It belongs in moot courtrooms and hallway whispers. In the nightmares of second-year students who’ve crossed the wrong person. In the quiet power vacuum of every law school scandal that somehow, mysteriously, resolved in someone else’s ruin.
It belongs tohim.
I turn slowly, every muscle in my body locking up.
And there he is, standing at the alley’s edge.
Rowan. Fucking. King.
My ex.
Of course, he’s wearing black.
Tailored coat. Slacks. Hands in his pockets. This is just another Tuesday, where he ruins someone’s life and files the paperwork afterward.
Waffles squirms under my hoodie, but I can’t move.
“What are you doing here?” I manage, though the words sound borrowed from someone less afraid.
His head tilts. A faint, unreadable smile flickers across his mouth. “Midnight jog.”
Bullshit.
Rowan doesn’t jog. He doesn’t even sweat. Rowan calculates and corners. He watches and waits.
I’ve seen him across campus—at clinics, case briefings, recruitment events— always a step ahead and present without ever being officially involved. He’s the name people whisper. A legal ghost story. The kind that haunts deans and threatens careers with nothing but a glance.
They call him the King of Havemeyer.
Because if Rowan King hands you a playing card withIOUscrawled in black Sharpie, you’re his.
No terms. No time limits. No questions.
You do what he asks when he asks it.
Or else.
No one talks about what “or else” means. Just that it’s real. Just that the last girl who said no dropped out before midterms, and no one’s seen her since.
So, I’ve kept my distance. Ducking out of rooms when he enters. Taking the long way to class when I see him in the quad. Because one favor from him costs more than failure; it costs your soul on retainer.
And now he’s standing here.
Watching me.
Recording me.
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice smaller than I’d like.
He doesn’t answer. Just reaches into his coat and pulls out his phone.
The screen glows. Recording: 00:12:37.
“You didn’t?—”
“Start when you picked up the brick? No.” He taps the screen. “I waited until the monologue. You were very dramatic, by the way.”
My stomach drops.
