Page 3 of Coveted

This doesn’t make sense. If the stalker wants to torment me, why give me the locket? Because I’m only going to ensure it’s gone forever. Any advantage he might’ve had over me will disappear with it.

The bus swings around a bend. Stowing the necklace deep in my skirt pocket, I crush the box and return it to my suitcase.

As I twist my fingers in my lap and try not to freak out, I gaze into the thick trees lining the road under a charcoal sky.

A sleek candy-red supercar accelerates past the struggling bus, followed by another in blue. The cars are probably carrying some of my classmates to Darkbloom.

My worries about the stalker have to wait. I’m about to arrive at my new college, alone.

Will I make friends? Fit in? Be ridiculed? Ignored?

Mom made me promise to reach beyond Briarvale for a treasure trove of new experiences.

She said nothing about how it would be goddamn terrifying.

The wild rain eases as the bus chugs up a narrowing road to the campus. An imposing set of wrought-iron gates emerges through the mist, nestled within dense forest.

Despite my fears, a thrill of awe rises in my chest.

I’m here. The elite college with one of the best creative writing programs in the country. I actually got in.

The bus wheels crunch up the pebbled driveway, jostling for position with a shining array of hulking SUVs and European sports cars.

Moving to the side window, I wipe the fogged glass to stare at the majestic building.

Covered in creeping ivy, the gothic stone structure looks more like an evil king’s castle than a college. Spindly turrets graze the low-hanging clouds. Stained glass glimmers crimson and gold from windows, and tall oaken doors stand open for the continual flow of people.

A statue of the college’s founder, Benedict Darkbloom, sits in pride of place on a marble plinth by the entrance. He resembles a giant chess piece, his severe features forever etched in a forbidding expression.

The SUVs and supercars take turns to unload luggage at the base of the front steps, but my bus trundles down a side road. I’m the only passenger to get out, wrestling my bags through the folding door after thanking the driver.

The air bites my cheeks, several degrees cooler than down in Briarvale.

Shivering from nerves and cold, I haul my suitcases with as much confidence as I can muster toward the front entrance.

Where am I supposed to go? Everyone around me seems to know exactly what they’re doing and where they’re going.

A girl around my age, twenty, with caramel highlights directs two workmen carrying an antique-looking lounge up the stairs.

“Please be careful.” She presses her palms together in prayer. “This piece was my great-grandmother’s.”

I don’t have furniture, family heirlooms or otherwise. My dorm room will be pretty bare until I can afford to buy anything extra, which might be a while. The debt I co-signed for my mom outlived her, so I have to prioritize the repayments.

Furniture doesn’t matter though. I’m here to get an education, which is something nobody can ruin or take from me.

Theoretically.

Somehow I’ve forgotten everything I read in the college orientation email. Placing my bags on the cobblestones, I take out my phone to find the name of my dorm.

The lock screen is empty of notifications. There’s nobody to wish me good luck or say they’re thinking of me. Nobody except my stalker with his package, I guess.

Before I can locate the email, a shadow falls over me, blocking the pearly overcast light.

With an inexplicable knot in my stomach, I raise my eyes from my phone to the large male figure standing in front of me.

His clothes are black and expensive. Even I can tell that. The leather of his shoes gleams with suppleness.

His pants have to be tailored, to hug and skim his muscular legs in such a flattering way. Same with his crisp shirt, with casually rolled sleeves revealing tanned, veined forearms.