ANMELDENCLARA’S POV Inside Jaxon’s off-campus apartment, the heavy silence between us was louder than the public shouting match on the campus quad. The heavy front door clicked shut with a solid, echoing latch, instantly locking out the rest of the world. Outside, the university was probably tearing itself apart with fresh gossip blogs, viral forum threads, and campus security reports. But in here, there was only the hum of the central heating and the ragged rhythm of our breathing. Jaxon tossed his keys onto the dark wood console by the entryway. He did not immediately walk into the living room. Instead, he stood with his broad back against the door, his dark eyes locked onto me with an intensity that made the oxygen evaporate from my lungs. His jaw was set in rigid lines. The knuckles of his right hand were still slightly red from where he had slammed Ethan against the brick column. "Clara," he said again, his voice dropping into that dangerously calm, gravelly register. "I am only
CLARA’S POV By lunchtime, the fire had already spread across campus. I was sitting in the quietest corner of the third-floor library, staring blankly at an open textbook while my fingers pressed against the canvas of my bag. Deep inside the zippered interior pocket, the white envelope from Riverside Health Clinic felt like a live grenade. Every five minutes, my phone screen would light up with another missed call followed by the silent, suffocating memory of Ethan’s text message. “You can't lie to me anymore. We're getting married.” The heavy glass door of the study wing swung open with a muffled thud. Rapid footsteps echoed against the carpet, and a second later, Mia dropped into the wooden chair opposite me. Her face was completely drained of color, her chest heaving as if she had sprinted across the entire quad. "Clara," she whispered, her voice tight with panic. "Tell me you haven't been checking your phone." My stomach gave a sharp, sickening flip. "I turned my
CLARA’S POV My breath froze in my throat. The low hum of Ethan’s idling engine vibrated through the quiet morning air, carrying across the frostbitten grass. Through the tinted glass of his black SUV, I knew his eyes were scanning every corner of the dorm courtyard. If he saw me walking toward the municipal transit stop at dawn, he would follow me, force me into his passenger seat, and demand to know where I was going. I backed up into the deep shadow of the dorm’s brick pillar. Without making a sound, I turned and slipped around the side of the building, cutting through the narrow service alley between the residential halls. I ducked behind the tall, overgrown evergreen hedges that lined the campus bike path, moving quickly while keeping my head down. My heart hammered against my ribs until I finally crossed the eastern perimeter of campus, well out of sight of Ethan’s surveillance. The county bus was already pulling up to the curb, its air brakes hissing in the morning mist
CLARA’S POV The glowing screen on my desk seemed to burn straight through the dim room. Is the baby mine? Those four words felt like a physical blow to my ribs. My heart slammed against my sternum so hard I was terrified Jaxon would feel the frantic rhythm through my back. Every instinct screamed at me to hide, to run, to rewind time before any of this mess began. I swallowed the lump of acid rising in my throat and used the movement of pulling away from Jaxon to shove the plastic test stick deeper into the sleeve of my oversized sweatshirt. The hard, cool plastic bit into my wrist, hidden safely beneath the ribbed cuff. "You're shaking, Clara," Jaxon said softly. His hands lingered on my waist for a second before he reluctantly dropped them, his dark eyes searching my face with sharp concern. "Your skin is completely pale. Let me get you some water." "I'm fine, really," I managed to say, my voice sounding thin and breathless even to my own ears. "Just... overwhelmed." "Sit
CLARA’S POV The bathroom lock clicked into place with a sharp, hollow snap while Jaxon stood waiting on the other side of the door. I had barely cracked the main dorm room open three inches, just enough to catch a glimpse of his dark, worried eyes and murmur through ragged breaths that I needed sixty seconds, before darting straight into the tiny en-suite bathroom and sealing myself inside. My chest rose and fell in shallow, jagged gasps. My ribs felt like an iron cage compressing around my lungs, suffocating every breath before it could reach my bloodstream. My fingers trembled so violently that I nearly dropped the small cardboard box into the porcelain sink. I ripped the packaging open with desperate, frantic tugs, tearing through the foil wrapper with my teeth. The white plastic test felt impossibly light in my hand, yet it carried the terrifying weight of my entire future. I followed the instructions through blurred vision, set the stick flat across the edge of the
CLARA’S POV The violent wave of nausea hit me so fast I did not even have time to excuse myself. One second, Professor Davis was droning on about athletic sponsorship contracts on the lecture hall projector. The next, a sour, burning heat surged from the pit of my stomach straight into my throat, turning my mouth watery and cold. The fluorescent lights overhead seemed to strobe violently, and the air in the packed room suddenly felt completely devoid of oxygen. I knocked my notebook and water bottle off the wooden desk as I scrambled to my feet. A dozen students turned to stare, but I could not bring myself to care. I clamped a trembling hand over my mouth, shoved past the crowded row of chairs, and burst through the heavy exit doors into the empty hallway. My boots skidded on the polished linoleum as I dove into the nearest restroom, barely making it over a porcelain sink before my stomach violently heaved. I dry-heaved until my ribs ached and tears stung the co







