Faye burst out of my room like she was walking a runway, spinning once in front of me. "Well? Do I look mature? Like a college kid? I had little to work with, so be nice."
She wore fitted jeans and a snug white top that clung to her in ways I had no business noticing. The way the fabric curved around her chest made my throat dry.
I cleared my throat, looking anywhere but at her. "Yeah, sure. Whatever."
Her hands went straight to her hips. "That's it? That's your review? Yeah, sure, whatever?"
"It's not a fashion show, Faye. It's just campus."
She narrowed her eyes, pouting. "You're impossible. I ask you one simple question and you can't even give me an honest answer."
"I did. Honest answer is, jeans, top, done. You look like… a person."
She threw her hands up dramatically. "Wow, such high praise. I'm overwhelmed."
I rolled my eyes and grabbed my keys. "Let's go before I change my mind."
She grinned in victory, skipping past me. That was Faye—always trying to get a rise out of everyone, always testing my patience.
On campus, I left her at a quiet café near the lecture halls. "Stay here," I warned. "Don't wander off. I'll be out in an hour."
She saluted like a soldier. "Yes, sir."
I didn't trust that salute. And I didn't trust her not to draw attention to herself. Even as I walked away, I saw a guy stare too long at her. Something hot and ugly twisted in my chest. I told myself it was protectiveness. Just me being the responsible big brother.
But I knew better.
Inside the classroom, I tried to focus on the professor's droning voice, but my head wasn't in it. Every time I glanced at the clock, the seconds felt slower, heavier. My notebook stayed blank, pen idle between my fingers.
Instead of equations or lecture notes, my mind replayed the image of Faye sitting at that café table, swinging her legs like she owned the place, smiling that infuriating smile that always got her what she wanted.
What if someone talked to her? What if some guy thought she was cute? She would probably flirt with him. A playful gesture. She had no idea how the world really worked…
I scrubbed a hand over my face, earning a confused look from the guy next to me. I ignored him.
By the time the lecture finally ended, my nerves were stretched thin. I shoved my books into my bag and bolted out the door, my pulse racing faster with every step toward the café.
And when I got there—her chair was empty.
My stomach dropped. I pulled out my phone, dialing her. She picked up on the second ring.
"Harry!" she chirped, cheerful, carefree. "You won't believe this—I met someone!"
"What?" My voice came out sharper than I intended.
"Her name's Leah. She's a freshman. She said the café you stuck me in is totally dead, so she brought me to the popular one instead."
By the time she finished, I was already striding toward the busiest café on campus, my pulse hammering.
I found her instantly, laughing at a corner table with a petite girl in a floral dress. Faye spotted me and waved like nothing was wrong.
"There you are! Seriously, why didn't you bring me here instead? That other place was so boring." She gestured around at the bustling café, alive with chatter and music. "This is way better."
My jaw tightened. I didn't trust myself to speak.
Her smile faltered. "Harry?" she asked softly. "Are you… mad?"
I said nothing, just stared.
"I'm sorry," she blurted, guilt flashing across her face. "I should've stayed where you told me. I just—"
"Hi." A quiet voice broke in. The petite girl stood, brushing her skirt nervously. "I'm Leah. Faye's been telling me all about you." She offered me a timid smile.
I didn't return it. My eyes never left Faye. "Get up," I said flatly. "We're going home."
She nodded immediately, grabbing her bag without argument.
The drive back was silent. Tense.
Halfway home, her small hand crept over, curling around mine on the gearshift.
"Harry," she whispered, her voice so low it nearly disappeared under the hum of the engine, "are you still mad at me?"
The heat of her touch pulled me out of my storm. My anger didn't vanish, but it faltered—slipped through my fingers like sand. All at once I was too aware of her skin against mine, the way her fingers fit so naturally, like it was right to be there.
It should've been nothing. Just a sister trying to smooth things over. But my chest tightened anyway, and for a split second I forgot about the road in front of me.
I cleared my throat, shifted my hand free under the excuse of adjusting gears, and forced my eyes back on the windshield. "Just don't disappear on me again," I said, sharper than I meant to.
Her lips tugged into a small smile, relieved. "Okay."
But long after she let go, the ghost of her touch lingered, making it impossible to hold on to the anger I wanted to keep.
The rest of the drive passed in silence, though her touch still burned faintly against my skin. By the time we turned into the lot outside my apartment, I thought maybe the day was done testing me.
I was wrong.
Because parked right in front of the building was a sleek black sedan I knew too well. And leaning against it, arms folded, was a figure from another life — polished shoes, pressed suit, posture stiff as steel.
Our family's chauffeur.
Faye's breath caught beside me.