Two weeks passed, and John and Moriah grew closer slowly, cautiously. They studied together, grabbed lunch between classes, and sometimes walked the long path behind the chapel, talking about everything from music theory to the strange squirrels that seemed to run the campus.
But something else was brewing.
Whispers.
States.
Students whispering when John walked by. Doors falling quiet when Moriah entered a room. Even professors watching them a little too closely.
At first, John thought he was imagining it.
Then came the anonymous message.
It arrived late at night, jarring him awake.
You don't know who you're dealing with. Stay away from her.
His blood turned cold.
He sat up in bed and read it again. The number was blocked. No name. No clue.
He texted Moriah immediately.
Are you awake?
A minute later:
Barely. What's wrong?
I got a message. About you.
The typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then reappeared.
Can you meet me outside the chapel? Right now?
They met under the tall stained glass windows, moonlight washing the courtyard in pale blue.
Moriah hurried to him, worry etched across her face. "Show me."
He handed her the phone.
Her reaction was immediate.
She went pale.
"John… I'm so sorry."
"You know who this is from." It wasn't a question.
Moriah nodded slowly. "My stepfather. Or someone he hired. He keeps tabs on me. Watch who I'm with. He warned me about getting 'distracted.' And I guess he sees you as one."
John clenched his jaw. "That's not okay, Moriah."
"I know." Her voice cracked. "But I told you… he controls everything."
John stepped closer. "You shouldn't have to live like that."
"But I do," she whispered. "At least for now."
She looked up at him, eyes shining with fear and longing and something deeper.
And that's when everything changed.
The chapel door opened.
A silhouette stepped out.
Tall.
Broadshouldered.
And undeniably familiar.
Moriah's breath hitched.
"No…" she whispered. "He's not supposed to be here."
The man walked toward them, hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable.
"Mr. Bennett?" John asked quietly.
Moriah grabbed his arm. "Stay behind me."
Her stepfather stopped a few feet away, eyes locked on John.
"So," he said calmly, "you're the young man distracting her."
John didn't speak.
He couldn't.
"You're interfering with her commitments," the man continued. "Which means you're interfering with my investment."
Moriah stepped in front of John. "You can't come onto campus without permission."
"Oh, I have permission," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "From the board."
Moriah stiffened. "The board?"
Her stepfather reached into his coat and pulled out a document.
A signature.
A seal.
An official title.
He handed it to her.
Her eyes scanned the page—and then widened in horror.
John watched her gasp. "No… no… this can't be real."
"What is it?" he asked.
Moriah looked at him with trembling hands.
"He's not just my sponsor anymore," she whispered. "He's been appointed to the University Board as Director of Student Affairs."
John felt the world tilt.
The man smiled at their shock.
"That means," he said, his voice smooth and cold, "I now have full authority to monitor student relationships, conduct, and performance… including hers."
He turned away, his coat trailing behind him.
"Oh and John?" he added without looking back. "Consider this your only warning."
He disappeared into the shadows.
Moriah collapsed onto the chapel steps, tears streaming.
"John," she whispered, "he's not just watching us now… he's controlling us."
John knelt beside her.
"Then we'll find a way out," he said fiercely. "Together."
But neither of them realized yet:
This was only the beginning of the storm.