bChapter /bb81 /b

Elena’s POV:

Fuck. I couldn’t focus. Not for a single goddamn second.

My pen rested between my fingers, idle, unmoving, as I sat frozen in my seat in the middle of the lecture hall. The words on the board blurred, dancing in front of my eyes like they were mocking me. Professor’s voice droned in the background, sybles folding into white noise. None of it was registering. Not the equations, not the diagrams, not the repeated murmurs of ssmates flipping pages. My brain felt like it was filled with wet cotton, every thought sluggish, my heartbeat far too loud in my ears.

Because he was behind me.

Lazar.

The moment I walked into ss and saw him slide into the seat directly behind mine, I’d known I was doomed. I’d felt his stare before I even saw him- those ghost–green eyes like knives pressed to the back of my neck.

That feeling you get when you know you’re being watched? Multiply that by ten. It made my skin itch. My spine felt brittle, like it would snap if he blinked too hard. And I knew. I knew it wasn’t some ident. No one else sat near me anymore. So why would Lazar?

Because he wanted me to know he was there.

I clenched my jaw, the nausea rising thick in my throat. My nails dug into the cheapposite desk as I tried to steady my breathing. But it was no use. My focus slipped like sand through my fingers.

A buzzing. My phone vibrated for what felt like the tenth time that morning.

I didn’t even have to look. I already knew who it was.

Niki.

Except this time… it wasn’t.

I hesitated, curiosity getting the better of me, and slid my phone just enough to peek at the screen. My lips twitched despite myself.

Fionab. /b

“GURRRLLL. I’M DYINNGGG. I CAN’T STUDY ANYMOR

PLEASE SOMEONE PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY.”

I couldn’t help the tilt of my mouth at the dramatic string of caps. ssic Fiona. Over the top. She always managed to throw her entire soul into everything, includingints about exams. Despite how awful I felt, her message cracked the shell around my mood just enough to let a little light bin/b.

She was studying medicine. I was proud of her, even though she’d always been thest–minute type–cramming her entire academic year into thest few weeks before finals. Which exined why I hadn’t heard from her in a while. But it still felt…forting, to know that someone was out there freaking out over textbooks instead of marriage and mafia–rted husband/fatherhood bombshells.

bI /bstarted typing a response,

something witty and sarcasticb, /bwhen a voice behind me sliced through the moment like a scalpel.

b“/bFiona? She studies science, rightb?/bb” /b

The teasing edge in Lazar’s tone made my skin bcrawl/b.

I stiffened, bmy /bthumbs pausing mid text. I didn’t respond.

“She’s the bredhead/b, bright/b?b” /bhe continuedb, /bbunbothered /bbby /bbmy /bsilenco, “Prettyb, /bbDelicate/bb./b”

bi /bshut bmy /bbphone /bbslowly/bb, /bthen bclenched /bbit /bbin /bbmy /bbp/bb, /bfingers bwhite /bbknuckling /bbthe /bedges. My teeth bground /btogether trans bMickering /bto Un pie af

“Mind your own business.”

He chuckled. Low. Casual. Infuriating. “Hm? Well… you’re not very good at keeping your business private, are you?” He leaned in just enough that I bcould /bfeel the faint puff of his breath near my hair. “I can’t believe the mess all this made… but aren’t you being a little cold? We’re family, bafter /bball/bb./bb” /b

Every syble made my stomach churn.

Family?

I wanted to vomit.

“We aren’t anything to each other,” I hissed.

I couldn’t do this. Not here. Not now. My hands were shaking slightly, the words on my open notebook trembling as my fingers hovered above the bpage/b.

Fuck this.

I grabbed my textbook and notebook, stuffing them back into my bag with stiff movements. Then I stood, walked to the opposite end of the room band /bdropped into a new seat as far from him as possible.

To my relief, he didn’t follow.

But he didn’t stop smirking either.

I caught the edge of it, that arrogant tilt of his lips from across the room. As if he’d won something just by making me move. Who the hell was he reallyb? /bSergei’s son? Cousin? The possibility of him being my half–brother made bile rise in my throat. If that were true, then all the flirting, the insinuations, the lingering looks-

No. No, he wouldn’t be that insane. He wouldn’t flirt with his-

I shuddered, clenching my jaw.

Focus, Elena. You have work to do.

But themand inside my brain fell t.

Because instead of focusing, I thought about this morning. About thest thing Niki said to me before leaving.

You owe me.

The words coiled around my heart like a snake, squeezing. I wanted to scream.

I opened my phone again, almost out of spite. A part of me hoped for another ridiculous meme from Fionab, /bsomething to distract me. But instead… it was him.

Niki.

Message after message.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier. That’s not what I meant. I’m not doing this because of the contractb./bb” /b

“Elena? Please reply.”

Another.

“bCan /bwe talkb?/b”

bI /bbstared/b.

213

The guilt came first. Thick and immediate. A stab of familiarity. My eyes scanned the messages again. He sounded… frantic. Soft. I didn’t bthink /bbI’d /bbever /bsee Niki like this. Like he was actually panicking. If I went two months back in time and told my past self that I was in contract marriage bwith /bbTHE /bbillionaire Niki, the calm andposed one in public and I’d turned him into a panicking mess. I’d call myself insane andugh at myself. bBut /bbright/b. now I wasn’tughing. My gut twisted.

Why the hell did I feel guilty?

He hurt me. He knew. He lied. And he still acted like I owed him.

I mean yeah…in terms of marypensation I did.

Because I signed the contract, I reminded myself. He paid for Mom’s treatments. He gave me three months‘ allowance up front–an amount too generous to make sense.

Why?

What was he preparing for? At this point all his generosity seemed nned. Like he’d wanted to trap me with money. How could I trust someone like bthat /bever again?

I stared at the screen, thumb hovering, teeth digging into my bottom lip.

I didn’t want to text him. I didn’t want to give him anything. But the anger swelled again like a tide, pushing me forward.

I typed.

“Will you stop messaging me if I fulfill my end of the contract?”

I hit send.

The next moment my phone started buzzing loudly from his iing call and I immediately cancelled it. Some students had turned with curiosity. This specific professor seriously disliked phones being used in ss. Especially when they made noise.

I nodded as an apology and quickly typed out, “Don’t call. I’m in ss. Reply on text.”

The dots appeared. Then disappeared.

Then returned again.

He was typing. Then not. Then typing again.

My leg bounced under the desk, anxiety creeping up imu /i

spine like frostbite.

Finally, one word appeared.