“I’m glad you’ve found a way to spend your time without bad decisions involved.” 

Gabriel’s voice cuts through my petty victory like a scalpel through tissue paper. 

“Don’t stay out too late. We run at sunrise. Healthy breakfast after.” 

The line goes dead before I can unleash the arsenal of sarcasm I’ve been stockpiling. I stand there like an idiot, phone still pressed to my ear, seething at the empty hallway. 

My jaw clenches so hard I’m basically manufacturing diamonds. The frustration knots in my chest like a bad CrossFit workout. 

How did I forget? The thought tastes bitter as expired milk. 

He’s just doing his job. Just protocol. Thinking I could make Gabe jealous? Fucking idiotic. 

Of course Mr. Bodyguard doesn’t give a shit who I flirt with. I’m just a checkbox on his daily duties. Keep the prince alive. Report bad behavior. Remain emotionally unavailable. 

I trudge back to Jake’s friends, but the magic’s gone. Even Elijah’s dimples can’t resurrect my mood from whatever circle of hell it’s descended to. 

The next morning arrives with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer to the skull. 5:47 AM. 

Gabriel’s knocking pattern is distinctly professional-three short raps, pause, two more. Like he’s delivering a coded message instead of ruining my life. 

“Leo, time to go,” he calls through the door, voice pitched just loud enough to wake me but not Jake. “Weather’s perfect for that run we discussed.” 

I consider suffocating myself with my pillow. Seems easier than facing another day of his militant scheduling. But no-I made a deal, and despite popular opinion, I do have some honor left. 

The run unfolds in arctic silence. Every step lands with mechanical precision, every breath carefully controlled. We’re like two strangers who happen to be jogging in the same direction at the same speed. 

Coincidence, not companionship.. 

Gabriel tries exactly once to make conversation-something about proper hydration techniques 

-and I shut him down with a look that could freeze hellfire. 

He gets the message. The rest of the run passes in blessed, hostile silence. 

Breakfast: protein shake, whole grain toast, egg whites. Eaten in silence. 

Morning workout: legs and core. Completed in silence. 

Study session: Statistics and International Relations. Suffered through in silence. 

By lunch, the tension between us has reached critical mass. We’re sitting in the campus dining hall, me stabbing at my mandated salad like it personally offended my ancestors, when Gabriel finally cracks. 

“What’s wrong with you today?” His voice stays low, controlled, but there’s an edge underneath. “You’ve barely said two words since yesterday.” 

I level him with a glare that could strip paint off a battleship. My expression screams the 

obvious: 

Are you seriously asking me that? After tracking me like a tagged animal? After treating my attempt at normal human interaction like a scheduling conflict? 

Gabriel’s about to respond-probably with some bullshit about professional boundaries—when salvation arrives in the form of chaos. 

“Yo!” Jake’s voice cuts through the dining hall noise. 

He and Elijah materialize beside our table like they’ve been summoned by the gods of awkward timing. 

“Mind if we crash your lunch date?” 

They drop into the empty seats before anyone can protest. My mood shifts instantly—finally, a crack in the suffocating monotony of Gabriel’s stupid schedule. 

A smirk tugs at my mouth despite everything. 

“Oh right, introductions,” Jake says, grinning with the confidence of someone who has no idea what kind of minefield he’s tap-dancing through. “Elijah, this is Gabe. Gabe, this is Elijah—our new friend. The smart, charming one who actually knows how to smile.” 

I watch Gabriel’s face with the intensity of someone watching a bomb timer tick down. 

There-the faintest flicker of tension, a microscopic tightening around his eyes. Finally, something that isn’t professional fucking distance. 

“I’m not Gabe,” Gabriel says, voice steady as a flatline. He doesn’t even pause his methodical consumption of grilled chicken. “For you it’s Gabriel.” 

The temperature drops about ten degrees. 

Jake scratches the back of his neck, suddenly realizing he’s stepped in something. 

“Sorry, man. I thought… I could’ve sworn I heard Leo call you that before?” 

And fuck. There it is. 

The memory hits like a sucker punch—that day in the library, when I’d let the nickname slip and he’d said only I could use it. Back when I thought we were building something real instead of just padding his surveillance reports. 

My face heats up, and I shove a forkful of lettuce in my mouth to avoid saying something catastrophically stupid. 

Elijah, bless his socially aware soul, swoops in for the save. “So anyway, weird tension aside, I wanted to invite you all to something. My sister’s performing at the poetry club in two days. You should come if you’re free.” 

“Naomi, right?” Jake perks up like a golden retriever hearing the treat bag. “You’ve mentioned her before. The one who won that writing competition?” 

“That’s her,” Elijah’s whole face lights up with pride. “First-year like Leo, studying literature. She actually published her first poetry collection while she was still in high school. Kid’s going places.” 

The table erupts in impressed murmurs. Jake’s already pulling out his phone to add it to his calendar. I make appropriately interesting noises. 

Even the ambient awkwardness can’t diminish how genuinely cool that is. 

“Count me in,” I say, catching Elijah’s eye. “Always down to support fellow tortured artists.” 

“Same,” Jake adds. “Plus, poetry readings usually have those pretentious little sandwiches. I’m a sucker for free food.” 

Everyone’s agreeing, making plans, discussing logistics. 

Everyone except Gabriel, who hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken, hasn’t done anything except stare at me with that deep, unreadable expression that makes my skin prickle. 

He’s completely still, food forgotten, eyes locked on mine like he’s trying to decode through sheer force of will. 

The intensity of it makes everyone else at the table fade into background noise. 

my DNA 

Like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s calculating seventeen different scenarios in that tactical brain of his. And I can’t tell if that stare makes my skin crawl with irritation or burn with something infinitely more dangerous. 

The silence stretches between us, taut as a high wire, while Jake and Elijah’s chatter continues around us like we’re in a bubble of our own making. 

And I still can’t look away. 

End of 

The Chapter 

Chapter 11