It wasn't a question, and that sent alarm bells ringing. "How would you know that?"
"Because your hands were shaking when you came in here, and you keep checking your phone like you're expecting bad news."
He looked up, meeting my eyes. "And because you're looking at me the way everyone does once they learn my last name like I'm a threat you need to assess."
"Should I see you as a threat?"
"That depends." He set down his fork. "Are you planning to betray me, sell my secrets, or use me for my money?"
"I don't even know your secrets. And I don't want your money."
"Then we should get along fine." A hint of a smile played at his lips. "Emma, I know what people say about my family. Most of it is true.
My father is ruthless. My older brother, Marcus, is worse. Blake Enterprises has destroyed competitors, ruined lives, and operates in moral gray areas that would make most people uncomfortable."
His honesty was disarming. "Then why are you telling me this?"
"Because I'd rather you hear it from me than from rumors. And because I need you to understand something: I am not my family. I chose literature specifically because it's as far from their world as I could get. I came to Riverside instead of Harvard because I needed distance from their influence. And I'm telling you this now because…" He paused, seeming to struggle with his words.
"Because from the moment you stepped onto this campus, I knew you were going to matter. Call it instinct, call it fate, call it whatever you want. But I'd rather be honest with you from the start."
My heart was pounding. This was too much, too fast. "You don't even know me."
"Not yet. But I'd like to." He pulled out his phone, typed something, then showed me the screen. "This is what came up when I searched your name after reading your admissions essay."
It was a news article from two years ago: "Local Teen Dies in Single-Car Accident. Sister Survives Family Tragedy."
My throat closed up. There was a photo of Sarah, the one from her senior year. Beautiful, smiling, alive.
"I lost my older sister too," Adrian said softly. "Not to an accident. To my family. She tried to leave, to build a life away from them. They destroyed it piece by piece until she had nothing left. She lives in Europe now, won't speak to any of us. So when I saw that photo fall from your journal today, I recognized that look in your eyes. Grief and guilt mixed together so tightly you can't separate them."
Tears burned in my eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" He leaned forward. "Let me guess: you blame yourself. There was something you didn't do, something you should have seen, something you could have prevented. And now you're here trying to outrun that guilt by becoming someone new. Am I close?"
"Stop it." My voice cracked.
He reached across the table, not quite touching my hand but close enough that I could feel the warmth of his skin. "I'm sorry. I pushed too hard. It's a bad habit of mine I read people too well, and I don't always know when to shut up."
I wiped at my eyes quickly, hating that I was crying in front of him. "Why are you being so nice to me? You don't know me. I could be anyone."
"That's exactly why. Because you could be anyone, but you're not. You're Emma Chen brilliant enough to earn a full scholarship, brave enough to start over at a new school, and strong enough to still be standing after losing your sister. That's not just anyone.
That's someone extraordinary."
Before I could respond, a girl's voice cut through the moment.
"Adrian! There you are!" A stunning blonde in designer clothes approached our table, her smile bright but her eyes cold as they assessed me. "Your brother called.
Something about a family dinner tonight?"
Adrian's expression shifted, the warmth draining from his face, replaced by that cool mask of indifference I'd seen when he first got out of his car. "Tell Marcus I'm busy."
"He insisted." She finally looked directly at me. "You must be new. I'm Vanessa Montgomery. My family and the Blakes have been friends for generations."
"Emma Chen," I said, noting how she didn't offer to shake my hand.
"Oh, the scholarship student! How wonderful that Riverside is becoming more… diverse." The way she said it made clear she didn't think it was wonderful at all. She turned back to Adrian. "Anyway, the car will pick you up at seven. Don't be late you know how your father gets."
She walked away before Adrian could argue, her heels clicking on the marble floor.
"Friend of yours?" I asked.
"More like a family obligation." He sighed, running a hand through his hair, mussing the perfect style. Somehow, he looked even better disheveled. "Our families have been trying to push us together since we were children. She wants the Blake name and fortune. I want to be left alone."
"Must be hard," I said, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice. "Being rich and having beautiful women thrown at you."
He looked at me sharply, then laughed a real laugh that transformed his entire face. "You're right. Poor little rich boy. My problems are so insignificant compared to real struggles."
"I didn't mean"
"No, you're absolutely right to call me out." He checked his watch definitely a Rolex. "I have to go meet with the dean. But Emma? That dinner Kai asked you to? Be careful."
My stomach dropped. "How do you know about that?"
"Because I was standing close enough to hear when he asked you. And because I know Kai Sullivan or at least, I know of him. His father used to work for Blake Enterprises."
"Used to?"
Adrian stood, gathering his tray. "Ask Kai what happened to his father. Ask him why he's really at Riverside. And then decide if you still believe I'm the dangerous one."
He left me sitting there, my mind spinning.
Everyone had secrets. The message had said so. But which secrets would destroy me?
My first class was in twenty minutes, so I headed to the bathroom to splash water on my face and collect myself. The bathroom was empty thank God and I stared at my reflection in the ornate mirror.
I looked tired. Scared. Young.
"You can do this," I told my reflection. "It's just college. Just classes and books and normal things."
But nothing about this felt normal.
I pulled out my phone, staring at those two messages. Should I respond? Ask questions? Or would that put me in more danger?