Page 3 of Burn Bright
“Getthe fuckaway from her,” Ben warns with visceral heat.
I don’t wait around. I bolt on instinct and race back inside the frat house. My heartbeat pounds in my ears.
“Harriet!” Ben calls after me, and I feel him desert the party and his surplus of friends. He sprints after me. I’ve never had anyone come check on me for anything good.
I’m not thinking. I rush up the flight of wide stairs littered with beer bottles and ping-pong balls. I land on the second floor and quickly find a bathroom. Once I’m inside, I slam the door shut.
Breathing heavy, I keep my palms glued to the wood.
“Hey,” Ben says from right outside the door. It’s unlocked, but he doesn’t come in.I feel a weight against the door, and I imagine his palms are on the other side. That he’s pressing against it too.
I let out a slow breath, starting to ease. “Hey,” I say, trying to make sense of the weird flip of my stomach and the even stranger tug at my lips. Am I…am I smiling?
I shake my head to myself.What the hell, Harriet?
I blink back the jumbled emotion. I never thought my messed-up life would collide with a Cobalt.
Really,thisCobalt.
There are five brothers and two sisters and a mom and dad any kid would dream of having—a tight-knit family who go to battle for each other. And they’re rich.
Blue-blooded, high society Philadelphians who might as well be New Yorkers with how often they’re in this city. They have McMansions, private jets, yachts, and trust funds, all the things that come with owning the world’s most popular soda corporation.
But they are so much more than the typical billionaire.
They have bodyguards.
They have millions of followers on their socials.
There are Reddit forums and fandom pages on Fanaticon dedicated to them. Fans follow their every move and theorize what they’re doing at every minute of every day.
Their names are as commonplace as the most recognizable actors and pop stars of our generation. Yet, they’re not in movies and they’re not known for charting the Billboard Hot 100. Their fame has an origin so deep-seated in the fabric of American society that most have forgottenhowthey became noteworthy in the first place.
They should’ve just been like every other billionaire who owns Fortune 500 companies. Like the faces behind Pepsi andCoca-Cola. They should beirrelevant.But that’s about the last thing you can say about a Cobalt.
None are irrelevant.
All of them matter as pillars of elegance and intelligence and power. That is the mythos of the Cobalt Empire.
People talk about them like they’re spawns of Zeus—godly, some full of hubris, but so unbelievablymighty. Like if you run into one, your whole world will spin on its axis. You’ll bechanged.
No one talks about what happens when you try to enter their orbit (under good pretenses) and you’re rejected. That it feels like getting spit out of a whale’s mouth. The lions roared in your face and then turned their backs. The animal kingdom dubbed you less than.
But the Cobalt who tossed me aside—he’s not the one at this party. Of the few times we’ve crossed paths, Ben has never scorned me. We both went to Penn and transferred to MVU this semester—for different reasons, I’m sure—but if anyone can understand what this move feels like it’s him.
So it’s natural to grab the knob. And I let him in.
I’m eye-level with his sternum. He’s six-five.The top of my head barelyreaches his shoulders. Being this close to his chest quickens my heartbeat. I back up and sink against the wooden cupboards, sliding to the scuffed tile.
Ben shuts the door. I can feel him assessing my state, which is mostly pissed.
I pick at the gray fuzzy bath rug next to me. “Your friend is an asshole,” I say.
“Cameron Dunphy?” He joins me, sitting against the wooden cupboard that’s covered in Kappa Phi Delta decals and beer stickers like Budweiser, Koning Lite, Coors. “He’s not really my friend.”
“You know his last name,” I say like it’s proof enough.
Ben smiles first with his eyes. Even shadowed with the curved brim of his hat, those baby blue orbs carry his emotion so clearly before his lips tic upward. “I know a lot of people’s last names. Including yours, Fisher.”
