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.

Skylar's POV

I wasn't expecting to see her here.

The cafeteria was going on with its usual midday chaos, plastic trays clattering, chairs scraping against the tiled floor, the mingled scent of fries and coffee hanging in the air. Laughter burst from tables in uneven waves, conversations overlapping in a messy symphony of noise.

And then she walked in.

Sienna Hale.

My stomach tightened. The last time I'd seen her, words had been exchanged that still burned in my memory. The kind of burn you don't forget half anger, half humiliation.

She spotted me almost instantly, and the smirk that curled on her lips was poison laced in sugar. I knew that look. It promised trouble. And I wasn't sure if I was ready for the storm she was about to bring with her.

The perfectly manicured, sugar-sweet viper who had somehow glued herself to Liam's side over the past few days ... except last week, when I'd seen her half-naked in someone else's room.

Her eyes found me instantly. Of course they did. Like a predator scenting blood. She smirked slow, deliberate and strutted toward my table, her heels clicking over the tile like a countdown.

Mila, sitting across from me, froze mid-bite of her sandwich.

"Oh no," she muttered, voice low but tight. "This isn't gonna be good." she said, rolling her eyes.

I didn't answer. My throat was already tightening, my palms slick. I forced myself to keep chewing, even though my stomach had knotted so tight it felt like swallowing nails.

Sienna stopped in front of me, one hand on her hip, her perfume hitting me like a thick, cloying cloud.

"Skylar," she said in that honeyed, fake-innocent tone she used on teachers and parents. "How is our fear of Alpha's pub?"

I raised an eyebrow, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a flinch. "Girl fuck off." I said

A flash of anger cracked her perfect mask. "How dare you. I'm your senior you know."

That little pause before you like the word itself was a disease made something hot coil in my chest.

"Right. Whatever hoe."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why all the hate you sound like a jealous ex."

"Jealous?" My chair scraped back as I stood, my pulse hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears. "I'm not jealous, Sienna. I'm disgusted. Disgusted that Liam's too blinded to see you for what you are. And disgusted that you think you can walk in here and play the victim."

She leaned in until her words were warm against my ear. "Maybe if you weren't so plain... so forgettable... Liam wouldn't need someone like me."

The insult landed like a blade between my ribs. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms, but before I could spit something back that I'd regret, a voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"Wow," Mila drawled, standing up beside me. Her eyes were blazing, her smile razor-sharp. "Sienna, honey, you must've been practicing that in the mirror all morning. Too bad it still makes you sound like a dollar-store Regina George."

Heads turned. The table behind us went quiet. Someone's phone camera tilted toward us.

Sienna's head whipped toward her. "This isn't your business."

"Skylar's my best friend. That makes it my business," Mila shot back, stepping in front of me like a human shield. "You can play whatever games you want with Liam, but don't you dare stand here and try to tear her down because you're afraid she's better than you in every way that matters."

Sienna scoffed. "Better? Please. I've seen her try to get his attention-it's pathetic."

Mila's voice was cool, precise, and lethal. "Pathetic is cheating on your boyfriend and still pretending you're the prize. Pathetic is walking around thinking people can't see the desperation in your eyes. And pathetic, Sienna, is coming to start drama in a cafeteria on our school tour day because deep down, you know Skylar doesn't have to do anything for Liam to notice her. He just... does."

The air between them was so tight it might have shattered if someone breathed too loudly.

Sienna took a step closer, her gaze flicking to me. "Do you let her fight all your battles, Skylar? Or do you just hide behind her because you're too afraid to admit you're still in love with Liam?"

A ripple went through the crowd. A couple of people muttered, and I caught my name in the whispers. My skin burned. "I'm not hiding," I said, my voice steady but low. "I'm just done wasting my breath on people who mistake cruelty for confidence."

Sienna's lip curled. "Cruel? Oh, sweetheart, this is me being nice."

"Then maybe you should try being quiet," Mila snapped.

Phones were definitely filming now. A guy in the corner murmured, "This is better than Netflix."

Sienna's jaw flexed like she might lunge. Her hand twitched half a second more and she would've shoved Mila. I saw it, braced for it, almost wanted it. But she froze, realizing half the cafeteria was watching.

"You'll regret this," she hissed, stepping back. "Both of you."

"Better us regret something than spend our lives being you," Mila said sweetly.

Gasps. Someone actually clapped.

Sienna's eyes went wide for a fraction of a second before she turned on her heel, her hair swinging like a weapon as she stalked out.

The cafeteria slowly resumed its noise, but I could feel the lingering stares. Mila sat back down, still smirking. "Always fun shutting down a wannabe queen bee."

I sank into my chair, my whole body trembling with adrenaline. "You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did," she said firmly. "Sky, you've spent too long letting people talk down to you Liam included. I'm not gonna let some knock-off Barbie think she can get away with it too."

A knot of gratitude and guilt twisted in my chest. "Thanks, Mila."

She grinned, biting into her sandwich like nothing had happened. "Always, babe. Now eat before your food gets cold. And if she ever tries that again..." Her eyes glittered. "I won't just use words."