By morning, the lipstick on the mirror had been cleaned. The room scrubbed. The photo confiscated.
But Emory Vale could still hear the scream.
She stood in front of Braxton Hall's east wing—a building reserved for "historic legacies and senior faculty." Her coat whipped behind her in the wind like a black flag. Her hands were cold, but her voice, when she finally knocked on the office door, was calm.
"Rowe."
The door opened half an inch.
Professor Rowe looked like a ghost in a charcoal sweater, his eyes too calm, too knowing.
"Miss Vale," he said. "Didn't expect you so early."
"I didn't come for tea."
"No," he murmured. "You came for truth."
He stepped back and let her in. The office smelled of books and secrets. Wood paneling. Ink. And something she couldn't quite place.
Rowe moved like a man who'd already won.
She hated him for it.
"There was a message on the wall," she said. "In blood, or lipstick. Whatever. It was meant for me."
"Was it?" He sat behind his desk, folding his hands. "Or was it meant for someone else?"
Her eyes narrowed. "You've been watching me."
"I've been watching legacies, Emory. Since long before you showed up."
"Someone left your face circled in a photo. They wanted me to see it."
"Then maybe you should ask yourself why." His voice dropped. "Or better yet—who else has seen what you've done."
"I haven't done anything."
Rowe leaned forward, voice soft. "That's where you're wrong."
He opened a drawer and slid a thin, pale file across the desk.
She didn't touch it.
He didn't push.
"You think I care about your kiss in the chapel," he said. "But it wasn't the kiss that changed things. It was the betrayal that came after."
Her heart stopped.
"Your mother," he added, gaze sharp, "knew exactly who Skye was. Who his father really was. What that bloodline means."
Emory stepped back. "This conversation is over."
"No, Selene," he said—using the name like a weapon. "It's only beginning."
---
She stormed out of the building into the wind. Into the cold. Into a thousand thoughts that wouldn't stop spinning.
She didn't even hear the footsteps behind her until they were right beside her.
"Was it worth it?" Skye asked.
She didn't stop walking.
"Going to him," he said. "Alone."
"I don't need permission."
"No. But you need protection."
She stopped.
Whirled around.
"And you think you're it?"
He stepped closer, coat flaring with the wind. "I know I am."
Her voice dropped. "You're the reason this started."
"I'm the reason it hasn't ended worse."
That stopped her.
Skye stared into her—past her layers, through her walls. Like he knew what she was about to do before even she did.
"I saw the file," he said. "The one your mother hid. The one that proved who paid off the board to cover the original legacy scandal."
Her throat tightened.
"It was the Vales, Emory."
"Don't call me that."
He stepped closer.
"I don't call you that," he said softly. "I call you Selene."
Her breath caught.
That name—hers, but not hers. The one she gave to no one. The one only he had spoken when he first kissed her in the rain.
"You think using that name gives you a hold on me?"
"No," he murmured. "I think it reminds you who you were before they made you cold."
She turned.
He didn't stop her.
But his voice followed her anyway—
> "They'll come for you next, Selene. You're the last Vale. And your name still holds more power than you understand."
---
Back in her dorm, Jessie and Mariah sat like statues.
Jessie looked up. "You okay?"
"No."
Mariah handed her a drink. "Good. Now sit down and listen."
They told her everything.
About the whispers on campus. About a student—an anonymous source—who had been working with Rowe for months, feeding him names, secrets, photos.
"You think it's someone close to us?" Emory asked.
Jessie nodded. "Too close."
Emory looked down at the envelope Finn gave her.
Inside was a second ring.
Legacy.
But not just any.
Nick's.
"Someone's trying to frame him," Mariah said.
"Or he's playing both sides," Jessie said coldly.
"I don't believe that."
"Then who's behind this?"
No one spoke.
Until Emory whispered, "My mother."
---
Meanwhile, Skye stood on the rooftop of the west tower, wind cutting through his coat, looking down at the campus like a predator.
Finn joined him.
"She went to Rowe," Finn said.
"I know."
"You going to kill him?"
Skye lit a cigarette. Didn't answer.
Finn leaned against the rail. "What if the photos keep coming?"
"Then we make it stop."
"How?"
Skye exhaled smoke. "We don't just burn the evidence. We burn the whole damn game."
🖤 End of Chapter Ten