Chapter Eighteen: The Door That Closed Softly
Lucas came to see me the next afternoon, and I knew, right away, that something was wrong.
He never came to my dorm. He existed in a different universe—one of polished offices, hushed meetings, and political fundraisers. When the front desk called up to my room and said, "Miss Grace, your brother is here to see you," my stomach dropped before I could even put a reason to the feeling.
I found him standing in the lobby, looking out of place. He was dressed immaculately, as always, in a charcoal coat that probably cost more than my semester's tuition. His face was calm. Too calm. It was the kind of calm that wasn't peaceful; it was a decision. A wall.
"Aira," he said, turning. He offered a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was the smile he used for journalists. "You look well."
"I am," I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. My favorite old sweater suddenly felt childish. "What are you doing here, Lucas?"
"Can't I visit my sister?" he asked, his tone light, almost teasing. But his eyes were scanning me, noting everything. The way I held myself, the lack of sleep probably visible under my eyes from staying up too late texting.
"You never do," I said bluntly.
He ignored that. "Walk with me."
It wasn't a request. It was a command wrapped in politeness. I fell into step beside him as we left the building and walked onto the main campus path. The afternoon was gray and chilly. Students hurried past with backpacks and coffee, lost in their own worlds. I wished I could join them.
We walked in silence for a minute, the only sound our footsteps on the pavement. The tension was a living thing between us.
"You're seeing someone," he stated finally. His voice was flat. No curiosity. Just fact.
I stopped walking. So he did know. A cold trickle of fear ran down my spine, but I squared my shoulders. "Yes. I am."
He turned to face me, his expression unreadable. "Who is he?"
"That's my business," I said, my voice surprisingly steady.
A faint, humorless smile touched his lips. "You've always been this way. Quiet, until you're backed into a corner. Then suddenly, you have teeth."
"I'm not a child anymore, Lucas."
"I know," he said softly. "That's what worries me."
"Why?" I demanded, the word bursting out of me. "Why does me having a life worry you? You've never cared before."
"That's not fair," he said, but there was no heat in it. It was just a line.
"Isn't it?" I shot back. "When was the last time you asked me about my classes? Or what I wanted for my birthday? Or if I was happy?" The questions hung in the cold air. He had no answer. His silence was the loudest thing I'd ever heard. "See? You don't get to swoop in now and act concerned. This isn't about me. This is about control."
His calm facade cracked, just for a second. A flash of something—irritation, maybe even hurt—crossed his face before it was smoothed away. "This isn't about control, Aira. It's about protection."
"From what? From who? You don't even know him!"
"I know enough," he said, his voice dropping, taking on a harder edge. "I know his name. Rowan Royce."
Hearing him say Rowan's name like that, like it was a dirty secret, made my blood run cold. How long had he known? How much had he been watching?
"You need to end it," Lucas continued, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"No." The word was simple, final.
He blinked, as if I'd spoken in another language. "Excuse me?"
"I said no." My hands were fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms. "You don't get to decide that for me."
"This man is dangerous, Aira."
"You keep saying that, but you won't tell me why!" I was almost shouting now, a few passing students glancing our way. I didn't care. "Give me one real reason. One true thing."
He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw genuine conflict in his eyes. Not anger, but a deep, weary concern. It terrified me more than his anger ever could.
"Some truths don't protect you, little sister," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "They just break you. I'm trying to spare you that."
"I don't want to be spared!" The tears came then, hot and furious. "I want to be trusted. I want to be treated like a person who can make her own choices, even if they're bad ones! I love him, Lucas."
The confession hung between us, fragile and enormous.
His expression closed off completely. The concerned brother vanished, replaced by the cold strategist. "That sentiment," he said slowly, "is exactly why you're vulnerable. Love makes you blind. It makes you weak."
"It makes me feel alive," I whispered.
For a long moment, he just stared at me. I saw calculations happening behind his eyes, weighing options, risks, outcomes. I wasn't his sister in that moment; I was a problem to be managed.
"You will stop seeing him," he stated, his voice final.
"Or what?" I challenged, a reckless courage filling me. "You'll cut off my allowance? Tell Father? Have me followed? You can't lock me in my room anymore, Lucas."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "You have no idea what's at stake. The world isn't your philosophy textbook, Aira. It's ugly. People get hurt."
"Then let me get hurt!" I cried. "It's my heart to break!"
He shook his head, a gesture of pure frustration. "You're not listening."
"I am! You're just not saying anything real! You're giving me warnings without facts. You're asking me to take a leap of faith off a cliff, but you won't even tell me how deep the drop is."
He had no answer. He just looked at me, and in his eyes, I saw a sad, grim certainty. He believed he was right. He believed he was saving me.
"End it," he said one last time, the words heavy. "Before you force my hand. Before you make me protect you from yourself."
With that, he turned and walked away. His figure, straight and alone, disappeared around a corner, leaving me standing on the path, shaking.
He wasn't just giving an order. He was afraid. My brother, who was never afraid of anything, was scared. That realization settled in my gut like a stone.
That night, the dorm room felt like a cage. I couldn't read. I couldn't sleep. I just clutched my phone, my thumb hovering over Rowan's name.
Finally, I typed.
Me:My brother came to see me today. He knows about you. He told me to stay away.
The wait for a reply was agony. Minutes felt like hours.
Rowan:What did you tell him?
I took a shaky breath.
Me:I told him no.
The three dots appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again, as if he was writing and erasing his thoughts.
Rowan:Good.
One word. It should have been comforting, but it felt heavy.
Me:Why does everyone act like loving you is a death sentence? Lucas was… scared. Not angry. Scared.
This time, the pause was so long I thought he might not answer.
Rowan:Because they know the shadow I stand in. They know the kind of storms that follow me.
My eyes burned.
Me:And you? If you were being honest… do you think I should listen to him? Do you think I should stay away?
I held my breath. This was it. This was the question. If he said yes, it would shatter me. But a part of me almost wanted him to say it, to confirm the fear in Lucas's eyes.
His reply came, slow and deliberate.
Rowan:If I were a better man… the kind of man you deserve… I would tell you yes. I would walk away and let you have a quiet, safe life.
My heart cracked.
Me:But you didn't say that.
Rowan: No. I'm not that good. And I'm not that strong.
A single tear escaped, tracing a warm path down my cheek. It wasn't a happy feeling. It was a painful, aching, desperate one. He was choosing me, but he was also choosing to pull me into his shadow. He knew it was wrong, and he was doing it anyway.
I didn't reply. I just turned off my phone and stared at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sounds of life from other rooms.
Two men. My brother, who claimed he wanted to protect me but spoke only in threats and silence. And Rowan, who offered me no protection at all, just the terrifying, thrilling truth of his choice.
Both of them looked at me like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, bathed in moonlight.
And neither of them reached out to pull me back.
One warned me about the fall.
The other simply promised to be there when I landed.