Unwanted Secret Lover: Now Watch Me Shine

"Oh my God, you guys have to see this."

Thea burst through the door of their suite's common room, her phone held up like a trophy. The Friday afternoon quiet shattered.

Kaelyn flinched. The tip of her X-Acto knife skittered across the foam core of her architectural model, narrowly missing a load-bearing wall she'd spent three hours constructing. Her breath hitched.

"Thea, what the hell?"

But Thea was already past her, a hurricane of excitement, shoving the glowing screen directly into Kaelyn's face. "Forget your tiny buildings. Look. Wincroft's Whisper just dropped the juiciest poll."

Kaelyn's eyes were forced to focus. The title of the post on the campus gossip app swam into view: "The Absolute Most Unlikely Couple on Campus." A sick feeling coiled in her stomach.

"Who is it?" Eleanor asked, peering over the arm of the sofa. She read the screen and snorted. "Number one: Kaelyn Berry and Clemente Whitaker. That's hilarious."

"It's not that weird," Beatrice pushed her black-framed glasses up her nose, not looking up from her textbook. "She's an artist. He's obsessed with money and numbers. They're just not in the same league."

The sound of Clemente's name was a physical blow. Kaelyn felt her heart clench, a sudden, tight fist in her chest. She forced the muscles in her face to remain rigid, a blank mask.

Thea scrolled down, her thumb flying across the screen. "Oh, listen to this comment! 'Clemente belongs with someone like Hilda Kramer. A fragile, noble swan. Not... whatever Kaelyn is.'"

Hilda.

The name was a splinter under Kaelyn's nail. Her fingers, which had been resting on her drafting pencil, tightened unconsciously. The knuckles turned white.

"So, Kae," Eleanor said, a teasing lilt in her voice. "What would you do if the great Clemente Whitaker actually asked you out?"

Kaelyn took a slow, deliberate breath. She shrugged, a carefully practiced gesture of indifference. "Please. The guy's an arrogant asshole."

It worked. Her roommates laughed, the suspicion vanishing from their eyes.

Just then, her own phone, lying face up on the drafting table, lit up. A notification from an encrypted app. No name, no number.

Just four words.

My penthouse. Now.

Her breath caught in her throat for half a second.

"Ooh, who's that?" Thea leaned over, her curiosity a tangible force.

Kaelyn's reaction was pure instinct. She slapped her hand over the phone, flipping it onto its face. The movement was too fast, too panicked.

Thea's eyes narrowed.

"It's, uh, my professor," Kaelyn lied, her voice a little too high. She scrambled for a plausible excuse. "Professor Davies. He wants me to pick up some materials from the studio. For the weekend."

"On a Friday night? What a slavedriver," Beatrice muttered without looking up.

The complaint gave Kaelyn the opening she needed. She started gathering her things, shoving her laptop into her backpack. With a swift movement, she opened her desk drawer and pushed the bag on top of a stack of papers, making sure the folded copy of