The new, fragile normalcy Amelia and Adrian had built felt like a secret garden, a world contained within sterile apartments and late-night study sessions. They were careful, in public, to maintain the facade of mere classmates. But the energy between them in Literature 202 had shifted into something charged and private, a current of shared glances and subtle smiles that only they understood.
It couldn't last.
The intrusion came on a Tuesday, just as class was letting out. Amelia was laughing at something Adrian had whispered about Professor Evans's particularly dramatic reading of a Wordsworth poem when a voice, sweet as poisoned honey, cut through their bubble.
"Adrian, darling. There you are."
Amelia looked up. Lillian Cross was gliding down the aisle towards them, a vision in a cream-colored cashmere sweater and perfectly tailored jeans. Her platinum hair was sleek, her smile flawless. She looked like she'd just stepped out of a magazine shoot titled "Effortless Elegance."
Adrian's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Lillian. What are you doing here?"
"I was in the neighborhood, meeting with the Dean's wife for the charity auction committee," she said, as if this were a perfectly normal reason to be lurking outside a 200-level literature class. Her eyes, the color of chilled champagne, slid over to Amelia, dismissing her with a single, sweeping glance before returning to Adrian. "I've been calling you. Your father says you've been… preoccupied."
The subtext was as clear as glass: He's noticed your absence. And he's noticed her.
"I've been busy," Adrian said, his voice carefully neutral. He began packing his bag, a clear signal he was ready to leave.
"Clearly." Lillian's smile didn't waver. She placed a perfectly manicured hand on his arm, a gesture of casual ownership that made Amelia's stomach clench. "Don't forget, we have the planning dinner for the Vale Foundation Winter Gala tonight. Daddy is expecting us. Seven o'clock sharp."
Amelia felt a hot flush of humiliation. The Winter Gala. Of course. There was always another event, another performance. And Lillian was his designated co-star.
Adrian's jaw tightened. "I haven't forgotten."
"Good." Lillian's gaze flickered back to Amelia, this time with a glint of cold, calculated amusement. "It was nice to see you again… sorry, I've forgotten your name."
"Amelia," she said, her voice thankfully steady.
"Right. Amelia." Lillian made it sound like a minor, forgettable detail. "Well, we must be going. So much to discuss. You know how it is with these family obligations, Adrian. They're so… all-consuming."
With a final, victorious smile, she linked her arm through Adrian's and began to lead him away, pulling him back into the world where he belonged, with the people he belonged with.
Adrian shot a single, helpless look back at Amelia over his shoulder. It was filled with apology and frustration, but it changed nothing. He was being summoned, and he had to go.
Amelia stood alone as the classroom emptied around her, the ghost of Lillian's perfume lingering in the air. The encounter had been a masterclass in social assassination. No overt insults, just a graceful, ruthless reassertion of territory. Lillian hadn't just reminded Adrian of his duties; she had reminded Amelia of her place on the outside.
The text came hours later, as Amelia was trying and failing to focus on her economics reading.
Adrian: I'm sorry about that. Lillian can be… a lot.
Amelia stared at the message. She believed he was sorry. But sorry didn't change the reality. Sorry didn't unlink his arm from Lillian's. The rival had emerged, and she wasn't just a person; she was a symbol of the entire system Amelia was fighting against. A system that had claims on Adrian that she never could.