Page 117 of Bad Prince
And something hard settles behind them.
“I didn’t come to Stanford for romance,” she says evenly. “Or to bag a trophy husband.”
That lands.
Harder than expected.
“I came here for me.”
There’s a tremor under her voice now.
“Are you going to ruin this for me the same way you did Royal Oaks?”
It hits like a slap.
My body actually recoils.
I don’t mean to.
But it feels like she shoved a blade between ribs and twisted.
“That’s not fair,” I say quietly.
“Isn’t it?”
Her eyes are glassy now.
Angry. Hurt. Humiliated.
Phones start lifting around us.
Not subtle anymore.
Click.
Whisper.
Record.
The hallway is hungry.
I lower my voice.
“Is that what you really want?” I ask. “You want me to leave you alone?”
This is the moment.
The one that decides everything.
Her jaw tightens.
Her throat works.
She swallows whatever she’s feeling.
“Yes.”
It’s barely above a whisper.
