The Jilted Heiress And Her Ruthless Savior

The heavy oak door of the dorm room slammed open.

The wood hit the drywall with a massive crash that vibrated through the floorboards.

Leighton stood in the doorway. She was gasping for air. Her blonde curls stuck to her sweaty forehead. She waved her iPhone in the air like a weapon.

Zoe sat cross-legged on the rug. The loud noise made her hand jerk. A thick streak of red nail polish smeared across her cuticle and onto her skin.

"What is wrong with you?" Zoe yelled. She wiped at the wet polish with her thumb. "You ruined my French tip."

Leighton did not look at her. She kept gasping.

"He bought them all," Leighton screamed. "Howell Hampton just bought every red rose in three states on the East Coast."

Genevieve poked her head over the edge of the top bunk. Her eyes were wide.

"Where are they?" Genevieve asked.

Leighton shoved her phone screen toward the center of the room. She opened the campus Snapchat group. A live video played on loop.

Hundreds of freshman fraternity pledges were running across the main quad. They carried massive bundles of red roses. They dumped the flowers directly onto the green grass.

Leighton turned her head. She stared at the desk in the corner. Her eyes were full of manic jealousy.

"Congratulations, Elinor," Leighton said loudly. "This is the apology of the century. He is begging for you back."

Elinor kept her eyes on the heavy macroeconomics textbook in front of her. She did not blink. Her eyelashes stayed perfectly still.

She reached out and turned the page. The thick paper made a dry scratching sound against the desk.

Zoe stopped wiping her ruined nail. She looked at Elinor's rigid back.

"Why are you just sitting there?" Zoe asked. "You need to change your clothes."

Elinor closed the textbook. The heavy cover hit the desk with a dull thud. The sound sucked all the air out of the room.

She reached down and pulled open the bottom drawer. She took out a clear plastic medical box.

Her fingers flipped the metal latch. She pulled out an unused EpiPen. The plastic casing felt cold against her palm.

Leighton dropped her phone. Her smile vanished. She stared at the needle.

"What are you doing?" Leighton asked.

Elinor turned her chair around. Her voice was completely flat.

"I have a fatal pollen allergy," Elinor said.

Genevieve sucked in a sharp breath. She covered her mouth with both hands. The realization hit the room. The sea of roses on the quad was not a romantic gesture. It was a death trap.

A warm spring breeze blew through the half-open blinds. It carried a thick, heavy scent of rose oil into the dorm.

Elinor felt her throat tighten. A sharp itch crawled down her windpipe, a warning sign of the swelling to come. Her lungs felt heavy. She frowned. She knew it hadn't reached the critical stage of anaphylaxis yet, but she needed to suppress the initial