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CHAPTER ELEVEN – Beneath the Crown Lies Blood
The wind howled outside Crestwood's great hall, rattling the stained glass like a warning. Inside, Emily Hale paced the floor of her dorm, her heart thundering louder than the storm.
She couldn't sleep.
She couldn't stop thinking.
Not about her mother.
Not about her father.
Not about the sealed archive files, or the fact that the man she was beginning to fall for might be the son of the devil himself.
No.
What kept her awake was Luke—and the way he didn't follow her when she walked away.
---
Emily hadn't spoken to him in three days.
Not since she found the file tying Luke's father to her own father's destruction.
Not since she realized their bloodlines were woven together by betrayal and ambition.
And yet, she couldn't stop feeling his hands on her hips that night in the tower.
His lips on hers like they had no past—no history.
Just fire.
---
The next morning, the sky cracked open with lightning as Emily stepped onto the quad. The protest had grown louder. Cameras were rolling now. Reporters swarmed the gates.
Crestwood was bleeding, and the world was watching.
She walked past it all—straight into the old admin building.
Straight to the headmaster's office.
Dean Alastair sat behind his desk like a king losing his throne. His silver hair was neat, but his eyes were tired.
"Miss Hale," he said, folding his hands. "To what do I owe this... visit?"
Emily didn't sit.
"I have evidence," she said. "Files. Proof of decades of discrimination, cover-ups, assaults. And I know your board has ties to—"
"I'm aware of what you think you know."
"No. You're aware of what I can prove."
He smiled thinly. "And what do you want in exchange for your silence?"
Emily stared him down.
"I want Crestwood to burn."
---
Later that night, someone slipped a note under her door.
> You're not safe anymore. Come to the observatory. Midnight. — L
Emily's heart dropped.
Was it really him?
She almost didn't go.
But she did.
---
The observatory was dark except for the telescope's pale blue glow.
Luke stood in the center, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"Nice place for a funeral," Emily said, stepping in.
He looked at her like he hadn't slept either.
"I saw the files," he said. "I know what my father did to yours."
She folded her arms. "And what do you plan to do? Protect your legacy? Or finally choose a side?"
"I chose a side the day I kissed you," Luke said.
She laughed bitterly. "You chose power. Just like your father."
His jaw clenched.
"I'm going to testify."
She blinked. "What?"
"I'm going to take the stand. Spill everything. My father's deals. The donations. The grades. All of it."
"You'll lose everything."
"I already did. When I lost you."
---
Emily stepped forward. "You think this fixes it?"
"No. But it's a start."
The silence stretched.
Then she whispered, "You still want me?"
Luke didn't hesitate. "Always."
---
She crossed the space between them in two heartbeats.
Their lips crashed like thunder.
It wasn't soft this time—it was war.
Emily shoved him against the glass dome, hands in his hair, teeth grazing his lower lip. Luke groaned, gripping her waist like he'd die if he let go.
Their anger fed the kiss.
Their pain made it taste sweeter.
He pulled off her jacket. She yanked his sweater over his head.
Skin to skin.
Wound to wound.
They kissed like it was the end of the world.
And maybe, for them, it was.
---
After, they lay tangled on the floor, the moonlight painting silver across their bruised hearts.
Emily ran her fingers along the scars on Luke's back.
"You're not like him," she whispered.
He kissed her knuckles. "Neither are you."
They didn't say "I love you."
They didn't need to.
But they both knew the next move would cost them everything.
---
The next morning, Luke walked into the public hearing held in Crestwood's Grand Hall.
Alone.
Unprotected.
Uncrowned.
Emily watched from the back, her heart in her throat.
Luke Hale took the stand.
And testified against his own blood.
The board gasped. The reporters went wild.
And when he looked up through the crowd, he found Emily—eyes full of fire.
And she smiled.
Because they weren't enemies anymore.
They were revolutionaries.
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