "I see."

I stretched my lips into something that was supposed to be a smile. It probably looked exactly as unconvincing as it felt.

"By the way," Leonard continued, his voice dropping an octave, "that day at the gallery... it seemed like you had something you wanted to say to me. What was it?"

My fingers curled into tight fists at my sides, my nails digging into the skin of my palms.

I hadn't expected him to remember that brief, unfinished moment amidst all the chaos of my father’s arrival.

I tried to keep my shoulders from tensing up, struggling to maintain a mask of calm.

"It... it was nothing," I managed to say. Even to my own ears, the words sounded hollow.

His gaze remained fixed on me, intense and unwavering. It felt like he was peeling back layers of my thoughts, searching for the truth I was hiding.

I kept my eyes focused on a loose button on his coat, unable to meet that piercing stare. The silence stretched until it was almost unbearable.

"Alright then," he said at last.

He turned without another word, stepping into the sleek black car held open by one of his guards. The engine purred to life, and within seconds, the vehicle merged into the street and vanished around the corner.

A long, jagged breath escaped me the moment he was out of sight. My shoulders finally slumped, and I leaned against the cold brick wall of the cafe, my knees feeling a bit like jelly. I’d survived, but the guilt still sat heavy in my chest.

I stepped to the curb and flagged down the first cab I saw.

My previous desire to avoid my mother had completely vanished, replaced by a desperate, driving need to get home. I had to find that bracelet.

The taxi felt like it was moving in slow motion through the city traffic.

As soon as it pulled up in front of my house, I tossed the fare to the driver and bolted for the front door.

To my immense relief, no one was home yet.

I took the stairs two at a time and burst into my room, throwing my backpack onto the chair.

I started tearing through the room.

I grabbed the clothes I’d worn to the exhibition and the day after, turning the pockets inside out.

I dropped to my knees, sweeping my arm under the bed, through the dust and old magazines. Still nothing.

I tore the covers off my bed, my breathing coming in short, ragged bursts. Finally, I grabbed the edge of my pillow and flipped it over.

There it was.

The silver links shimmered against the dark sheets, looking as elegant and out of place as its owner.

I let out a long, shaky sigh, running a hand through my messy hair as I sank onto the edge of the mattress.

I picked it up, the metal cool against my skin.

I had just stood in front of Leonard and lied to his face, only to find the bracelet minutes later.

I’d missed the perfect opportunity to give it back, and now, I had no idea when or if I’d ever see him again.

“Great,” I muttered, staring at the bracelet in my hand. “Now what the hell am I supposed to do with you?”