Drawing Lines

LYDIA’S POV

I did not sleep. The bed in Cassian’s guest suite felt like sleeping on a literal cloud, but I spent the entire night staring up at the dark ceiling. The room was too quiet. The air conditioning hummed a low, rich sound that just felt expensive. I kept waiting for someone to pound on the door, laugh, and tell me this was all an elaborate prank.

When I finally dragged my body out of the sheets, I felt like a walking corpse trapped inside a scholarship girl’s life. I brushed my hair, splashed cold water on my face, and tried to look like I hadn't spent the night questioning every single life choice I had made over the last decade.

I walked into the massive kitchen.

He was already there.

Cassian stood by the marble island, dressed in a crisp black hoodie and dark joggers. He looked like a professional athlete hours before game time—sharp, focused, and intimidating. He didn't say a word as I walked in. He just reached across the counter and pushed a steaming mug toward me.

I wrapped my hands around the warm ceramic. The scent of bergamot hit my nose. I took a slow sip.

Earl Grey. Two drops of honey.

Exactly the way I drank it. My chest gave a weird, involuntary flutter. How did he know that? We hadn't even talked about groceries, let alone my specific morning caffeine preferences.

"I have a ten a.m. lecture," I said, my voice sounding rough.

"I know. I'm driving you," Cassian said. He didn't even look up from the tablet resting on the counter. His tone was casual but finalized.

"Cassian, you don't have to do this. I can take the bus. I don't want to make things weird or be a burden," I told him, setting the mug down.

He finally looked up. Those gray-blue eyes locked onto mine, pinning me straight to the floorboards.

"The bus takes forty minutes. My car takes ten. You need the extra thirty minutes to study," he stated.

He wasn't suggesting a ride. He was declaring a law of physics. Translation: I didn't have a say in the matter.

"Are you always this bossy?" I muttered, taking another sip of the tea just to have something to do with my mouth.

"Only when I'm right," he answered smoothly.

I wanted to argue. I really did. But I was running on zero sleep, and I was too exhausted to fight with the guy providing me a free roof over my head. I grabbed my worn canvas tote bag and followed his broad shoulders down to the private garage.

The car ride was heavy. It wasn't a peaceful, morning commute kind of silence. It was taut. Electric. I kept my eyes on his large hands gripping the leather steering wheel. I couldn't stop wondering why the captain of the hockey team was treating me like fragile glass.

When we passed the main gates of Kingsmont campus, my survival instinct kicked in. I felt the immediate, overwhelming urge to slide down in my seat. Cassian’s dark, sleek sports car looked like a predator gliding through a sea of dented student sedans.

He didn't veer toward the commuter parking lot. He drove straight down the main drag.

Right up to the front of the main quad.

The quad was a sea of moving bodies. Hundreds of students were hanging around the steps, grabbing coffee, and chatting between morning classes.

"You're making a scene," I whispered, my fingers digging into the straps of my bag.

"Let them look," Cassian said. His jaw was set hard.

He cut the engine. He actually opened his door, stepped out into the crisp morning air, and walked around the hood. The chatter in the nearest group of students died down instantly. Cassian opened my door and offered a hand.

I felt like I had stumbled onto a movie set where someone forgot to hand me the script. I stepped out, keeping my head down.

"I'll be here at four. Don't be late," he said. He didn't shout, but his voice carried the perfect distance. It hit the nearest cluster of girls like a shockwave.

I nodded, my brain misfiring, and practically sprinted toward the library pathway.

The whispers ignited behind me. A wave of sound crashing over the pavement.

"Is that Lydia Kerr?"

"Wait, since when does Mercer let anyone in his car?"

I kept my chin tucked, staring at the concrete until a pair of scuffed, familiar sneakers stepped right into my line of sight.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I looked up. Enzo.

He stood near the stone fountain, and he looked just as wrecked as I felt. The sharp tuxedo from last night was long gone. He wore a rumpled gray hoodie, and his dark hair stuck up at odd angles. He looked like he had spent the night pacing a hole into his floor.

"Lydia," he said, stepping directly into my path.

I sidestepped, trying to walk around him. He mirrored my movement, blocking me again.

"We need to talk," he demanded.

"I have class, Enzo. And I think we covered everything last night," I said. My skin crawled. People were already slowing down, their eyes darting between us. I hated this. I hated being perceived.

"What were you doing in Cassian Mercer's car?" he asked. His voice was loud, vibrating with a jealous edge that made zero sense. He had Blair. He had his shiny new prize. He had no right to sound betrayed.

"He's my roommate. I told you I was moving," I said, keeping my posture rigid. "And I owe you no explanation for what I choose to do with my life."

"Roommate? Lydia, are you insane? Do you even know who that guy is?" Enzo shouted.

He lunged forward, reaching out to grab my wrist.

My reflexes fired. I yanked my arm back before his fingers could graze my skin.

"I know he's the guy who didn't spend the morning making me listen to him have sex with my roommate," I snapped.

A girl walking past us let out a loud gasp. Several heads snapped in our direction.

Enzo’s face drained of color. The arrogant frat-boy mask slipped, leaving genuine panic behind.

"Lyd, it’s not like that. I was just... I was distracted," he stammered, his hands dropping to his sides.

"First off, do not call me that. It's Lydia to you. And second, you’ve been distracted for ten years, Enzo. I am done waiting for you to look at me," I said. The words burned my throat, but I forced them out. The discomfort was a crushing physical weight sitting on my chest, telling me to run, to hide, to apologize and shrink away.

I refused to shrink. Not today. He needed to hear this. He needed to understand the bridge was burnt to ash.

Enzo’s eyes darted around the watching crowd before zeroing back on my face. His expression shifted. The panic faded, replaced by something ugly and cruel. He took a step closer, dropping his voice to a harsh whisper.

"Does he know?" Enzo asked.

"Does he know what?"

"Does he know you've been in love with me since we were kids? Or are you just using him to make me jealous?" he sneered.

The words hit me like a physical blow.

A brutal slap of pure, blinding humiliation washed over me. The breath vanished from my lungs.

He knew.

He always knew. For ten years, I thought I was hiding my feelings. I thought I was being a loyal best friend. But he knew exactly how I felt, and he just let me orbit his life. He let me sit in the shadows, dutifully waiting on the sidelines while he paraded a hundred different girls in front of my face. I was just an ego boost. A reliable safety net.

The humiliation burned hot, but an instant later, it forged into raw anger.

"He knows I'm a roommate who pays her rent," I lied, my voice dropping to a freezing temperature. I leveled my gaze right into his eyes. "And even if I was using him, at least he's worth the effort. Unlike you."

Enzo actually flinched. He looked like I had driven a fist straight into his ribs.

He opened his mouth, his face flushing dark red with rage, ready to spit something toxic back at me.

But the words never came out. His eyes flicked over my shoulder. His jaw went slack. He froze solid.

I turned my head.

Cassian’s car hadn't moved an inch.

Cassian was still there. He stood leaning casually against the driver's side door, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He wasn't yelling. He wasn't making a scene. He was just watching.

But the look on his face was terrifying. The way he stared at Enzo was so dark, so predatory, that the air temperature in the quad seemed to plummet. Cassian looked like a man calculating the exact amount of force required to snap a spine.

"Leave her the hell alone, Enzo," Cassian said.

His voice didn't rise above a conversational volume, yet it sliced through the ambient noise of a hundred chatting students with lethal precision. It carried a warning so heavy it made my own pulse race.

I didn’t know what history sat between these two men. I didn’t know the stakes of whatever game they were playing. But I knew I wasn’t going to stand here and be the trophy they fought over in the middle of campus.

I looked back at Enzo one final time.

Stripped of his golden-boy charm, standing under Cassian's lethal stare, Enzo looked small. He looked like a panicked boy trying to play a ruthless man’s game.

"Stay away from me, Enzo. I'm being serious as fuck this time," I said.

I turned on my heel and walked away. My boots hit the pavement in a steady rhythm. My heart hammered against my ribs so violently I thought it might fracture bone. Adrenaline flooded my veins.

"Fuck!" I heard Enzo curse loudly behind me.

For a split second, the raw frustration in his tone almost sounded like genuine regret. Like he was actually mad at himself for letting me slip through his fingers.

But a leopard doesn't change its spots. Ten years of history told me the truth. He wasn't mourning the loss of a friend. He was just furious that his favorite toy decided to walk off the shelf. He was never going to change.