Skylar's POV.

"What the hell." I screamed. Sometimes, the memories hit me when I least expect them. Like a punch to the chest, reminding me of everything I tried so hard to forget. Liam. Him standing there, caught red-handed with that girl the way her smug smile didn't even falter when I appeared.

It was supposed to be a quiet night, just a small gathering at the Crescent pack's compound. I didn't want to go, but my parents insisted. They said it was important for pack unity, for my future. I barely knew anyone there except Liam, and even then, I wasn't sure if I really knew him at all.

That night, I wandered through the hallways, looking for him, wanting to find the boy I thought I loved. Instead, I found him pressed against some girl, her arms wrapped around him like she belonged there. And she did. They belonged together-at least, that's what the sight told me.

I froze, my heart pounding so loud I was sure they could hear it. Liam looked up, saw me, and instead of shame, there was amusement in his eyes.

"Oh, Skylar," he said, voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Didn't expect to see you here."

I didn't say a word. I turned and left, feeling like I was made of glass shattering into a thousand pieces.

That moment wasn't the first time Liam's words cut deeper than any betrayal. He was good at making me feel small, less than, like I was never enough. Whenever I tried to stand up for myself, he'd remind me, subtly or not, how I paled in comparison to the girls he used to date or the ones he was still interested in.

"You should be grateful," he once said during an argument. "Not every girl gets a chance to be with someone like me."

His voice was cold, but what stung the most was how easy it was for him to dismiss my feelings, my worth.

I remember the nights I lay awake, replaying his words, wondering if I was really that useless.

But I wasn't just hurt by Liam. I was crushed by the fact that the people who were supposed to love me the ones who raised me expected me to swallow it all. To forget that I was being hurt, humiliated.

"Skylar," my mother said one evening, after I'd refused to eat dinner, "you need to focus on what's important. Liam is the future. Your role is to support him."

I looked up, eyes burning with unshed tears. "But he doesn't respect me."

She shook her head, voice sharp. "Respect isn't what holds packs together. Power is."

Power. That word echoed in my mind, a constant reminder that my feelings didn't matter.

Elena, as if sensing my weakness, didn't miss a chance to remind me I was failing. "Maybe if you were more like the others, Liam wouldn't look elsewhere," she sneered once, laughing when my face flushed.

I wanted to scream at her, to tell her she didn't understand how lonely I felt. But I just swallowed my anger and walked away.

Mila tried to be my anchor, but even her words sometimes felt hollow. "You deserve better, Sky," she said, hugging me after one particularly brutal fight with Liam.

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that love didn't have to hurt this much.

But the truth was, Liam controlled more than just my heart. He had my future wrapped around his finger, tied to alliances and politics I barely understood.

I was trapped.

And the night I caught him with that girl? It was the night I finally broke.

What pains me the most is the conversation I had with Liam that day.

Liam's footsteps pounded down the hall, fast and sure, closing the distance between us. His expression was a mix of frustration and something desperate, maybe even hurt? No, his pride was what was hurt for sure. "Skylar, wait. Just chill, okay? You're blowing this way out of proportion."

I crossed my arms, eyes narrowing. "Blowing it out of proportion? Liam, I saw you. I saw you with her."

He ran a hand through his dark hair, biting his lip. "You don't understand. I wasn't "

"Then what? Explain it." My voice cracked, raw with disbelief. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you were having sex with some girl while you were supposed to be with me. And did you see her smirk?"

His jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened. "Skylar, I've never been with anyone but you. Not like that. I never gave in."

I blinked, stunned. "You never gave in? You don't even know how it feels. I've never been with anyone ever. I was going to wait for you."

His eyes softened for a moment, like he wanted to reach out and hold me close. "I know. I want that too. But you have to trust me."

Trust. The word felt hollow coming from him. "How can I? When I see you with her? What am I supposed to believe?"

Liam shook his head, stepping closer. "It wasn't what you think. She was just... there. Nothing happened."

"Nothing?" I repeated, voice rising. "You don't just accidentally end up in bed with someone. Not with you. You think I'm dumb."

He reached for my hand, but I pulled away, the sting of betrayal burning fresh. "I was going to be yours. All of me. But you made it clear I wasn't enough."

His face fell. "That's not true, Skylar. I never stopped wanting you."

But the words felt empty, drowned beneath the ache in my chest. I wanted to believe him. God, how I wanted to. But right now, all I could feel was the cold crack of broken promises.

But I knew fully well deep down this was as much as I could take.

Skylar's POV

"Your application to the University has been finalized," my mother said, her tone as precise as the crease in her white blouse. "Political Sciences, International Relations. It's the perfect foundation for..."

"For the life you want me to have," I cut in, stabbing my fork into a piece of asparagus.

My father didn't look up from his plate. "For the life you were born to have, Skylar. You're not just our daughter-you're a Reed. That comes with responsibility."

I leaned back in my chair. "Right. Responsibility. You mean power lunches, photo ops, and shaking hands with men who care more about land ownership than clean drinking water."

My mother's lips thinned. "Don't be dramatic."

I laughed, sharp and humorless. "I'm not being dramatic, I'm being honest. I don't want to spend my life in some overpriced suit, smiling for cameras while pretending I care about politics. I want to be a doctor."

That got my father's attention. He set his fork down slowly, like the act required more control than he wanted to admit. "Medicine is not an appropriate career for someone in your position."

"In my position?" I repeated, the words bitter on my tongue. "What is that, exactly? Your pawn? The next trophy in the Reed dynasty?"

His eyes narrowed. "Watch your tone."

Mila's voice echoed in my head from earlier that afternoon: You're going to snap one day, Sky, and when you do, make sure they hear it in every room of this house.

I folded my arms across my chest. "I've watched my tone for twenty years. All it's gotten me is a life planned down to the brand of pen I'm supposed to use in my first council meeting."

My mother's expression was as unreadable as ever, but her fingers tightened around her wine glass. "Your future isn't something you can improvise. Politics is in your blood. You'll have resources, influence things most people could never dream of."

"I don't care about influence," I shot back. "I care about doing something that matters. And for me, that's medicine. Helping people when they're at their worst, not just... pushing policies from a marble office while the real work happens somewhere else."

Silence hung over the table like smoke.

Finally, my father spoke. "You think medicine is noble, but you haven't seen the reality. Years of study, exhausting hours, little thanks. You're too "

"Too what?" I challenged. "Too privileged to care? Too delicate to get my hands dirty? Or is it that being a doctor won't get my face on the front page next to yours?"

His jaw clenched. "Medicine will not happen. This family's name belongs in the political sphere. We've built our legacy there, and you will continue it."

I pushed my plate away, appetite gone. "Your legacy is not my life."

The words hit like a spark in dry grass.

My mother set down her glass, her voice deceptively calm. "You will attend Rothmore. You will study International Relations. You will be presented at the autumn gala as our successor. This is not negotiable."

Something in me cracked. "Do you even hear yourself? You're talking about me like I'm a campaign strategy, not your daughter. Every other person got to attend the university of their choice what's your problem with me."

"You're both," my father said simply. "Our bloodline and our investment. You have no idea how many people would kill for the position you were born into."

I stood so quickly my chair scraped against the polished floor. "Then give it to them. Let someone else be your perfect little heir, because I'm done pretending that's who I am."

My mother's voice turned sharp. "Sit down."

I didn't. "You've never asked what I wanted. Not once. You've just decided for me, every step of the way. But I'm not a child anymore. I'm applying to medical schools with or without your blessing."

Her eyes narrowed to slits. "If you walk away from this family's path, you walk away from its protection. From everything we've given you."

The air felt colder somehow, like the walls themselves were siding with her. "Then I'll survive without it," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

My father leaned back in his chair, studying me like I was an unpredictable witness on the stand. "You think independence is romantic. It's not. It's brutal. And when you realize you've made a mistake, this door won't be as easy to open again."

"Good," I said. "Then I won't be tempted to come back."

For a moment, no one moved. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner was the only sound.

Then my mother spoke, each word clipped and deliberate. "You're young. You think you know yourself, but you don't. We will not support this... rebellion."

"I don't need your support," I said, though my chest ached with the weight of it. "I just need you to stop controlling me."

I turned to leave, my pulse pounding in my ears.

"Skylar," my father's voice was low, almost dangerous. "If you walk out now, understand that you're making a choice that will define you forever."

I looked over my shoulder. "Good. Maybe for once, it'll be a choice I made for myself."

And then I walked away past the oil portraits of ancestors who'd never known my name, past the hall that always smelled faintly of polish and dust, past the part of me that used to think maybe, someday, they'd see me for who I was.

But everything didn't move as smoothly as I thought.

Skylar's POV

I had been here before for high school competitions, but this was different. Today wasn't about winning a trophy. It was about me taking a step my parents would never forgive me for.

Medicine. Not politics. Not the carefully groomed path they'd planned for me since birth. Not the speeches, galas, or mind-numbing dinners with people who spoke in veiled threats and fake smiles.

I clutched the admission envelope in my hand as though it might evaporate if I loosened my grip. Around me, other incoming students buzzed with nervous excitement, laughing with friends, taking selfies under the tall banner that read WELCOME, FUTURE SCHOLARS.

I didn't feel like a future scholar. I felt like a traitor to my own bloodline.

Mom would call it rebellion. Dad would call it stupidity.

Both of them would be right in their own way.

I moved toward the administration building, my sneakers crunching over the gravel path. Every step felt heavier because last night's memories wouldn't leave me alone Liam's smug face when I'd caught him with that girl, his arm draped over her bare shoulders like it belonged there. The way he'd smirked when I demanded an explanation. The way he'd compared me - again - to someone else, as if I was always just a shadow failing to measure up.

The bitterness sat in my chest like a lump of iron.

I focused on the receptionist's instructions as she handed me a form to sign. "You'll need to go to the second floor for the medical faculty clearance. Room 2B, then bring this back for processing."

I nodded, muttered a thank-you, and turned toward the staircase. Students bustled everywhere, some in groups, others alone, the hallways echoing with chatter and footsteps. My head was down as I rounded the corner and that was my first mistake.

My shoulder slammed into something solid. Something solid... and annoyingly warm.

"Watch it," a deep voice said.

I looked up, blinking. The man - no, guy, maybe mid-twenties - stood there with a stack of folders in one hand and a faint scowl on his face. He had dark hair pushed back messily, and eyes that somehow managed to look both cold and amused.

"You watch it," I snapped before I could stop myself.

He raised an eyebrow, as if he wasn't used to people talking back to him. "You were the one walking like the hallway belongs to you."

"It was you who wasn't paying attention," I shot back, brushing my shoulder where we'd collided. "Maybe try looking up from whatever arrogant thoughts you're having."

That earned me a short laugh, low and sharp. "Arrogant thoughts? That's new. Most people just say I'm intimidating."

"Well, congratulations," I said, pushing past him, "you've upgraded to irritating."

I should've kept walking. I wanted to keep walking. But of course, fate or the devil had other plans.

"Wait." His voice followed me, and I hated that it made me slow down. "You're new here?"

I turned halfway, glaring. "What, you work for campus security now?"

"No," he said, smirking faintly, "but you're holding an admission form like it's a life raft, so I'm guessing you're one of the fresh ones."

I rolled my eyes. "And you're one of the what? Self-appointed orientation guides?"

He stepped closer, close enough for me to catch the faint scent of cedar and something darker not cologne, exactly, but it clung to him like it belonged. "I'm just someone who knows this place better than you," he said. "And trust me, walking around like you've already got a grudge against the world is a good way to get noticed."

"I don't care about being noticed," I said flatly.

His smirk deepened. "Liar."

That word hit me harder than it should have. Because maybe, once upon a time, I had wanted to be noticed - by Liam, by my parents, by someone. But now? Now I just wanted to be left alone.

"You don't know me," I said, stepping back.

"Not yet," he replied, as if the idea of knowing me was some kind of challenge.

That was when someone brushed past me in the hallway, accidentally knocking the envelope out of my hands. The admission letter slipped to the floor. He bent down before I could, picking it up in one smooth motion. His eyes flicked over the words.

"Medicine?" he asked.

I snatched it back. "None of your business."

Something in his expression shifted - not respect, but maybe curiosity. "You don't look like the type."

"Oh, really? And what type do I look like?"

He didn't answer right away. He just studied me for a beat too long, his gaze lingering like he was trying to figure me out. Finally, he said, "The type who's here for reasons you're not talking about."

That... was uncomfortably accurate.

I tightened my grip on the envelope. "You've got a real talent for annoying strangers. Does it work as well when you're not blocking hallways?"

His lips twitched into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Guess we'll find out."

I turned on my heel before he could say more, making my way toward Room 2B. My pulse was faster than it should've been, and I hated that.

Inside, the room was packed with other students waiting for their turn to be seen. I tried to focus on the paperwork, on the reality that I was here despite my parents' disapproval. But my mind kept circling back to that stranger in the hallway - his voice, his eyes, the way he looked at me like he could see through every wall I'd built.

I didn't even know his name.

And I already hoped I wouldn't see him again.

Which meant, of course, that I probably would.