Alicia POV
I know the moment it happens.
Not because Xavier tells me.Not because Marcus slips.Not because Aylia suddenly changes her behavior in a way anyone else would notice.
I know because Xavier stops pretending this is idle.
He slows.
That's the tell.
Xavier never rushes unless he's losing control. When he's confident, when he believes the board is exactly where he wants it, he moves deliberately. Every step placed. Every pause intentional.
Today, he's deliberate.
Which means something has shifted.
I watch him from across the courtyard, my sunglasses tipped just low enough to see his expression without him seeing my eyes. He isn't looking at Aylia directly. That would be careless.
He's watching her reflection in the glass.
That's new.
He doesn't need to watch people twice unless they've become variables.
She laughs at something a girl says—small, unguarded. Xavier's jaw tightens, then releases. He looks away, but not before I see it.
The crack.
It's subtle. Almost elegant.
And completely unacceptable.
I don't feel jealousy. I don't feel threatened.
What I feel is irritation.
This was supposed to be controlled deterioration. Pressure without intimacy. Presence without access.
Instead, he's allowing proximity.
Worse—he's allowing warmth.
I excuse myself from my table without explanation and intercept him near the administration wing, where cameras don't reach cleanly and students don't linger.
"You brought her to your house," I say.
He doesn't deny it. "It was practical."
"Practical is the word you use when you don't want to admit motive."
He turns toward me fully now, expression cool. "What exactly are you implying?"
"That she crossed a threshold," I reply. "And you let her."
"That's your assumption."
"No," I say softly. "That's your behavior."
He studies me for a moment. Not defensive. Assessing. Like he's deciding whether I'm still useful or becoming intrusive.
"I had it handled," he says.
"You had it contained," I correct. "Those are not the same."
"She's not in danger," he says flatly.
I smile.
"That's the problem."
He stiffens. "Explain yourself."
I step closer, lowering my voice. "Danger keeps people alert. It keeps them armored. You don't want her armored anymore."
"That's not true."
"Xavier," I say, patient now, "you don't soften unless you're extracting something."
He doesn't answer.
Which tells me everything.
I circle him slowly, heels clicking softly against the tile. "She trusts you more than she did last week."
"That's irrelevant."
"No," I say. "That's catastrophic."
He turns sharply. "You're exaggerating."
"You let her sit in your room," I continue. "You let my father speak to her like she belonged there. You let her talk about work. About family."
His voice drops. "You've been watching."
"I always watch."
Silence stretches.
"This wasn't the agreement," I say.
"There is no agreement," he snaps. "This isn't a game."
I laugh quietly. "That's adorable."
His eyes harden. "Careful."
I stop in front of him. "You don't get to erase reality just because it makes you uncomfortable. You started something the moment you didn't shut this down."
"I didn't start anything."
"You escalated proximity. You altered tone. You offered safety." My smile sharpens. "That's how people mistake control for care."
He exhales slowly through his nose. "What do you want?"
Finally.
"I want structure," I say. "I want terms. I want boundaries you won't cross accidentally."
"Why?" he asks. "So you can feel involved?"
"So you don't lose," I reply coolly.
That lands.
He looks away, jaw flexing.
"She almost told you something," I add.
He stills.
Not denial.
Recognition.
"That's speculation."
"No," I say. "That's observation. She paused. She tested the silence. That's a pre-confession pattern."
He turns back to me. "You don't know her."
"I don't need to," I say. "I know people when they're on the edge of believing something dangerous."
"Which is?"
"That someone like you could be safe."
The air shifts.
That's the moment I know I need to lock this in.
Not tomorrow. Not eventually. Now.
"If you don't formalize this," I continue, "you'll hesitate. And hesitation is the only thing she needs."
His voice is low. "Formalize what?"
I meet his gaze fully.
"The outcome."
He scoffs. "You're talking like this was ever mutual."
"It doesn't need to be," I say. "It just needs rules."
"I'm not betting on her," he snaps.
"No," I agree smoothly. "You're betting against yourself."
That gives him pause.
I step closer, lowering my voice to something almost intimate. "You're afraid that if she chooses you willingly, it won't be because you engineered it."
Silence.
That's confirmation enough.
"So here's what we do," I say. "We define success before emotion muddies it."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I stop protecting the narrative," I reply. "I stop smoothing over faculty concerns. I stop redirecting attention. And when people notice how close you are to a girl with no social shield, they'll decide what that means for you."
He looks at me sharply. "You wouldn't."
"I already have," I say calmly.
Another beat.
"What are the terms?" he asks.
I smile.
"Simple," I say. "You pursue her. Gently. Consistently. You let her trust you."
His jaw tightens.
"When she does," I continue, "you withdraw."
"Withdraw how?"
"Cleanly," I reply. "Decisively. No explanation she can cling to."
"And if she doesn't?"
"Then nothing changes," I say. "And you prove this was never real."
"That's not a bet," he says. "That's cruelty."
"No," I correct. "Cruelty would be leaving her confused forever. This gives closure."
He laughs once, humorless. "You're lying."
"Of course I am," I say pleasantly. "But the structure remains."
He doesn't answer right away.
I can see the war behind his eyes. Control versus exposure. Power versus vulnerability.
He hates that this matters.
He hates that I see it.
Finally, he says, "You don't interfere again."
"I won't need to," I reply. "You'll do the rest yourself."
"And when does this end?" he asks.
"When she breaks," I say. "Or when you do."
His gaze sharpens. "You're enjoying this."
"I'm preventing chaos," I reply. "There's a difference."
I step back, smoothing my jacket.
"You wanted certainty," I add. "Now you have it."
He doesn't respond as I walk away.
He doesn't need to.
The bet isn't announced. It never will be.
It exists now in expectation. In behavior. In the way pressure will be applied gently enough to feel like choice.
That's the most effective kind.
Across the courtyard, Aylia looks up briefly, scanning for something she doesn't understand yet.
I watch her.
She's closer to the edge than she realizes.
And this time—
There will be no hesitation.