chapter 7:Kiss me THEN Hate me

VALENTINA’S POV

I had exactly three rules for surviving Blackwood University.

One: Never borrow money from rich people.

Two: Never trust a handsome man who thinks the world belongs to him.

Three: Never, under any circumstances, get involved with Adrian Blackwood.

Unfortunately, the universe appeared determined to test all three.

“Tell me you saw the way he looked at you,” Chloe said, practically bouncing beside me as we crossed the courtyard.

“I saw a boy who needs anger management.”

“He was jealous!”

“He was irritated.”

“Because Daniel was talking to you!”

“Maybe he should buy himself a hobby.”

Chloe stopped walking and stared at me.

“Valentina, that boy could have any girl on this campus.”

“Then why isn't he bothering one of them?”

Her grin widened.

I immediately regretted asking.

“Oh, my God. You like him.”

“I would rather swallow my student ID.”

She laughed so loudly that two students turned around.

My phone vibrated.

MUM.

My smile faded.

I answered while walking toward the residence hall.

“Hello, Mama.”

“Valentina, have you sent the money?”

I closed my eyes.

“I'm still trying to work something out.”

“Your father says he cannot help this month.”

Of course he couldn't.

My parents had been divorced for three years, yet somehow, they still managed to make every problem feel like a competition over who could abandon their responsibilities first.

“Mama, I have tuition covered by my scholarship. I just need to manage my living expenses.”

“And what am I supposed to do, Valentina? You know things are difficult here.”

I swallowed the words burning my throat.

I knew.

I knew about the unpaid bills, the arguments, the way my father could go weeks without calling and then act offended when I stopped asking him for help.

I knew what it meant to count every dollar before buying groceries.

And I knew I couldn't tell my mother that some nights, I skipped dinner so I wouldn't have to watch my bank balance shrink.

“I'll figure something out,” I promised.

After the call ended, Chloe squeezed my shoulder.

“You okay?”

I forced a smile.

“Absolutely. I'm just discovering that adulthood is a scam.”

She didn't laugh this time.

That was how I knew she understood something was wrong.

I wished I could tell her everything.

Instead, I kept walking.

Because I had spent years learning that people could love you and still leave you to carry the heaviest parts alone.

And I wasn't about to let Adrian Blackwood become another person capable of hurting me.

---

ADRIAN'S POV

I found her in the library at nine that evening.

She sat alone at a table near the windows, surrounded by books, her glasses slipping down her nose as she typed furiously on her laptop.

She looked exhausted.

For some reason, that annoyed me.

Perhaps because I knew what exhaustion felt like. Perhaps because I recognised the expression of someone trying to hold their entire life together without asking for help.

Or perhaps I was simply becoming pathetic.

I dropped into the chair opposite her.

She looked up.

“No.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I haven't said anything.”

“Your face said enough.”

“Are you always this welcoming?”

“Only to unwanted visitors.”

I leaned back, studying her.

“Why were you upset earlier?”

Her fingers stopped moving.

“Excuse me?”

“After your phone call.”

She closed her laptop halfway.

“Were you spying on me?”

“I saw you outside the residence hall.”

“And naturally, you assumed my personal business was your business?”

I should have apologised.

Instead, I smirked.

“Maybe I'm curious.”

“Try reading a book. Curiosity is apparently good for the brain.”

She returned to her laptop.

I hated how easily she dismissed me.

At home, people watched my every expression, desperate to understand what I wanted. At university, girls invented reasons to approach me.

Valentina treated me like an irritating advertisement she couldn't find the skip button for.

I should have left.

Instead, I noticed the printed email beside her books.

The one concerning the entrepreneurship competition.

My smile disappeared.

“Where did you get that?”

She immediately covered the paper.

“Why?”

“Valentina.”

“Adrian.”

I leaned forward.

“Give it to me.”

“No.”

“Do you have any idea what you're dealing with?”

“An arrogant hockey player with a serious problem respecting boundaries?”

I snatched for the paper.

She pulled it away.

Her chair scraped against the floor as she stood.

“Don't touch my things!”

A few students looked over.

I lowered my voice.

“You're going to get yourself into trouble.”

“Maybe I'm already in trouble. Maybe someone is trying to sabotage my project. And maybe, instead of threatening me, you could explain why you care so much about that email.”

For one brief second, I considered telling her the truth.

Then my father's voice echoed in my head.

Winners don't expose weaknesses.

I stood.

“Forget the email.”

“Gladly. Right after you forget my existence.”

I turned to leave.

Then she said, quietly, “You know, you don't have to be like him.”

I froze.

Slowly, I looked back.

“Like who?”

She hesitated.

“Your father.”

Something cold settled inside my chest.

“You don't know anything about my father.”

“Then stop acting like you have to prove something to him every second of your life.”

My hand curled into a fist.

She had no right.

No right to mention him.

No right to look at me as though she could see the frightened boy beneath the expensive clothes and carefully constructed reputation.

“You think you're better than me?” I demanded.

“No. I think you're better than the way you treat people.”

For once, I had no answer.

She gathered her books.

“I'm leaving.”

She stepped around me, but I caught her wrist.

The moment my fingers closed around her, she stopped.

“Let go.”

I should have done it immediately.

Instead, I looked at her face, at the anger in her eyes, and realised I had crossed a line.

I released her.

“I'm sorry,” I said, the words unfamiliar and painfully inadequate.

She stared at me.

Then she shook her head.

“Don't apologise if you're going to do it again tomorrow.”

She walked away.

I remained beside the table, staring at the empty chair.

My phone vibrated.

A message from an unknown number appeared on the screen.

STOP DIGGING INTO THE BLACKWOOD FAMILY. YOUR BROTHER DIDN'T DISAPPEAR FOR NO REASON.

My blood turned cold.

Before I could reply, another message arrived.

ASK YOUR FATHER WHAT REALLY HAPPENED THAT NIGHT.

I read it twice.

Then a photograph appeared.

Alexander.

My supposedly dead brother stood outside a building I had never seen before, his face turned toward the camera.

The photograph was recent.

Very recent.

My hands went numb.

Someone had been lying to me.

For years.

And suddenly, the only person on campus who had dared to look beyond my money and my anger was the same girl who had just walked away from me.

I grabbed my phone and called the only person who might know the truth.

My father answered on the fourth ring.

“Adrian? It's late.”

I stared at Alexander's photograph.

“Dad,” I whispered. “Where is my brother?”

Silence.

Then my father's voice changed.

“Who told you that name?”

And for the first time in my life, I heard fear in Richard Blackwood's voice.