All Chapters of nineteen and unravelling : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

I woke up the next morning to the smell of fresh coffee and the sound of Chris's dramatic laughter echoing from the kitchen. ​I sat up, stretching, only to realize I was still wearing Dom's oversized black t-shirt. The soft cotton had stretched out overnight, and as I walked out into the open-concept living room, the hem brushed against my thighs. ​Chris was sitting on a cardboard box, holding a mug, while Bianca leaned against the kitchen counter. The moment they saw me, their eyes locked onto the massive black tee. ​"Oh, look who decided to join the living," Chris purred, a wicked, knowing smirk spreading across his face. "You went out for a basic lecture yesterday and came back dressed in the scent of expensive cedarwood, clean laundry, and a six-foot-two brooding artist. Fascinating." ​"Leo texted me that you had a little chocolate accident," Bianca giggled, sipping her coffee. "But he didn't mention you'd be bringing home souvenirs." ​"It's just a shirt," I mumbled, my

​My bedroom in our new loft was the only space that felt completely finished. Chris and Bianca had helped me drag in my massive white vanity, the faux-fur rug, the towering gold-framed mirror, and the sheer, dramatic pink curtains that pooled on the hardwood floor. It looked like a high-fashion sanctuary—a pastel-pink dream designed to shield me from the harshness of the outside world.​But tonight, the room felt too big. Too quiet.​I was curled up on the center of my mattress, buried under a mountain of plush blankets. And despite everything—despite the runway second-place victory, despite the glorious satisfaction of kissing Dom in front of the entire campus, and despite the fact that I knew I deserved so much better—I was wearing Malik’s oversized, faded gray varsity hoodie.​It was pathetic. I knew it.​If this were a movie, the strong, independent protagonist would have burned the hoodie the second she found out about the betrayal. But in real life? Detaching yourself from your

​The headquarters of Lumen Studios was a brutalist masterpiece of poured concrete, towering steel beams, and floor-to-ceiling glass that overlooked the industrial skyline of the city. It didn't scream fashion; it screamed power. ​When Dom’s Jeep pulled up to the security gate, my palms were sweating so much I was terrified I’d slip right out of my seat. ​"Hey," Dom said softly, putting the Jeep in park. He turned in his seat, his blue eyes dropping to take in my outfit. ​Chris had outdone himself. I was wearing the vintage, oversized leather trench coat, belted tightly at the waist to create a sharp, dramatic silhouette, paired with chunky, square-toed boots. Bianca had kept my makeup incredibly fresh—dewy skin, a sharp wing of brown liner, and a soft, blurred nude lip. I looked like I belonged on a mood board in this very building. ​Dom stared at me, his gaze slow and heavy. For a second, he didn't even breathe. ​"You look..." He cleared his throat, a faint, rare trace of color

​It took me exactly three minutes after getting back to the loft to do something incredibly impulsive. ​I was sitting on my bed, still wrapped in the lingering warmth of the afternoon, staring at the heavy silver-plated guitar and high heel keychain resting in my palm. The handwritten note from Dom was open beside me on the duvet. It was so personal, so effortlessly him, and my heart was doing that stupid, erratic flutter again. ​I wanted to show it off. Not because of our deal, or Malik, or the Ashford gossip mills—but because for the first time in a long time, someone had made me feel seen. ​I grabbed my phone, snapped a quick, aesthetically blurry photo of the silver keychain resting against the black velvet of the box, letting the corner of Dom’s hand-drawn note with his neat, architectural handwriting peek into the frame. I posted it to my close friends' story with a single caption: He gets me. ​Her last name is Vance. Everyone on campus knows Kelsey Vance, the girl who had

​The silence in the Jeep was heavy, thick with the smell of old leather, rain, and the bitter scent of the black coffee Dom had shoved into my hand the second I climbed into the passenger seat. ​I leaned my head against the cold glass of the window, watching the city skyline bleed into winding, empty country roads. My fingers kept drumming a frantic, anxious beat against my thighs. I was a complete mess. My mind was trapped in the quiet loft I’d left behind—the image of Bianca’s red-rimmed eyes, the cold, venomous disappointment in Chris’s voice, and the weight of the Lumen contract I had secretly signed in the dead of night trailing behind me like a ghost. ​Dom didn’t say anything for the first thirty minutes. He just kept one hand loose on the steering wheel, his rings clicking faintly against the leather whenever he shifted gears. He looked entirely in his element—jaw shadowed with dark stubble, his messy curls pushed back loosely, wearing a faded band tee under his scuffed leat