The Art of Forgetting You

Chapter Three : The Art of War

I’d faced worse.

I’d stared down condescending university interviewers. I’d torn through international competitions. I’d even debated a senator once at a youth conference. I could still vividly remember how he had to take a break because he’s so pissed of with me. Not my problem that his point is way to far from the topic.

But nothing compared to sitting two seats away from Killian Reyes in the Saint Elysian Debate Hall.

“You seem tense,” Tala whispered, scribbling notes beside me.

I forced a smile, pencil tapping a staccato rhythm against my clipboard. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“You’re writing your argument sideways.”

I glanced down. Crap.

“Fixing it,” I muttered, flipping to a clean sheet.

Across the room, Killian was lounging like this was a joke. One long leg stretched out, hands loose at his sides, but his dark eyes sharp and unrelenting.

And of course, he was on the opposing team.

Because the universe had a sick sense of humor.

⸻

“Opening statement: Cassian Vale,” the moderator announced.

I stood, smoothing my blazer, and made my way to the podium.

This was familiar ground. Control. Logic. Power.

But even as I spoke, carefully dismantling the opposing argument with surgical precision, I felt his gaze on me.

When I stepped down, Killian stood.

His voice was smooth as silk, calm as a Sunday morning, and twice as dangerous.

“I commend my opponent for her points,” he began.

Tala leaned in and whispered, “He’s baiting you.”

“I know,” I hissed.

And yet, there was something about the way he said opponent that made my pulse quicken.

“I would argue,” Killian continued, “that Miss Vale’s perspective, while thorough, lacks the understanding of nuance. Sometimes logic fails where empathy is required.”

Empathy. Right.

I shot to my feet during crossfire.

“Empathy is useful when dealing with human emotion,” I said crisply. “But in policy, facts don’t bend to feelings.”

“Maybe not,” Killian replied, taking a step toward me, “but the people those policies affect do.”

The room stilled.

And for one suspended moment, we weren’t debating.

We were just staring at each other.

Heat flushed through me. Anger. Or something worse.

“Do you ever stop performing?” I snapped.

He smiled, slow and dangerous.

“Do you ever stop competing?”

⸻

The judges announced the debate ended in a tie.

Tala practically dragged me from the hall.

“You need to breathe,” she said.

“I’m breathing,” I said tightly.

“Barely.”

I didn’t tell her the truth.

That I couldn’t breathe because Killian Reyes had gotten under my skin, and I had no idea how to scrape him out.

⸻

Later that night, in my study room at home, I found an envelope slipped between my books.

No name.

Just a black wax seal with the Reyes family crest.

Inside was a single note, written in elegant, looping handwriting.

We’re not done.

My chest tightened.

Of course we weren’t.

And for reasons I couldn’t explain, I didn’t want us to be.