Chapter 34 - Chapter 35: Lines Don't Stay Drawn

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The move came sooner than Kiera expected.

It always did.

By the next afternoon, the campus no longer pretended neutrality. Posters appeared overnight—new policy briefings, student conduct forums, anonymous opinion pieces circulating online. None of them named her. None of them needed to.

Kiera felt exposed anyway.

She sat in the back of the lecture hall, notebook open, pen unmoving. Every whisper felt aimed. Every glance felt deliberate. When the professor mentioned "professional boundaries," a ripple of laughter followed.

She didn't look at Shane.

Not because she didn't want to—but because if she did, she wasn't sure she'd survive the look in his eyes.

After class, she headed for the café near the south gate, the one place that still smelled like comfort instead of judgment. The bell chimed as she entered, and the barista—Mara, a quiet girl with tired eyes—gave her a sympathetic smile without saying a word.

Kiera ordered tea. Something warm. Something steady.

She barely had time to sit before her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number:

You don't belong in his world. Everyone sees it.

Her stomach dropped.

Another message followed.

Walk away before you embarrass yourself further.

Kiera stared at the screen, fingers numb. She didn't respond. She never did. But the words lodged somewhere deep, pressing against old scars she thought she'd healed.

When Shane arrived ten minutes later, she knew before she saw him. The room shifted. The air tightened.

He stopped short when he noticed her expression.

"Who said something?" he asked quietly.

She handed him the phone.

His jaw tightened as he read. "This is crossing a line."

"It already crossed it," she replied. "This is just… louder."

He sat across from her, leaning in. "We don't have to take this."

"No," she said softly. "We don't. But we also don't get to pretend it's not happening."

Silence stretched between them, heavy but honest.

"Come with me," he said suddenly.

"Where?"

"Anywhere that isn't here."

She hesitated. "Shane—"

"Just for an hour," he said. "No campus. No eyes."

Something in his voice undid her.

They walked without direction, past buildings and streets that gradually softened into quieter neighborhoods. The city hummed around them, distant and indifferent. Eventually, they reached a small park overlooking the river—empty, wind-stirred, private.

They sat on a bench, shoulders barely touching.

"This is the part where people tell us to be sensible," Shane said.

Kiera smiled faintly. "People have been telling me that my whole life."

He turned to her. "And yet you're still here."

"Because being sensible never saved me," she admitted. "It just kept me quiet."

He studied her face like he was memorizing it. "I don't want you quiet."

She swallowed. "I don't want to be someone you have to defend."

"I want to defend you," he said immediately. Then, softer, "But more than that, I want to choose you."

Her breath caught.

"Choosing me isn't simple," she warned.

He smiled, slow and real. "Neither am I."

For a moment, the world stilled.

No rumors.

No policies.

No watchers.

Just the two of them, suspended between restraint and want.

She reached for his hand first.

It felt like crossing a border.

Their fingers laced, tentative at first, then certain. He leaned closer, forehead resting against hers, breath warm, familiar.

"If we do this," she whispered, "there's no going back."

"I know," he replied.

Their lips brushed—barely there, a promise more than a kiss. The restraint made it burn hotter than anything reckless ever could.

They pulled apart slowly, both breathing harder.

That was when Shane's phone rang.

He didn't answer it.

It rang again.

Reluctantly, he glanced at the screen—and froze.

"What is it?" Kiera asked.

"My father."

The name alone shifted everything.

Shane answered, voice tight. "Yes."

A pause. His expression hardened.

"I didn't agree to this," he said.

Another pause—longer.

Kiera watched his face change, watched control give way to anger.

"No," Shane said sharply. "You don't get to decide that."

He ended the call and stood abruptly, pacing.

"What happened?" she asked.

"My family is stepping in," he said. "They've requested a formal meeting—with you."

Her heart skipped. "Me?"

"They want to assess whether this relationship is… appropriate."

The word hit like a slap.

Kiera stood too. "That sounds like a warning."

"It is," Shane said. "Wrapped in politeness."

The river wind cut colder now.

"Shane," she said carefully, "this is bigger than rumors."

"I know."

"And if your family decides I'm a liability—"

"Then I'll decide whether they still get to run my life," he said fiercely.

She searched his face. "That's not a small decision."

"No," he agreed. "But neither is loving you."

The word loving lingered between them—unplanned, undeniable.

She didn't pull away.

But fear threaded through her chest all the same.

"Whatever happens next," she said, "we need to be honest. Even when it hurts."

He nodded. "Especially then."

They walked back toward campus together, closer than before, yet braced for impact.

Behind them, the park returned to silence.

Ahead of them, forces were aligning—family power, public pressure, and a choice that would demand sacrifice from both sides.

And for the first time, walking away no longer felt like the safest option.

It felt like the most dangerous one of all.

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