The week following the reception, the atmosphere in Suite 3B shifted. David was suddenly lighter, less burdened by internal conflict. He had Amelia—a beautiful, 22-year-old social prize who validated his world. He even started spending a few evenings out of the dorm, pursuing his "normal" relationship.
This shift was a sharp relief for David, but pure agony for Robert. It confirmed her fears: the tension they shared was a mistake, an aberration. She redoubled her efforts in her studies, pushing herself to exhaustion to mask the emotional pain.
James, however, had simply moved in.
He was a frequent, quiet presence, ostensibly using the dorm's shared study space to work on procurement reports for his father's firm. In reality, he was watching Robert with a focused, almost obsessive intensity.
James didn't offer sympathy or questions; he offered strategic protection.
One afternoon, Robert was attempting to lift a heavy stack of outdated geological reports from a high shelf in the lounge. She was small, and the binder always hampered her full range of motion. She stretched, straining, when the stack suddenly tilted precariously.
Before the heavy books could crash down, James was there. He moved quickly, stabilizing the stack with a strong, easy movement.
"Careful, Robert," James said, his voice low and devoid of judgment. He lifted the entire stack himself, barely breathing hard. "You're trying to prove you're an ox. You're smarter than that. Use your head, not your back."
He placed the books neatly on the nearest table, then looked at her—not at her face, but at the subtle, involuntary twitch of pain in her shoulder caused by the binder. He saw the struggle that David, blinded by his own confusing feelings, would have missed.
Robert felt a wave of cold gratitude mixed with profound unease. James's help was too instinctive, too perfectly timed.
"Thanks, James," Robert muttered, retreating behind a mask of indifference.
"Anytime," James replied, his hazel eyes holding hers a moment too long. "You know, Amelia asked about you."
Robert stiffened. "What about me?"
"She thinks you're rude," James said, leaning against the table, casual yet watchful. "Too quiet, too competitive with Ethan. She doesn't see you as a threat, but as an obstacle to David's time. She told me David needs to focus on 'people who matter'—meaning her, and not the little protégé."
James paused, letting the true meaning sink in. "Amelia is very good at what she does, Robert. She knows how to offer David a clean, easy life. Don't underestimate her ambition just because she's pretty."
He was warning her. He wasn't talking about business rivalry; he was talking about a romantic threat. And the way he said "little protégé" felt strangely protective, almost possessive.
As the weeks passed, James continued to insert himself into Robert's life. He would leave takeout containers of proper, nutritious food in their shared fridge, knowing Robert often forgot to eat when studying. He would subtly check the locks on Robert's bedroom door after David had gone out.
Robert knew, deep down, that James wasn't just being a good friend to David. James was running silent security for Emily, anticipating every physical vulnerability her disguise created.
The thought should have brought comfort, but it only brought fear. Because if James knew her secret, he held her entire future—her mother's hope, her inheritance, and her freedom—in his hands. And Robert had no idea what James expected in return for his silence.