Page 60 of Top Shelf

The scent of old books and floor polish brings a familiar comfort as I step into the Valehurst campus library and shake off my raincoat, wet from the downpour happening outside. It might not be BSU’s library, where I liked to hang out and get my work done, scroll through my phone in silence, and just get away from the constant buzz of campus life. However, the quiet hum of hushed voices and the weight of stories pressing in from the shelves remain the same, and I was thankful to discover, the first time I stepped foot in here, that it still brings me a kind of peace. A safety. Like nothing bad can touch me here.

It doesn’t matter where in the world I am; a library is a library, and amongst the books and dusty tombs, I can just be me.

Unfortunately, I’m not here today to lose myself amongst the shelves. This is the location I’ve chosen as my battleground. This is where I will face down Lucian Caulfield. No more being caught off guard and cornered in supply closets. We’re doing this onmyterms now.

And he’s just going to have to get the hell on board.

With steel in my spine that has been absent for too long, I slide into a chair at a table tucked against the far wall, one with high-backed seats and just enough shadow to feel removed from the world. I’m still surrounded by people, but off to one side, so we shouldn’t be the center of attention. Although with Lucian—or any one of the revered Kings—that could be difficult to achieve.

I open my laptop, stack my notes, and pull out a fresh page. I’m ready for this. No more hiding. No more letting them rattle me.

Be fearless.

I glance up as the library doors open, and the man himself steps inside. I’m not the only one who notices. Heads turn. A few girls call his name. Someone waves. He doesn’t acknowledgeany of it as he scans the room. Searching. His eyes land on mine, and one side of his lips twitches. Something flickers in his gaze. Hungry. Calculating. Possessive in a way that makes my pulse stutter.

He stalks toward me, cutting a path between the stacks like he’s Moses parting the Red Sea. All thunderclouds and bruised edges. His hoodie is soaked through, black hair darker from the rain and pushed back from his face. Drops cling to his jaw, sharp enough to cut glass, and his usual brand of violence simmers just beneath the surface.

And yet, he moves with complete control. There’s a grace to his movements, an elegance, but it’s threaded through with a confidence that borders on predatory. He’s a lion in a room of gazelles.

He rounds the table to my side, never once removing his gaze from mine, but before he can drag out the chair beside me, I clamp my hand down on it.

“This chair’s taken.”

He glances down at it. “Looks pretty empty to me.”

Quick as lightning, I grab my bag and dump it in the chair. “Not anymore.”

Amusement dances in his gray eyes. Eyes that always appear dull and lifeless unless he’s looking at me. Nevertheless, he circles the table to claim the seat opposite me. He takes his time, making himself comfortable, spreading out until he takes up more space than any one person needs. And then he just looks at me. I can feel the intensity of his stare raking over my face, as if committing every detail, every flaw to memory.

I make the mistake of catching his gaze. Those eyes of his seem somehow both amused and haunted. As if he’s lived a hundred lives, and none of them were kind. There’s a violence in Lucian. I can practically feel it squirming and writhing beneath his skin like a live wire, sparking at the edges. Volatileand deadly. Restless. Unpredictable. It’s the kind of fury that can’t be tamed. The kind that, even when it is unleashed, doesn’t bring relief. The kind that comes from being broken—over and over and over.

And yet, buried beneath the sharpness of his grin and the storm behind his eyes…there’s something else. Somethingmore.

A grief he doesn’t know how to carry.

A boy who learned too early how cold and cruel this world can be.

And for one breathless second, I see all of it.

The rage. The ache. The ruin.

Not the mask he wears for everyone else, but the scar beneath it.

And the part of me that’s still bleeding? It recognizes him like a mirror.

“See something you like?”

His voice makes me realize I’ve been staring. I should be embarrassed enough to snap my gaze away, but it takes physical effort to break that connection. I don’t know what it is, why it forms every time I look at him, but it’s becoming difficult to ignore.

Some sort of ridiculous snort escapes the back of my throat, quickly followed by a harsh, “No.”

I catch him smirking from the corner of my eye.

“We have a project to do,” I snap at him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Thankfully, despite his playful tone, he pulls out his laptop and settles in to work. We go back and forth, discussing various ideas for a marketing strategy for a mock expansion campaign. It’s part of our communications unit, and I’ll admit, he surprises me. He’s fast. Sharp. His ideas lean toward chaos and shock value, while mine are more grounded and structured. It should clash horribly, and yet…it doesn’t.