CHASE
Morning sun slices through my apartment window, cutting across the ring box on my desk. I've been staring at it for twenty minutes. The damn thing cost me three months of tips from the restaurant, another two months of tutoring prep school kids who think daddy's money makes them exempt from calculus.
Small. Simple. Nothing like what a Sterling should give.
But Vivian doesn't know I'm a Sterling. Nobody does. That's the rule. That's always been the rule.
I rehearse the words again. "Vivian, I know this isn't much, but—" No. Sounds pathetic. "I love you, and I want—" Christ, worse. I sound like a Hallmark card written by someone who failed English.
The truth is, I've never been good at this. Feelings. Vulnerability. All that messy human shit Grandfather Dominic warned me about. "Love makes you weak, boy. It clouds judgment. Look at your mother."
I don't look at my mother. I haven't seen Helena Sterling in six years.
My phone buzzes. Vivian: Running late. Meet you at the fountain in 10?
Ten minutes.
I pocket the ring, check my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Same guy I've always been. Lean, unremarkable, wearing a thrift store button-down because that's what broke college students wear. Storm gray eyes that apparently "see too much," according to Vivian. She said that once, drunk on cheap wine, tracing my jawline with her finger. "You look at people like you're solving them."
Maybe I am. You learn to solve people when you're hiding who you really are.
The walk to campus feels longer than usual. Every step pounds the same question into my skull: what if she says no?
She won't. She can't.
We've spent four years building toward this. Late nights in the library, arguing about Nietzsche and whether ambition corrupts or clarifies. Coffee at 3 AM when neither of us could sleep. That weekend in her dorm room when the power went out and we talked until sunrise, wrapped in blankets, her head on my shoulder.
She loves me. I know she does.
The fountain sits in the center of the quad, water trickling over bronze lions that have watched a thousand graduations. Students stream past in caps and gowns, parents trailing behind with cameras. Everyone's bright, shining, ready for the rest of their lives to start.
Mine starts when she says yes.
Vivian appears through the crowd, and my chest tightens the way it always does. She moves like she owns the world, even in that cheap graduation gown. Her hair catches the light, and she's smiling, that brilliant, unguarded smile she only gives me.
"Hey, you." She reaches for my hand, laces our fingers together. "You okay? You look intense."
"Fine." The ring burns in my pocket. "Just thinking."
"Don't think too hard. You'll give yourself a stroke." She laughs, rising on her toes to kiss my cheek. "We're graduating, Chase. We made it."
"Yeah." My voice comes out rough. "We did."
She tilts her head, studying me. "What's wrong?"
This is it.
I pull the ring box out, and her smile freezes. Just... stops. Like someone hit pause on her entire face.
"Vivian." My hands are steady. I've trained myself for control. "I know this isn't much. I know I don't have a lot to offer right now. But I love you. I've loved you since that stupid philosophy seminar when you told Professor Morrison he was full of shit and actually backed it up. I want—"
"Stop."
The word cuts clean through me.
"Chase." Her eyes are wide, and there's something in them I've never seen before. Panic. "What are you doing?"
"Proposing." It sounds obvious. Stupid. "I'm asking you to—"
"No." She steps back, pulling her hand from mine. "No, I can't."
The world tilts.
"What?"
"I can't marry you." Her voice climbs higher, louder. "Chase, you're sweet, you're brilliant, but you're— you work at a restaurant. You tutor kids for rent money. I can't tie my entire future to someone who—"
"To someone who what?" I hear my voice turn cold, sharp. Grandfather's voice. "To a nobody?"
"That's not what I—" She's fumbling now, words tripping over each other. "I have plans. Real plans. I'm going to LA. I'm going to make something of myself. I can't be dragged down by—"
She stops. Realizes what she's said.
I pocket the ring slowly, carefully. My hands don't shake. That's training too. Never let them see you bleed.
"Right." The word tastes like metal. "Wouldn't want to drag you down."
"Chase, I didn't mean—"
"You meant exactly that." I turn to walk away, and that's when I see her. Vivian's roommate, Madison, standing ten feet behind us. Phone in hand. Eyes wide.
She heard everything.
Vivian sees her too. "Maddie, don't—"
But Madison's already moving, phone pressed to her ear, mouth forming words I can't hear. Within thirty seconds, three more phones emerge from nearby clusters of students. They're not even pretending not to stare.
"Chase." Vivian reaches for me. "Please, let's just talk about this—"
"There's nothing to talk about." I meet her eyes, and something shifts in my chest. Something cold and dark and hungry. "You made yourself very clear."
I walk away.
Behind me, I hear whispers starting to spread like fire through dry grass.
"Did he just propose?"
"She said no."
"Oh my God, that's brutal."
"Isn't that Chase? The guy from Philosophy?"
"Poor bastard."
My jaw aches. I'm clenching it too hard, teeth grinding together. The ring box digs into my thigh through my pocket.
Wouldn't want to drag you down.
I reach my apartment in a blur. Inside, I pull out the ring, hold it up to the light. Tiny diamond. Pathetic, really. What was I thinking? That love would be enough? That she'd choose me over her ambitions, her plans, her perfect glittering future?
My phone starts buzzing. Text after text.
Dude, is it true?
Sorry man, that sucks.
Vivian's kind of a bitch, you're better off.
I throw the phone across the room. It hits the wall, screen shattering with a satisfying crack.
The ring sits in my palm, catching the light.
Small. Simple. Meaningless.
I close my fist around it until the metal bites into my skin. The pain feels good. Clean. Real.
Somewhere in my chest, something shifts. Darkens. A door I didn't know existed creaks open, and through it seeps something ancient and cold and very, very patient.
The curse doesn't announce itself. It never does.
It just waits for the wound to open wide enough, and then it slides inside.
My eyes find the mirror across the room. Storm gray stares back, but there's something different now. Something harder.
"Drag you down," I repeat to my reflection.
The person looking back doesn't flinch.
He smiles.