The whispers had changed.
They weren't just about Ronan anymore. They weren't just about the party. They were about her.
Aria walked through the Fine Arts hallway and heard them plain as day.
"She used to be so focused."
"Isn't her GPA dropping?"
"Guess being Wolfe's project took priority."
Aria kept walking.
Because what was the point of stopping to defend yourself when people had already decided who you were?
But it still stung. Not just the rumors—but the truth inside them. Her grades had slipped. Her sketchbook had been gathering more dust than charcoal. She was still drawing, yes—but not with the same intensity. Not with the same ruthless commitment to perfection.
And the worst part?
She didn't regret it.
Not really.
Because with Ronan, she was finally living.
Ronan met her at the campus coffee shop later that afternoon. Baseball cap pulled low, hoodie zipped up, earbuds in even though he wasn't playing music—just one more trick to keep people out.
She slid into the seat across from him and smiled softly. "You hiding?"
He tugged one bud out. "Aren't I always?"
He handed her a cinnamon bun without asking. Her favorite. She took it like it was a peace offering for a war they hadn't started.
"Carter said you skipped the morning lift," she said gently.
Ronan stared out the window. "Didn't sleep."
"Because of your dad?"
He didn't respond right away. "He checked into rehab. Or so he says."
She blinked. "That's good, isn't it?"
"It should be. But I don't trust him. Last time, he was out in three days and drunk by the fourth."
Aria reached across the table, fingers brushing his. "You're allowed to hope, Ronan. Even if it hurts."
He looked at her, and for a second, something flickered across his face. Like a boy who used to dream.
That night, Aria went back to her dorm and found a manila envelope on her desk with no name. Just her own. Inside was a collection of photos.
Of her.
And Ronan.
From a distance. Grainy. But clearly taken in secret. The rooftop. The hallway outside her class. That night she kissed him by the dorm steps.
She dropped the photos, heart racing. A note slipped out.
"He'll never love you. But I did."
Her phone buzzed immediately after. A message from an unknown number:
"Don't say I didn't warn you."
She knew who it was.
Liam.
And something in her snapped.
The next morning, Aria walked straight into the Student Conduct Office and handed over everything—photos, note, screenshots. The secretary raised her brows but didn't question. Said the Dean would follow up.
It was the first time Aria chose herself over fear.
But it wouldn't be the last.
When she told Ronan that afternoon, he looked like he was ready to punch a wall.
"You should've told me sooner," he said, pacing.
"I wanted to. But I was afraid you'd go after him."
"Damn right I would've."
"Ronan—this isn't your fight."
"The hell it isn't. He scared you. He crossed a line."
She stepped into his path and laid a hand on his chest. "I handled it."
He paused. Then, slowly, his breathing began to slow.
"You did," he admitted. "You really did."
There was pride in his voice now. And maybe something more. Admiration. Awe.
"You're stronger than you think," he whispered.
"So are you."
Later, they sat on the roof again, legs dangling over the edge. The stars weren't out yet, but the city lights below sparkled like them.
"I used to think love was weakness," Ronan said quietly.
Aria glanced sideways. "And now?"
"Now I think… maybe it's just a different kind of strength."
She smiled. "Like vulnerability being a choice."
"Yeah. Like choosing to stay when it's easier to run."
He looked at her then, really looked. "I've run from everything. From football when it got too real. From my dad. From any girl who looked at me like I mattered. But I'm not running from you."
She took his hand. "I'm not letting you."
That weekend, they went out in public for the first time.
To a film screening hosted by the arts department. Aria's hand in his. His hoodie under her denim jacket. People stared. Whispered. Some smiled. Some rolled their eyes.
But they didn't let go.
And when the lights dimmed, and the film started—a black-and-white short on grief and memory and rediscovery—Aria felt Ronan's fingers tighten around hers.
By the time the credits rolled, she had tears in her eyes. So did he.
They didn't speak until they were outside under the hazy glow of the campus lamps.
"It reminded me of her," he said softly. "My mom."
Aria squeezed his hand. "What was she like?"
He hesitated. "She painted. Wild colors. Messy canvases. She never cared about the rules. Just the emotion."
Aria smiled. "Sounds like someone else I know."
He chuckled. "Yeah, maybe.
They stood there for a long moment before he said, "You make me feel like maybe I could be more than what people say I am."
"And you make me feel like I don't have to hide anymore."
But happiness is never safe for long.
On Monday morning, an email hit the university bulletin board.
Ronan Wolfe under investigation for code of conduct violation. Alleged misconduct linked to off-campus altercation. Disciplinary hearing to follow.
Aria stared at the screen, heart thudding.
He hadn't done anything. She knew that.
But someone wanted him taken down.
And she had a terrible feeling she knew exactly who.