The text arrives at 7:23 AM, jerking me awake from the first twenty minutes of sleep I've managed since leaving Blake's penthouse.

*Blake: Coffee. At Starbucks on Pine Street. 8 AM. Don't be late.*

My phone slips from numb fingers, clattering onto the hardwood floor of my dorm room. The sound echoes in the pre-dawn quiet like a gunshot.

I haven't slept. Every time I close my eyes, I see that video… my face twisted in pleasure while Blake moved inside me, completely unaware a camera was recording every gasp, every whispered word, every moment I thought was private.

The nausea hits without warning. I barely make it to my private bathroom before I'm retching into the toilet, my body rejecting everything while my mind spirals through the same desperate thoughts I've been cycling through all night.

Tell my father the truth. Watch his tech empire crumble when the scandal breaks.

Go to the police. Watch Blake's lawyers destroy me in court while the video goes viral anyway.

Run. Watch Blake destroy everyone I care about out of spite.

None of them work. They all end the same way… with that video plastered across every social media platform and my father's company stock crashing into nothing.

I splash cold water on my face, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. The girl staring back looks like a ghost — black hair tangled, green eyes red-rimmed, skin pale as paper. Not the polished Blackwood heiress who commands board meetings and rides motorcycles like she owns the world.

Thirty-seven minutes to get to Starbucks.

Just thirty-seven minutes left to figure out how to survive whatever fresh hell Blake has planned.

I pull on jeans and a sweater without thinking, muscle memory taking over while my brain stays stuck in panic mode. My hands shake so badly it takes three tries to get my motorcycle jacket zipped.

The ride downtown passes in a blur of early morning traffic and autumn air that cuts through my jacket like ice. Every red light gives me another chance to turn around, go home, pretend this isn't happening.

But Blake's message sits in my phone like a ticking bomb. *Don't be late.*

I know what happens to people who disappoint Blake Harrington.

Starbucks on Pine Street buzzes with the usual morning chaos — business suits grabbing caffeine before their commute, university students clutching laptops and textbooks, the familiar symphony of espresso machines and overlapping conversations that usually comforts me.

Today it sounds like white noise. Background static to the nightmare my life has become.

Blake sits in a corner booth, partially hidden from the main flow of customers.

He's already nursing what looks like his second espresso, wearing a gray cashmere sweater that costs more than most people make in a month. He looks perfectly relaxed, like he's meeting a friend instead of delivering psychological torture.

The smell of coffee and pastries turns my stomach as I weave through the crowded space toward him. My legs feel unsteady, like I'm walking on a ship's deck in rough seas.

"Aria." His smile is warm, genuine-looking. The same expression that convinced me to leave Sigma Chi's gala with him six weeks ago. "You look tired. Rough night?"

I slide into the seat across from him, hyper aware of the other customers around us. A mother with twin toddlers arguing over a muffin. Two business partners discussing quarterly projections. Normal people living normal lives, oblivious to the destruction happening three feet away.

"What do you want, Blake?"

My voice comes out steadier than I feel.

"Straight to business. I like that." He pulls out his phone, sets it on the scarred wooden table between us with deliberate precision. "I've been thinking about our conversation last night. You seemed overwhelmed by the scope of the project."

Project. Like destroying someone's life is a homework assignment.

The casual way he says it makes my skin crawl, but I force myself to stay calm. One wrong reaction and he might decide to escalate things right here in public.

"So I thought I'd give you some guidance." Blake's fingers dance across his phone screen with practiced ease. "Think of me as your director, and you're about to give the performance of your lifetime."

Something inside my chest twists tighter. "I'm listening."

He turns the phone toward me. A student profile fills the screen… academic achievements, volunteer activities, a photo that shows warm brown eyes and a genuine smile that makes my throat close up.

"Jaxon Rivers. Psychology major, senior year, full academic scholarship." Blake's voice carries the kind of casual interest he might use to discuss the weather. "Lives in student housing because he can't afford anything better. Works part-time at the campus bookstore to cover expenses his scholarship doesn't handle."

The details feel invasive, like Blake has been stalking this boy for weeks. Months, maybe.

"He volunteers at the campus counseling center, tutors underclassmen for free, and writes poetry in his spare time." Each fact drops from Blake's lips with increasing disdain. "A regular knight in shining armor."

I study Jaxon's photo while Blake talks. There's something genuine in his expression, an openness that suggests he hasn't learned to be suspicious of people yet. The complete opposite of everyone in Blake's circle.

"Your point?"

"My point is that Jaxon Rivers has a hero complex the size of Seattle." Blake leans forward, lowering his voice to something almost intimate. "Show him a damaged girl who needs saving, and he'll walk through fire to protect her."

The insult hits its target, but I don't give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"What exactly do you want me to do?"

Blake takes a slow sip of his espresso, making me wait. The silence stretches until my nerves feel ready to snap.

"Professor Chen is announcing new project partnerships in today's economics lecture. You're going to volunteer to work with our dear Jaxon." He sets down his cup with precise care. "Start slowly. Be vulnerable. Let him see cracks in that ice queen facade you wear so well."

The way he describes it makes it sound simple.

"And then?"

"Then you let nature take its course. He's already half in love with the idea of you… I've seen him watching you in class. All you have to do is give him hope that the real Aria Blackwood might actually need someone like him."

My stomach clenches. "This is sick."

"This is strategy." Blake's mask slips for just a second, revealing the cold calculation underneath. "You have two weeks to get him interested. Another two to make him care about you."

"And after that?"

Blake's smile returns, but it's different now. Sharper. More dangerous.

"After that, you make him fall in love with you completely. By Halloween, I want him so devoted he'd do anything to protect you." He pauses, watching my reaction. "Because that's when you're going to sleep with him."

The words hit me like ice water. Halloween is October 31st. Six weeks away.

"And then?"

"Then you wait a few weeks and tell him you're pregnant. The timing will work out perfectly… he'll believe the baby is his."

The timeline crystallizes in my mind with horrible clarity. Sleep with Jaxon on Halloween, wait until mid-November to reveal the pregnancy, let him assume it happened that night. Blake has thought through every detail.

"You've planned this out."

"I plan everything, sweetheart. It's what separates winners from victims." Blake stands, adjusting his expensive jacket like he's just finished discussing stock portfolios. "I'll be checking in regularly to monitor your progress. Make sure your performance is convincing."

He starts to walk away, then pauses like he's just remembered something casual.

"Oh, one more thing. Don't even think about warning him or trying to be clever. I have eyes everywhere on this campus, and if you step out of line, that video goes live within an hour."

The threat hangs in the coffee-scented air like poison gas.

"Understood?"

I nod because my voice won't work.

Blake's laugh is warm, friendly… the sound of someone who's just shared a pleasant conversation with an old friend. "Good girl. I'll be in touch."

He walks out into the Seattle morning, leaving me alone with the weight of what he's demanding and the smell of coffee that now makes me want to throw up again.

Around me, life continues. The mother with twins finally gets them to share the muffin. The business partners shake hands and head off to their respective offices. Normal people doing normal things while I sit frozen in a corner booth, holding the instructions for how to destroy an innocent person.

My phone sits on the table where Blake left it, Jaxon Rivers' profile still glowing on the screen. Those warm brown eyes stare back at me, trusting and kind.

In three hours, I'll be sitting in Professor Chen's economics lecture. In three hours, I'll raise my hand and volunteer to work with this boy who has no idea he's about to become collateral damage in a sociopath's game.

I close my eyes and try to imagine what my father would say if he knew what I was about to do. If he knew his daughter was about to become someone who destroys innocent people to save her own skin.

But every time I picture his face, I see that video going viral. See the board meetings, the stock crash, the thousands of employees who would lose their jobs because I couldn't keep one night's mistake from becoming public knowledge.

My phone buzzes. A calendar reminder I set weeks ago: *Econ 301 - Professor Chen - 10:30 AM.*

Two hours and seventeen minutes until I have to decide.

I pull up the university directory, scroll until I find what I'm looking for: *Jaxon Rivers - Psychology, Senior Year - Academic Scholarship Recipient.*

His photo stares back at me from the screen. Those warm brown eyes that Blake wants me to turn into weapons against him.

Before I can second-guess myself, I start typing a text to my roommate Maya:

*Can you save me a seat in Chen's class? Back row, near the cute psychology guy. I have a project partnership to secure.*

I hit send and immediately want to throw up again.

Because that text just made it real. In two hours, I'm not just thinking about destroying Jaxon Rivers.

I'm actively planning it.