Xavier burst out of the celebratory not even bothering he was leaving a party organized for him behind him. Jade blinked from the porch. "Where's he headed in a rush?" she mumbled, watching his figure disappear into the night.
At the Chibike residence, Kamsi sat curled in her bed, her knees pulled to her chest like a shield. Her eyes were swollen and dry, the tears long gone but the ache still fresh. She hated how everything had spiraled so quickly—how her mom had looked at her like she'd done something shameful. But how could she explain what that kiss meant? How could she deny that Xavier's presence felt like air in her lungs?
A rustle broke through her thoughts. Her head snapped toward the window, her heart skipping.
No. No way.
He was supposed to be at the victory party. She blinked, unsure if her mind was playing tricks on her.
She slid off the bed, feet brushing the cool floor, and padded toward the balcony. The curtains shifted with the breeze. And then—
A shadow jumped over the railing.
Her scream caught halfway in her throat, muffled by a strong hand that clamped over her mouth. Panic surged—until the other hand pulled back the hood.
Her breath caught. "Xavier…"
He released her slowly, like he was afraid she might still run. Kamsi stood frozen, one hand on her chest, trying to calm the pounding. For a beat, they just stared at each other, the tension between them thick with everything unsaid.
Then she stepped forward and collapsed into his arms.
"I didn't know if you'd come," she whispered, her voice trembling against his shirt. "I didn't know what to do. She… she's so angry at me."
Xavier wrapped her up like he could shield her from the world. His hand slid up and down her back in slow strokes, grounding her.
"I know," he murmured, lips brushing her hair. "But I'm here now."
Kamsi pulled back slightly, eyes glistening. "She said… she doesn't want me near you. Like you're some—" Her voice cracked.
Xavier's gaze darkened, but his voice stayed calm. "That's not her choice to make."
"She's my mom," Kamsi whispered, more to herself. "But this… this is *mine.*"
He looked at her then—really looked. And for once, the devilish glint in his eyes was gone, replaced by something raw and honest. "I'll fight for it. You. Us."
Her breath hitched. The world narrowed to the space between them.
"Come in," she said softly, glancing back toward her room. "She won't come upstairs. Not tonight."
Xavier hesitated, his brow furrowing. "You sure?"
Kamsi managed a small, crooked smile. "She's giving me the silent treatment. I doubt she even knows you're here."
The corner of his mouth quirked. "Lucky me."
As they stepped inside, Kamsi crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, trying to lighten the air. "You ditched a whole party to sneak into my room?"
Xavier leaned against her desk like he owned it. "Wasn't worth it without you."
She rolled her eyes, but a laugh bubbled up anyway. "Wow. That was so cheesy it might give me a stomachache."
Xavier shrugged. "You bring out the sap in me. Don't get used to it."
Their eyes met again. This time, there was no panic, no fear. Just two people in a messy, uncertain moment—choosing each other anyway.
Back at the victory party, the music throbbed like a second heartbeat in Raven's ears, mixing with the clatter of glasses and the low hum of half-drunk conversations. The scent of beer, grease, and too much cologne clung to the air, saturating her skin no matter how far she tried to mentally escape.
A nudge broke her trance.
"New customers at table five," her coworker muttered, motioning with her chin.
Raven forced a nod, dragging her body into motion. Her feet ached, her shoulders burned, and all she wanted was to stop pretending that pouring drinks for loud strangers was helping her save for college. The tips were barely denting tuition, and every hour here felt like a stolen second from a life she was still chasing.
She grabbed a glass, filling it without thought, and turned toward the rowdy table. Balloons floated near the ceiling, laughter erupting like fireworks. Some kind of celebration. Promotions? Birthdays? Privileged nonsense, most likely.
Must be nice, she thought, eyes narrowing. To laugh that loudly. To win at something for once.
But her thoughts were ripped away the moment she saw him.
Gilbert Bruce.
The drink nearly slipped from her hand.
He sat leaned back in his chair like he owned the air around him, one arm resting over the back of another seat, a crooked grin halfway formed—too familiar. Too smug. Time hadn't touched him much—still sharp eyes, that cocky posture—but Raven had changed. And she had no patience left for ghosts.
She set the drink down with more force than necessary. "Ah. You."
Her voice was flat, her expression a mask stretched thin over irritation.
Gilbert's head tilted slightly, the way a cat might study something it didn't yet know if it should toy with or devour. "I could say the same. Are you stalking me?"
She laughed once—a bitter, humorless sound. "Yeah, that's it. I missed you so much I decided to ruin my own day."
She turned to walk away. Her shift wasn't worth this. Her dignity certainly wasn't.
Then he touched her—fingers curling around her wrist like he had the right.
Big mistake.
In a blink, she twisted his arm behind his back, pushing him against his chair. His smirk faltered.
"Touch me again," she hissed, "and the next thing I twist will be your reputation."
A beat passed. The surrounding table fell awkwardly silent. Gilbert winced but managed to lift his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Damn. I just wanted to talk."
Raven's eyes burned into him. "Well, I don't."
She stepped back, letting go. Her hand trembled slightly—rage or adrenaline, she wasn't sure. As she turned away, she caught the wide-eyed look of one of the men at the table, someone she vaguely recognized as Alexander. His brows furrowed, curiosity plain in his expression.
"Who was that?" he whispered.
Gilbert, still flexing his arm, didn't take his eyes off her. "Someone I should've taken more seriously the first time around."
The air in the cooler room was colder than usual, or maybe it was just the heat pulsing beneath Raven's skin. She slumped onto a crate, elbows resting on her knees, phone pressed to her ear.
"Hey, Kelvin," she said, voice soft now. "How's Mom doing?"
"She's alright. Same as this morning. You sound tired."
She rubbed her eyes. "I am. Can't wait for this shift to end."
"When are you coming home?"
She glanced at the clock. "Soon. Hopefully. Depends on how long the drunk assholes keep tipping like crap."
"You need to stop working yourself into the ground."
She offered a small, tired smile. "Tell that to my tuition bill."
They hung up after a few more words, and Raven stood, hoisting a crate of drinks with a grunt. She headed back out, resolved to finish the night quietly.
The back alley was poorly lit, the air thick with the scent of old beer and wet pavement. Raven adjusted the crate in her arms, footsteps steady.
Then came the voices.
"Well, well, look at this snack," one of them slurred, stepping into her path. A group of five, all glassy-eyed and teetering. One reached for the crate.
"Let me help with that, sweetheart."
Raven's eyes went cold. "Back off. I've got it."
Another moved closer, smile crooked. "Come on, pretty thing. No need to be so uptight."
A hand brushed her hip. That was it.
"I said back the fuck off," she snarled, stepping back, but not before one of them grabbed her arm and yanked. The crate hit the ground, glass shattering in a spray of foam and shards.
Time slowed. The sound echoed in her ears, and then everything snapped.
Her knee shot up, slamming into the groper's crotch. He folded like a cheap chair. She spun, elbowing the next one in the throat, then punched the third square across the jaw.
The others hesitated.
"Still think I'm a 'pretty little thing' now?" she spat, fury radiating off her.
One tried to act tough. "You broke the drinks, bitch. Maybe you should pay for that—"
She kicked him so hard he hit the dumpster.
"You're paying," she said, pinning another against the wall. "Wallet. Now."
He whimpered, handing it over. She pulled out a credit card and stormed back inside, leaving them stumbling and limping in her wake.
From the patio, Gilbert had watched the entire scene unfold. He'd been halfway out of his seat when the crate dropped, ready to play savior.
But she hadn't needed saving.
Now, he stood motionless, lips parted in disbelief as she strode past the broken glass and stunned men like a war goddess dusting off her armor.
"Feisty doesn't even begin to cover it," he muttered under his breath, awe threading through his voice.
He wasn't just intrigued now—he was hooked.