Aria came down the stairs like she was late for something and didn't care.
Ponytail loose, sunglasses already on, a half-buttoned white shirt tucked into a plaid skirt that skirted the dress code, and combat boots that had no business near a university classroom.
She looked exactly how her father hated her to look.
Perfectly disobedient.
In the sitting room, Elias Langford stood by the window, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, reading news that probably made people rich and miserable all at once. She didn't greet him. He didn't look up.
But the man sitting across from him did.
Jaxon.
Black slacks. Grey shirt. Unbothered posture. Coffee untouched on the table beside him. No one had told her he was already in the house.
She stopped two steps from the bottom stair.
Her sunglasses slipped just slightly.
"What's he doing here?" she asked without looking at either of them.
"Security," Elias said, still reading. "You've outgrown the amateurs."
"I don't want a babysitter."
"You need one."
She snorted. "To protect me from what—my own reflection?"
"That too," Elias said, flipping the page.
Jaxon rose slowly, gaze neutral. "I'm here to protect you. Nothing more."
She looked him over. Slowly. Deliberately.
"You sure you're not here to spy on me for Daddy?"
He didn't blink. "If I were, I wouldn't be this visible."
She gave a dry smile. "Noted."
And without another word, she grabbed her phone off the marble console, breezed past both of them, and said—
"Try to keep up."
***
The campus didn't go quiet when she arrived.
It just shifted—buzzing low, like the sound before a downpour.
Aria Langford stepped out of the black porche car in dark sunglasses and an oversized blazer she didn't need in the heat. She wasn't hiding. She didn't hide. But it helped to feel like armor. The moment her boots clicked onto the pavement, whispers rippled across the quad.
There she is.
That's her.
She's back?
Some stared. Some filmed.
And behind her, stepping out of the car without a word, was him.
Jaxon.
No sunglasses. No hat. No apology.
Just tailored black slacks, a slim gret shirt, and a watch that cost more than some people's rent. He didn't try to blend in—and somehow that made him invisible. Because people didn't know what to do with someone like him.
Girls stared first.
Then whispered.
Who is that?
Is he an actor?
Security?
God?
He didn't acknowledge the attention. Just scanned the crowd with quiet precision, walking a few paces behind Aria like he wasn't looking at anyone but saw everything.
It should've annoyed her.
Instead, it made her want to set something on fire.
By the time she reached her lecture hall, someone had already posted a photo online.
The caption:
Langford's back. But who's the shadow in black?
Her phone buzzed twice in her pocket.
She ignored it.
Class was worse than usual. Every time she looked up, someone was looking at her—or worse, at him. Jaxon stood near the door, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The professor stuttered more than once mid-sentence, and two girls who had ignored Aria all year suddenly passed her notes with smiley faces and "hey bestie" scribbled in the margins.
She nearly snapped her pen in half.
After two classes, one staged apology to the Dean, and a humiliating run-in with a group of girls who talked about Jaxon like he wasn't standing ten feet away, Aria was done pretending.
"I'm leaving," she muttered.
Jaxon didn't ask why. He just moved, opening the passenger door before she could touch it herself.
***
The mall was her idea.
Not because she needed retail therapy.
Because she wanted to see if he'd crack.
She pushed through luxury boutiques like she was auditioning for a crown she already wore. Tried on sunglasses she didn't need. Dismissed a sales rep mid-sentence. Laughed too loud.
Jaxon followed like a shadow that refused to trip.
Women stared. Some approached. One slipped him her number with a wink.
He didn't look at any of them.
Aria hated how much she noticed that.
They reached the private wing of the designer store—dressing rooms lined with velvet curtains and flattering lights. She grabbed three outfits, waved off the attendant, and stepped into the biggest room.
As she passed him, she said, "Try not to collapse from boredom."
"I've been through worse," he said, deadpan.
She looked over her shoulder, one brow raised. "Like what?"
He held her gaze. "Gunfire. Grenades. Girls in dressing rooms."
She let out a soft, involuntary laugh. It caught her off guard—and she hated that.
She disappeared behind the curtain.
Three minutes later, she stepped out in a fitted black dress that clung in all the wrong places and all the right ones. She didn't look at him at first. She looked at her reflection.
Then slowly turned.
His jaw flexed.
Not much. Just enough.
"So?" she asked.
He didn't answer right away.
Then...
"You'll be stared at."
"I'm always stared at."
"This is different."
"Why?"
He looked her in the eye, steady. "Because I'll be staring too."
Her breath caught.
Then she rolled her eyes and turned back toward the mirror.
"That's the most unprofessional thing you've said since you got here."
"It's also the most honest."
She didn't respond. Just watched his reflection in the glass. The space between them buzzed like static.
Then she stepped behind the curtain again and didn't say another word.
He stood there a moment longer, unmoving. As if replaying what just happened in his mind. The shift in her tone. The catch in her breath. The way she looked away, then back. There was a beat—quiet, heavy—before she vanished behind the curtain, leaving only her reflection lingering in the mirror.
He exhaled. Low. Controlled.
Then turned toward the boutique floor just as the curtain swayed back into stillness.
***
"Do you just stand there, or do you actually speak when you're not being dramatic?" Aria asked, arms full of shopping bags she had no intention of carrying herself.
Jaxon didn't reply. Just stepped ahead of her to hold the glass door open.
The store was expensive. Private. The kind of place where champagne was offered instead of water, and everyone pretended to be too wealthy to care.
She tried on five more outfits. None of them because she needed to. All of them because she liked watching him try not to look.
He didn't look after the first dress she had tried—at least, not where she could catch him.
She'd step out of the dressing room, spin once, say nothing. He'd glance up. Brief. Sharp. And say nothing back.
Which infuriated her.
The sixth outfit was a silk red number that clung like a second skin.
When she stepped out this time, he looked—and looked away slower.
She didn't smile. But she didn't change right away either.
***
The customer service girl asked if she wanted help finding shoes.
"No," Aria snapped. "I don't need someone breathing down my neck while I try on heels. Do I look like I want help?"
The girl blinked. "I just meant—"
"You just meant to kiss up. Don't."
Jaxon said nothing, but she caught the subtle shift in his face. Disapproval. Not strong. But there.
She turned, annoyed. "If you're going to judge me, do it out loud."
"I'm not judging," he said evenly. "Just watching. Like I said."
She stalked back into the dressing room, ripped the zipper on the red dress halfway down, and threw it onto the velvet bench.
Why did it feel like he was the one wearing her down?
She'd been rude to plenty of people before. No one ever made her feel wrong for it. Just... powerful. Untouchable.
Jaxon didn't make her feel weak.
He made her feel seen.
And she didn't know what to do with that.