Alright. We continue directly from C
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Going public did not explode the way Kiara expected.
It sank.
By morning, her name was no longer whispered—it was stated. Said plainly. Typed without hesitation. Her phone buzzed constantly, not with cruelty, but with curiosity, which somehow felt worse.
People she barely knew now knew her.
On campus, she became something visible.
Not a person.
A topic.
Lucas tried to act normal, cracking jokes as they walked between buildings, but his eyes flicked too often to the students who stared too long. Lisa stayed closer than usual, her arm brushing Kiara's as if to anchor her.
"You don't owe anyone explanations," Lisa murmured.
Kiara nodded, though every look felt like a question she was failing to answer.
By noon, the cost sharpened.
An email from the scholarship committee arrived—formal, polite, devastatingly neutral. A review. Temporary suspension of benefits until clarification. Nothing revoked. Nothing guaranteed.
Protection or ambition.
The choice was already circling her.
Shane didn't text.
That scared her more than if he had.
When he finally called, his voice was tight. "My family wants to meet you."
Her steps slowed. "Today?"
"They're already in the city."
Of course they were.
They met at a quiet restaurant near the river, the kind with linen napkins and soft lighting that pretended discretion while observing everything. Shane arrived first, standing when she entered like he always did—but today, his smile didn't reach his eyes.
"They're not angry," he said quickly. "Just… attentive."
The word followed her inside.
Shane's father, Elliot Harrington, rose to greet her, tall and composed, silver threading his dark hair. His handshake was firm, assessing without being unkind. His wife, Margaret, smiled politely—too politely. The kind of smile that watched for cracks.
Shane's younger sister, Elena, offered a quick hug, warm and sincere. "Ignore them," she whispered. "They overthink everything."
Conversation flowed carefully. Safe topics. Campus life. The weather. Shane's work.
Then Elliot leaned back.
"So," he said mildly, "ambition."
The word landed heavy.
Kiara straightened. "Yes."
"You understand how visibility works in our family," Margaret added gently. "Association carries consequences."
"I didn't seek association," Kiara replied, her voice calm. "I sought opportunity."
A pause.
Shane shifted beside her.
"And love?" Margaret asked.
Kiara didn't answer immediately.
She felt it then—that foreign feeling. The strange displacement of realizing the room was not neutral ground. That affection here was conditional. That being chosen meant being evaluated.
"I care for your son," she said finally. "But I won't be made smaller to make him safer."
Elena smiled.
Elliot studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Honest," he said. "Risky."
"Necessary," Kiara replied.
Outside, the air felt thinner.
"You didn't have to be that direct," Shane said quietly.
"Yes, I did."
They walked in silence.
Across the street, someone called Shane's name. A man in his late twenties approached, confident, familiar—Marcus Vale, a former associate, all sharp grin and tailored jacket.
"Didn't expect to see you back in this mess," Marcus said, eyes flicking to Kiara. "Guess rumors were true."
Shane's jaw tightened. "Watch it."
Marcus smiled wider. "Careful, Harrington. Some people climb. Some people attach."
Kiara felt the sting before Shane reacted.
"Don't," Shane warned.
Marcus raised his hands. "Just saying—visibility cuts both ways."
He walked off laughing.
The jealousy came later.
Not explosive. Quiet.
It surfaced that evening when Kiara saw Shane speaking with a woman outside the café—Nadia Brooks, polished, familiar, her hand resting easily on his arm. They laughed softly, close enough to share warmth.
It shouldn't have hurt.
But it did.
Lucas noticed first. "You okay?"
"Yes," Kiara lied.
Inside, shame crept in—not at him, but at herself. At how quickly she had started measuring distance. At how public attention had turned affection into comparison.
When Shane joined her later, she didn't accuse him.
That hurt him more.
"I was explaining the situation," he said. "She works with my family."
"I know," Kiara replied. "That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
She met his eyes. "I don't know who I become if I keep choosing safety over myself."
Silence stretched.
"You're asking me to step back," he said slowly.
"I'm asking you not to step in front of me."
The difference mattered.
That night, alone in her room, Kiara opened her laptop and stared at the pending form—the option to withdraw quietly, to let the story fade, to be protected.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
Be careful. Visibility has a memory.
She closed the laptop.
Outside, the city hummed, indifferent.
Somewhere between protection and ambition, she realized the truth:
Love didn't disappear under pressure.
But it changed shape.
And if she wasn't careful, she would too.
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