Chapter 3 — Things She Couldn't Afford

LYRA POV

By the end of the week, I understood something important about Blackthorne Academy: people here smelled weakness the way sharks smelled blood in open water, instantly and without mercy.

It didn't need to be dramatic. One embarrassing moment turned into a rumor. One rumor turned into isolation. And isolation, in a school like this, was its own kind of quiet violence, the kind that didn't leave marks but left you invisible in exactly the way that made you an easy target for whoever wanted the amusement.

Kaiden Draven barely had to try. A glance from him in a hallway was enough to make an entire conversation stop. One cold remark during class had somehow convinced the entire school that I was untouchable in the worst possible sense... nobody wanted to be associated with the girl the future Alpha heir had decided to despise.

So I kept to myself. It was easier that way. It was always easier that way.

The final bell rang late that Friday afternoon, and relief settled into my chest the second I stepped past the academy gates. School exhausted something in me that I didn't have extra reserves of, but at least once I left, I could breathe. I adjusted my bag and checked the time on my phone, already calculating whether I'd make it to my shift on time if I hurried.

My phone buzzed before I'd taken ten steps.

*Mom.*

I answered immediately. "Hey."

Her voice sounded tired in the particular way that worried me more than complaints ever could. "Did you eat today?"

"That's your concern right now?" I asked, smiling despite myself.

"It should always be my concern."

My chest tightened at that familiar response. Even sick, even exhausted, she still worried more about me than about herself.

"I'm fine," I lied gently. "How are you feeling?"

A pause, longer than usual. "The hospital called again."

Of course they had.

I slowed my pace, anxiety already crawling back into my chest. "What did they say?"

"They want another payment by next week."

Silence stretched between us. I stared at the busy street ahead, mentally running numbers that never balanced no matter how many times I recalculated them. Tuition. Medication. Transportation. Rent. Hospital bills. Every category competed for the same shrinking pool of money, and something always lost.

"I'll figure something out," I said quietly.

"You're already doing too much."

"I'm handling it."

"Lyra—"

"I have work soon," I interrupted, gentler than I meant it to sound, because if she kept talking like that I might actually break down in the middle of the street. "I'll come by after my shift, okay?"

Another pause. Then, softly, "Okay."

We talked for a few more minutes about nothing important...her dinner, the nurse she liked on the evening shift, whether I'd remembered to eat lunch. By the time we hung up, something in my chest had loosened, just slightly.

****************

The café where I worked sat three streets from campus, small and perpetually crowded, the kind of place that survived on tips rather than margins. I arrived a few minutes late, tying my apron on as I ducked behind the counter.

"You're late again," my manager said without looking up.

"Sorry. The buses—"

"I don't care about excuses."

I swallowed the irritation and nodded instead, because losing this job wasn't an option I could afford to entertain, not with the numbers I'd just spent the entire bus ride running through my head.

The evening rush kept me too busy to think about anything except memorizing orders and moving fast enough to avoid complaints, which helped, at least temporarily.

Then the door opened, and laughter walked in first.

I froze slightly before looking up. A group of Blackthorne students filed inside, still in their academy uniforms, expensive fabric catching the café's warm lighting in a way that made my own apron feel like a costume from a different, poorer play. My stomach sank when I recognized two girls from my literature class.

One of them spotted me instantly. "Oh my God," she laughed, loud enough for the whole café to hear. "She works here?"

The group's attention swung toward me like a searchlight.

"Table for six," another one said, grinning. "Unless that's too difficult."

I kept my expression carefully blank. "Right this way."

The whispers started before I'd even finished seating them.

*I told you she was poor. That explains everything. Do you think Kaiden knows?*

My grip tightened around my notepad. I should have been used to it by now. Somehow it always found a new way to hurt anyway.

Twenty minutes later, the door opened again, and my breath caught before I'd even fully registered why.

Kaiden walked in, two guys trailing behind him, still mid-conversation until one of them noticed the sudden tension threading through the café. Kaiden looked up. Saw me. For one unguarded second, genuine surprise crossed his face before his expression darkened into something colder.

The entire café seemed to hold its breath.

"Looks like he knows now," one of the girls at the table said, smirking openly.

I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. Kaiden's eyes moved slowly over my uniform, the apron tied at my waist, the tray balanced in my hands, and something unreadable tightened across his face.

That was when the man at the counter grabbed my wrist.

"Hey, sweetheart," he slurred, grinning with the loose confidence of someone three drinks past sober. "Why don't you smile a little?"

I stiffened. "Let go."

He only tightened his grip.

Everything after that happened fast. A chair scraped violently against the floor. The café went completely silent. Kaiden crossed the room in seconds, close enough that I felt the temperature around us drop, and slammed his hand down against the counter beside the man with enough force to crack the wood.

"Take your hand off her."

The man paled instantly. "I-I was just joking—"

"I wasn't."

Kaiden's voice was terrifyingly calm, and the man released my wrist like it had burned him. Kaiden stepped closer, and the difference between them became obvious in a way that had nothing to do with height — power radiated off him so naturally it felt dangerous just to stand near.

"Leave," Kaiden said quietly.

The man didn't argue. He stumbled out without looking back.

Silence lingered after the door swung shut. I stared at Kaiden, my wrist still tingling faintly from where the man had grabbed it, utterly confused by what had just happened. Kaiden looked down at me, and the anger in his expression shifted into something stranger, something tense and unreadable.

His gaze dropped briefly to my wrist. Then lifted slowly back to my face.

"You work here?" he asked.

I frowned. "Obviously."

His jaw tightened, and for a second he almost looked angry about the fact itself, before his expression closed off completely again.

"This place doesn't suit you," he said.

I let out a sharp laugh. "You don't get to decide what suits me."

He stared at me for a long moment, something flickering behind his eyes that seemed to annoy him more than my actual response did.

"You really don't know when to stay quiet," he said.

"And you really don't know how to mind your business."

The tension between us pulled tight enough to feel physical. People were still watching, still listening, but somehow standing this close to him made the rest of the café feel distant, unimportant, background noise to whatever was happening in the three feet of space between us.

Kaiden took one slow step closer. "Careful, Voss."

My heart stuttered traitorously against my ribs despite the anger still burning through my chest. I hated the way his voice affected the air around me. Hated the way he looked at me like he couldn't decide whether to destroy me or pull me closer.

Most of all, I hated that I still couldn't look away.