Chapter 7 He Saw Me, And She Saw Him See Me

Tessa woke up with Evelyn's voice still in her mouth like poison, each word sour and clinging-Do you know what kind of man you're playing with, dear?-looping in her head like a chant meant to curse her. Even now, brushing her teeth, staring at her reflection, she didn't recognize the girl in the mirror. She looked like someone who'd already fallen and was just pretending her feet were still on solid ground.

She didn't even know when it had started-when Dorian Cross stopped being Nathan's father and started becoming a shadow in her bloodstream. But she knew Evelyn had seen it, and worse, recognized it. Like she'd watched the storm build before, like she'd been the one holding the umbrella last time it struck.

"Tess?" Zara's voice floated from the kitchen, muffled by cereal and sleep. "Coffee or blood today?"

Tessa walked out slowly, towel still in her hair, mascara smudged in places it had no business being. "Both."

Zara took one look at her and groaned. "Jesus. You didn't sleep. Your eye bags are reproducing."

"I slept."

"Liar. Was it the dad or the son haunting your dreams?"

Tessa sighed, curling her fingers around the too-hot mug Zara shoved toward her. "Don't."

"You think I didn't see her? Evelyn Cross. All silk and frost like she was headed to court, not your crusty little diner. That wasn't a visit. That was a message."

Tessa stared at the mug like maybe it would offer her a way out. "She knows."

"She knows what, exactly?"

"That something's... happening."

"Happening," Zara repeated, raising an eyebrow like she wanted to slap the word out of the air. "Babe. That man's hand has been on your spine. His voice is in your dreams. That's not something. That's already everything."

Tessa opened her mouth. Closed it. "It's not simple."

"It's not supposed to be," Zara snapped. "It's supposed to be impossible. That man is older. Powerful. Dangerous. And let's not forget-your ex's father. That's not forbidden, Tess. That's self-immolation."

Tessa's voice dropped. "She said something about my mom."

Zara blinked. "What?"

"She said we're repeating history."

"You told me your mom worked for them, right? When you were a kid?"

Tessa nodded slowly. "She was a housekeeper. Just on weekends. I was only there once. Evelyn told her not to let me touch anything."

"You ever ask what happened?"

"She always shut it down. Said she was fired for overstepping. I thought she broke something. Or maybe took something that wasn't hers. I never thought it could be..."

She trailed off.

Zara sat down, cereal abandoned. "You think Dorian knew her?"

Tessa swallowed, voice tight. "He said her name. Like he'd been carrying it around ever since."

"Oh fuck."

"Yeah."

Silence crept in between them, thick and cold.

"You need to get out of this."

"I can't."

"Why?"

Tessa looked at her, something breaking open behind her eyes. "Because when he looks at me, I don't feel small. I feel... seen. Like he already knows the worst things about me and still wants to keep looking."

Zara stood, too fast. "Just remember that when everything around you starts burning."

---

Campus felt too bright that afternoon, like the sun was shining directly on her shame. Tessa moved like glass-cracked but functional, sharp at the edges, moments away from shattering. She made it as far as the library doors before she felt him.

Dorian.

Standing by the front desk, all black suit and tension, speaking to the department head like he wasn't poison in a tailored jacket. He didn't even see her at first, but her pulse knew. Her skin remembered.

Then he turned. Their eyes met.

She kept walking.

But he followed.

Outside, under the staircase, he didn't say anything at first-just leaned against the wall like he was waiting for gravity to pull her closer.

"You're not supposed to be here," she said.

"I had a meeting."

"With the Dean?"

He tilted his head. "With your future."

She didn't smile. "That's not funny."

"You didn't block me."

"I should've."

"Then do it."

She didn't.

He stepped closer. "Tell me something."

"No."

"You're shaking."

"I'm not."

"You are." His voice dropped. "Is it fear or want?"

Tessa clenched her jaw, eyes flashing. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"I'm not doing anything," he said, soft but firm. "You're the one who keeps walking into the fire."

"Because you're always there," she whispered, the words slipping out before she could swallow them.

He leaned in, slow, like temptation itself. "Maybe I'm just trying to see how close I can get before you burn."

Then he walked away, smooth and sure, like he already knew she'd follow eventually.

---

Evelyn didn't wait long.

She found Tessa later that afternoon, outside the tutoring office. There was no subtlety anymore, no silk over the blade. Just heels clicking like war drums and a voice wrapped in honey and threat.

"You've got your mother's recklessness."

Tessa turned, spine straight. "You don't know me."

Evelyn stepped closer. "I knew your mother. I knew how she cried when we let her go. I knew how she begged. I knew what she did."

Tessa's breath caught.

"She fell in love with something she was never meant to have. Just like you."

"I'm not her."

"No," Evelyn said, lips curling. "But you're making the same mistake. And it ends the same."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a fact. If you want to keep your scholarship, your record, your place here... walk away. Now. Before what little future you've built ends the way hers did-alone. Forgotten. Ashes in a box."

She left the hallway thick with perfume and warning.

---

That night, Tessa tore through her mother's old storage boxes, yanking lids off dusty plastic bins like they might hold answers. At the bottom, beneath faded bills and forgotten photos, she found it-an envelope with no name.

Inside, a letter.

Dated fifteen years ago. Half-ripped. Ink smeared.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let it go that far. She was just a child."

The rest blurred into water damage and time.

Tessa stared at it, the words ringing in her ears.

Just a child.

She tucked it away, hands shaking.

But the real crack didn't come until the next morning.

She opened the apartment door barefoot, expecting Zara or a package or maybe silence.

What she got was an envelope.

Matte black.

No name.

Inside-

A photograph.

Her mother, younger. Smiling.

And beside her, Dorian.

His arm around her waist. His hand resting at her hip. His face not aged a day.

She turned it over.

Typed in clean ink:

"History doesn't repeat. It escalates."

Tessa's breath left her body.

And in that moment, she stopped pretending this was just about lust.

This was legacy.

This was war.