CHAPTER 7

Cassandra sat on the campus lawn under a giant oak tree, her notebook open on her lap. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the bustling college grounds. Students were scattered across the grass, some laughing, some studying, others lost in their own worlds. But Cassandra was too consumed by her thoughts to notice the life around her.

Her pen hovered over the page, but the words wouldn't come. Not for the essay she was supposed to be writing, and not for the questions spinning endlessly in her mind.

How had things gotten so complicated?

When she came to the university, she'd had one goal: to infiltrate the Walters' world, figure out their secrets, and take them down. She had planned every step, every conversation, every move she would make. But Jackson wasn't part of the plan.

He was supposed to be the spoiled, arrogant son of a cruel family. Someone she could manipulate and discard. Instead, he was kind, vulnerable, and had suffered in ways she hadn't expected. And worse—she was starting to care about him.

The thought made her stomach twist. She closed her notebook with a snap and leaned back against the tree, letting out a long breath.

She thought about the night she had walked away from Jackson at the fountain. His voice, his words, still haunted her. He didn't understand what she was hiding, and she couldn't let him find out. But every time she tried to pull away, something kept pulling her back.

"Cassandra?"

Her heart jumped at the sound of her name. She looked up to see Jackson standing a few feet away, holding two cups of coffee. He was wearing a simple gray hoodie and jeans, his hair slightly messy like he had been running his hands through it all day.

"Hey," she said, her voice softer than she intended.

"I thought I'd find you here," he said, smiling as he sat down beside her. He handed her one of the cups. "You looked like you could use a break."

She hesitated for a moment before taking it. "Thanks."

They sat in silence for a while, the sounds of the campus fading into the background. Cassandra sipped her coffee, stealing glances at Jackson. There was something calming about his presence, something that made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to carry everything alone.

"I've been thinking," Jackson said suddenly, breaking the silence.

"About what?"

"About you," he said, turning to look at her. His eyes were steady, searching. "I feel like there's so much you're not telling me."

Her stomach dropped. She tried to keep her face neutral, but she knew she wasn't good at hiding her emotions around him. "What do you mean?"

"You act like everything's fine, like you're in control," he said. "But I see the way you look sometimes. Like you're carrying the weight of the world."

Cassandra's throat tightened. She didn't know how to respond.

"I just… I want to help," Jackson said, his voice softer now. "But I can't if you keep shutting me out."

Her chest ached at the sincerity in his voice. She wanted to tell him the truth, to let him in, but how could she? If he knew what she was planning—if he knew the real reason she was here—he would hate her.

"I don't need help," she said finally, her voice firmer than she felt.

Jackson frowned, but he didn't push her. Instead, he looked out at the campus, his expression unreadable.

"I used to think the same thing," he said quietly. "After my dad died, I told myself I didn't need anyone. I shut everyone out. But it didn't make the pain go away. It just made it worse."

Cassandra looked at him, her heart twisting. She could see the pain in his eyes, the memories he was trying to hide. And for a moment, she hated herself for what she was doing.

But then she thought about her parents, about the fire, about the life she had lost because of the Walters. She couldn't afford to let her emotions get in the way. She had come too far to turn back now.

"I'm fine," she said, forcing a smile. "Really."

Jackson didn't look convinced, but he didn't press her. Instead, he nodded and stood up, holding out his hand.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go for a walk."

The two of them wandered through the campus, the soft glow of the streetlights casting long shadows on the path. Cassandra kept her hands in her pockets, her shoulders tense.

Jackson walked beside her, his hands swinging loosely at his sides. He talked about his classes, about the new book he was reading, about a stray cat he had seen outside the library. He talked about everything and nothing, filling the silence with his easy, familiar voice.

But Cassandra wasn't really listening. Her mind was racing, trying to make sense of the feelings she couldn't ignore.

She thought about her plan, about the files she had stolen from Mrs. Walters' office, about the secrets she had uncovered. She was so close to exposing the Walters for what they really were. So close to getting the justice her parents deserved.

But every time she thought about Jackson, her resolve wavered. She hated the way he made her question everything, the way he made her feel things she hadn't felt in years.

"Hey," Jackson said, pulling her out of her thoughts. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said quickly. "I'm just tired."

He nodded, but she could see the concern in his eyes.

They walked in silence for a while, the sound of their footsteps echoing on the pavement. Cassandra glanced at Jackson, wondering how someone like him could have come from a family like the Walters.

"You're different," she said suddenly, surprising herself.

Jackson looked at her, his eyebrows raised. "Different how?"

"From your parents," she said. "You're… not like them."

Jackson laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah, well, I guess I didn't really have much of a choice."

Cassandra frowned. "What do you mean?"

Jackson hesitated, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Let's just say I didn't exactly have the best relationship with my dad. And my mom… she tries, but she's always been more focused on the business than on me."

He paused, his jaw tightening. "Sometimes I wonder if they even wanted me, or if I was just another thing they could check off their list."

Cassandra's chest ached at the bitterness in his voice. She thought about the way her own parents had loved her, how they had made her feel like she was the center of their world. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to grow up feeling unwanted.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

Jackson shrugged, but his eyes were distant. "It is what it is."

They stopped by a small pond near the edge of the campus, the water reflecting the pale light of the moon. Jackson sat down on a bench, and Cassandra hesitated before sitting beside him.

The air was cool and quiet, the only sound the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. Cassandra stared at the water, her thoughts a whirlwind of emotions she couldn't untangle.

"You don't have to tell me," Jackson said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. "But whatever it is you're dealing with… I just want you to know I'm here."

Cassandra's heart clenched. She wanted to believe him, to let herself trust him, but she was too afraid.

"Why?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jackson looked at her, his eyes steady. "Because I care about you, Cassandra. More than I've cared about anyone in a long time."

Her breath caught in her throat. She wasn't expecting him to say it so plainly, so honestly. It felt like the ground had shifted beneath her feet, like everything she thought she knew was suddenly uncertain.

"I…" she started, but the words caught in her throat. She looked away, her hands gripping the edge of the bench.

Jackson didn't press her. He just sat there, his presence steady and grounding.

For the first time in years, Cassandra felt like she wasn't alone. But the thought terrified her more than anything.

She stood up abruptly, her heart racing. "I should go."

Jackson looked up at her, his expression unreadable. "Cassandra—"

"I can't do this," she said, her voice shaking. "I'm sorry."

Before he could say anything else, she turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the still night.

Cassandra didn't stop until she reached her dorm room, her chest heaving with every breath. She slammed the door shut and leaned against it, her hands trembling.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't let herself get close to Jackson. Not when she was so close to achieving her goal.

She went to her desk and opened the hidden compartment where she kept her files. The documents, the photos, the evidence she had gathered against the Walters—all of it was laid out in front of her.

This was her mission. This was her purpose.

But as she looked at the papers, all she could see was Jackson's face.

His smile. His laughter. The way he had looked at her by the pond.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she slammed the drawer shut, her heart pounding. She had to make a choice.

And no matter what she chose, someone was going to get hurt.