Chapter Eleven: The Firestarter
556 Words
By the time Emery reached her dorm, police tape was already up.
Students were gathered in small clusters outside, whispering, snapping photos. She pushed through them, her heart pounding in her chest like it wanted out.
Natalie met her at the steps, eyes wide. “They trashed your room.”
“What?” Emery blinked.
“I mean destroyed. Everything. Clothes shredded. Laptop’s gone. And there’s something else.”
Natalie handed her a plastic evidence bag an officer had already sealed.
Inside was a half-burned photo.
It was of Emery and Luca, taken during a team charity event last month. She hadn’t even known the photo existed.
Across it, written in red lipstick —
“He won’t save you next time.”
⸻
Campus security pulled Emery aside for questioning. She answered what she could — had anyone threatened her? (Yes.) Did she suspect who did this? (Of course she did.) But when they asked if she believed Brielle was behind it…
She hesitated.
Because Brielle had already been expelled. And her style? Public humiliation. Power plays.
This? This was personal. Vicious. Unhinged.
And then it clicked.
The envelope.
The photo.
The deepfake.
The break-in.
Brielle may have been part of the fire…
But someone else had started it.
⸻
That night, Emery sat in Luca’s apartment again — only this time, she wasn’t curled up in his hoodie with stars in her eyes.
She was sitting at his kitchen island, cold coffee in hand, staring at the shattered version of her life.
“I’m scared,” she admitted.
Luca stood behind her, hands gripping the counter, barely breathing. “You have every right to be.”
“Whoever did this… it wasn’t just about breaking things. It was about breaking me.”
Luca came around the counter, dropping to his knees in front of her.
“Emery.” His voice cracked. “Look at me.”
She did.
“I won’t let that happen. I don’t care who it is — I will burn this place down before I let someone hurt you again.”
She blinked back tears. “Even if it costs everything?”
“You are everything.”
She grabbed his face, pulled him in. The kiss wasn’t soft this time. It was desperate. Wild. Protective. Her fingers tangled in his hair, his hands gripping her thighs like he couldn’t get close enough.
He lifted her onto the counter, the cold marble clashing with the heat between them.
They didn’t speak.
Because this wasn’t about seduction.
This was about belonging — to each other, to something real, in a world trying to rip them apart.
And when they finally pulled back, breathless, Emery whispered, “Then let’s find out who started this. Together.”
⸻
But while they planned…
Someone else was already one step ahead.
Back at Halston, deep in the archives of an old student forum no one had used in years, a new anonymous post appeared:
“Want to know the truth about Emery Blake?
She’s not just a poor girl with a scholarship.
She’s got secrets too.
And one of them lives in a trailer four hours away… and wants her silence.”
Attached:
A blurry photo of a man.
Early thirties.
Rough around the edges.
And wearing a jacket with her hometown logo stitched into the back.
- Writer
