Page 21 of His To Unravel
“Oh, I know that,” he says quickly, his gazesteady. “But since when do project partners exchange forehead kisses?”
Heat rises to my cheeks, and I hate how the whole thing is suddenly under a microscope.
“It was just…a friendly gesture,” I say with a shrug, like that explains away a moment that left my stomach fluttering for hours.
Landon’s jaw tightens, a rare display of frustration. “Liv, guys like Caldwell don’t do ‘friendly.’ Especially not with girls like you.”
I stiffen. “Girls like me?”
“You know what I mean,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Olivia, I’m just trying to look out for you. People like him… They live in their own worlds. And I don’t think you’d fit in that easily.”
His words sting, though I tell myself they shouldn’t.
“I’m not trying to ‘fit in’ anywhere, Landon. Besides, he’s not some mythical creature. He’s just…Nathaniel.”
“JustNathaniel,” he says, shaking his head, disbelief flashing across his face. “His family, his background—like Tyler and Sophie said—they’re…Caldwell-rich. That comes with expectations, lifestyles. People like him don’t end up with people like us. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
I set my sandwich down and cross my arms.
“People like us?” I repeat, anger sparking beneath the hurt. “So because I’m not born into wealth, I’m not good enough? Is that it?”
He exhales, shifting uncomfortably.
“That’s not what I’m saying… He’s just not going to want the same things you do, Olivia.”
“And what exactly are those things?” I challenge, my voice sharper now. “Look, Landon, I appreciate you caring, but this is my life. My choices. And I don’t have to explain them to you or anyone else.”
A tense silence settles between us, thick and unresolved.I watch as he searches for something to say, frustration flickering across his face.
“Fine,” he says quietly, sounding more defeated than angry. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
I gather my things, the weight of the conversation pressing down on me.
“Idon’tknow what I’m doing, Landon. But that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to figure it out myself.”
Without another word, I turn and walk away, a strange mix of anger and doubt churning within me as his words echo in my mind.
The library has becomemy refuge again. The hushed quiet, the endless rows of books, and the soft hum of lights overhead are soothing in their familiarity, as if I can somehow vanish into the solitude here.
I’ve convinced myself that retreating is the logical thing to do—a way to refocus on the path I’ve set for myself long before Nathaniel Caldwell walked into my life. After all, academics has always been my priority. A way out and a way up. I can’t afford distractions—not now, not with so much at stake.
But he’s not making it easy.
At first, Nathaniel’s texts appeared sporadically—quick questions or notes about our project that were easy to answer directly. “I’ll send you the latest draft tonight”or “We can discuss revisions online,”I’d reply, keeping each response brisk and professional, with no openings for anything more.
I tell myself he probably doesn’t mind; after all, he must be just as busy and focused on his own plans.
But as the days slip by, his messages have shifted in frequencyand tone, breaking through the cold professionalism I’ve been trying to maintain.
NATHANIEL
Just checking in on the project timeline. Everything going okay on your end?
Still, a simple question, I can answer with a one-word response.“Yes.”
But he wouldn’t leave it there. Instead, his messages have started veering beyond the strict confines of our project, small comments that feel more intimate, like fragments of a conversation I’m not ready to engage in.
NATHANIEL
