The Devil Who Owes Me A Kiss

The hallway was unnaturally silent for a Friday afternoon at Westlake Academy. Lavinia Hartwell tucked a strand of mousy brown hair behind her ear and paused outside the empty classroom, hesitating when she heard voices from within. She'd only come to retrieve her forgotten chemistry notebook, not to eavesdrop, but something in the tone of the deeper voice made her still her movements.

"Look, I get it. My parents were the same way-everything had to be perfect, or it wasn't good enough." The voice belonged to Henry Wynthorne, though Lavinia didn't need to peek through the half-open door to confirm this. She'd recognize that confident baritone anywhere, even if she'd never been its direct recipient.

Henry Cleveland. The name alone carried weight in their school. Son of business mogul Edward Wynthorne, heir to Wynthorne Industries, and one of the most brilliant students in their graduating class. He wasn't just wealthy and smart; he carried himself with a certainty that Lavinia had always found both intimidating and fascinating.

"But they don't understand," a younger boy's voice cracked. "If I don't get into Princeton, my dad says I'm letting the whole family down."

Lavinia shifted uncomfortably. She shouldn't be listening to this. She should either announce her presence or leave, but curiosity kept her frozen in place.

"Princeton isn't the end-all," Henry replied, his voice softer than Lavinia had ever heard it. "And neither is your father's approval."

Lavinia had always pictured Henry as detached and arrogant, wearing his privilege like custom-tailored armor. She'd watched him from afar, usually when he was with her best friend Verity. Whenever Henry was around Verity, he transformed from the stern, academically-driven heir into someone softer, almost boyish in his eagerness to impress. It was jarring to hear him now, speaking with such empathy.

"I tried to... you know," the younger boy's voice dropped to a whisper. "Last week. My mom found me."

Lavinia's heart clenched. She definitely shouldn't be hearing this.

A long silence followed before Henry spoke. "I'm glad she did. And I'm glad you're talking to me now." There was a rustling of paper. "This is Dr. Mercer's number. She helped me through some rough patches after my mom died. Call her. Tonight."

"But my dad would-"

"Would he rather have a son who's alive?" Henry's voice was firm but not unkind. "Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is ask for help. It doesn't make you weak. It makes you smart."

Something inside Lavinia shifted. The Henry Cleveland she thought she knew would never sit in an empty classroom counseling a depressed underclassman. He was supposed to be calculating and cold, focused only on his future empire and impressing Verity Langford.

So absorbed was she in this revelation that Lavinia didn't notice the conversation had ended until the door swung fully open. She stumbled back, nearly dropping her bag, and found herself looking directly into Henry Cleveland's startled gray eyes.

For a brief, horrifying moment, Lavinia was certain he would berate her