The woman I’d been secretly crushing on for a decade suddenly texted me. “Dean, I’m drunk. Can you take me home?” I rushed out of my condo and drove across Bayport, following the pinpoint location she’d sent. But the man who opened the door to the private room wasn’t the one I was supposed to see. It was Brock Harrington. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Dean Sullivan. Captain Perfect,” Brock sneered, leaning against the door frame of the exclusive club lounge. “After all these years, are you still hung up on Anya?” Anya Reid, my high school goddess, was draped over his shoulder, her eyes unfocused and heavy. “Too bad, man. You’re too late,” Brock purred, his voice thick with entitled arrogance. “I’m about to close the deal on your little high school fantasy right now.” I stood there, feeling like a punchline, as laughter and snickers erupted from the dimly lit room behind him. “Oh, that’s right,” Brock said, snapping his fingers dramatically. “Tonight is the official engagement party for the future CEO of Harrington Group, yours truly, and the beautiful former Northwood High Prom Queen. Sullivan, aren’t you going to come in and have a celebratory drink?” I glanced past him to where Anya was practically folding into his expensive suit. I gave a slight, dismissive shake of my head. “No, thanks. I wouldn’t want to show up the groom.” 1 For three long years of high school, I was practically a punching bag. As soon as class ended, Brock would order me to run out and buy him cigarettes. If I didn’t, I’d be paying for it later. He was the son of the Chairman, which in a place like Bayport meant his word was law, and he had a whole entourage of sycophants who lived to see me tormented. I can still taste the bitterness of my senior year, right after spring break, when Brock planted something on me, lied, and got me expelled. It cost me the last semester and, crucially, my SATs. I missed my chance at a normal life, all because of his petty spite. Ten years later, and here he was, still not finished. “Sullivan, are you completely insane? Anya Reid was the school’s golden girl. What makes you think she’d ever look at a loser like you?” This was Toby Jenkins, our former gym-class captain, now, inexplicably, the VP of Development at Harrington Corp. He must have spent the last decade polishing Brock’s shoes. “Besides, the future Mrs. Harrington is marrying into real power. Brock is practically Bayport royalty. What are you, a guy who couldn’t even get a high school diploma? Where does that confidence come from?” I’ve never liked pointless arguments. I turned to walk away, but a circle of my former classmates immediately blocked my path. “Hey, being expelled isn’t a crime, Dean,” one of them chirped. “Don’t rush off. We haven’t seen each other in ten years. Stay and celebrate with us, have a drink.” Toby quickly chimed in, “Yeah, what’s the rush? Don’t you want to catch up with old friends?” I fought to keep my fury contained, my eyes locked on Toby. “No, I don’t. I came because Anya texted me. From now on, don’t include me in your irrelevant gatherings.” “Hold it right there!” Brock, who had been watching the scene unfold from the sofa, suddenly straightened up. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Sullivan?” he demanded. “You think you’re too good to drink with us?” That was all the cue the peanut gallery needed. “Ooh, the expelled high school dropout looks down on us?” “Yeah, your straight-A grades didn’t do you any good, did they? Still couldn’t get a diploma!” My attempt to leave quietly had turned into a public spectacle, all because of one line from Brock. The old adage felt painfully true: birds of a feather. “Yes, fine. I admit you all have better lives than me. Happy?” I tried to turn once more, but a familiar silhouette was suddenly in front of me. “Dean. Long time. Are you… doing okay now?” Seeing my former crush again hit me with a complicated wave of emotions. Back in high school, ninety percent of the guys at Northwood had loved Anya Reid. I was the other ten who just wanted to watch her be happy. “Captain Sullivan, why aren’t you talking? Don’t you remember me?” She reached out a hand to wave it in front of my face. That’s when I saw the heavy, glittering engagement ring on her ring finger. I took a deep breath, forcing a slight smile. “I’m doing great,” I said. “You, on the other hand… why didn’t you send an invite before deciding to get married?” Anya’s gaze immediately clouded over. “My grandmother needs a major surgery. It’s a massive expense, and Brock… he said he’d handle it.” Her voice broke at the end. “I see,” I murmured. The heavy weight in my chest, the one that feared she might have actually chosen him, finally eased. “If you’d just sent me a text before tonight, Anya, maybe I could have helped.” The second the words left my mouth, a loud, sharp sound split the silence. CRACK! Five vivid, red finger marks appeared instantly on Anya’s pale cheek. “You bitch! Who the hell gave you permission to talk to this loser?” Brock’s bellow silenced the room completely. He swaggered over, a cruel smirk twisting his mouth as he held a champagne flute. “I’m in a foul mood now,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. “You know what you need to do to fix it.” He grabbed the fabric of her silk dress, and with a sickening tear, began to rip it away. “Brock, please! Not here, there are too many people!” Anya struggled to pull away from his grip, but the arrogant Young Harrington wasn't about to be denied. “Still playing the innocent goddess, huh? Take the damn clothes off, right now!” he hissed. “If you don’t service me properly tonight, your grandmother, waiting for surgery in that hospital, might just find her case… dropped.” Anya buried her face in her hands, silent tears streaming out. As she began to sink to her knees, I pushed myself forward. “Stop it!” 2 A collective gasp went around the room. No one, not a single person, expected the high school punching bag, the quiet kid they’d bullied for three years, to publicly challenge the privileged son of the Chairman. “A hero, are we, Sullivan?” Brock clapped his hands mockingly, and the private room door burst open again. A dozen enormous, black-suited security guards instantly flooded the space. “This is a surprise. I didn’t think there was anyone left in Bayport who had the audacity to lecture me.” My hands curled into fists, but my voice was cold and level. “Brock, for the sake of old times, I’m warning you. Don’t push this too far.” Brock threw his head back and roared with laughter. “What? Did I hear that right? Captain Sullivan, are you… threatening me?” Anya, sensing the dangerous shift in the atmosphere, quickly stepped out from behind me. “Mr. Harrington, he absolutely didn’t mean that. Dean’s just… making a bad joke.” She turned to me, blinking frantically, trying to signal me to back down. “Dean, you know better than to talk to Mr. Harrington like that.” I knew she was trying to save me, but I was done taking cues from anyone in this room. “I’m not joking,” I stated, my gaze fixed on Brock. “I am warning him.” BANG! Brock smashed his champagne flute on the floor. “You son of a bitch, I called you ‘Captain’ out of courtesy, and now you think you’re actually important, is that it?” I was about to retort when Anya frantically pulled me aside. “Dean, I know you want to help, but his father is a massive figure here! The founder of the Harrington Group! If you cross him, you won't even find a job in Bayport, let alone the city!” A mere billionaire can cost me my job? If I hadn't been stone-cold sober, I’d have thought I was dreaming. Given my position, only a direct order from the highest levels of the Federal government could override my appointment. The Harrington fortune couldn't even touch the lowest rung of my organization. I gently squeezed Anya’s hand, a silent signal not to worry, and turned back to Brock. “If you’re reacting this way because Ms. Reid spoke to me, then let me make something clear.” I paused, letting the silence expand. “I don’t approve of this engagement.” The room erupted. “Oh my God, has he lost his mind? He’s trying to steal Brock Harrington’s fiancée?” “It’s been ten years, and this guy is still acting like some kind of naïve jock with zero self-preservation.” “The Harringtons get whatever they want in this town! This idiot has no idea who he’s dealing with.” As the insults grew louder, Brock’s expression became smugly superior. “Drunk on cheap whiskey, are we, kid? Trying to be tough?” he challenged. “You’re a high school dropout. What exactly do you think you have to compete with me for anything, least of all a woman?” I ignored him, my attention fixed on Anya, who was still frozen in disbelief. “Tell me, Anya. Do you love him?” She instinctively shook her head, then immediately tried to correct herself. “Dean, I appreciate the thought, but I have to marry him. Otherwise, my grandmother’s surgery…” I gently wiped a tear from her cheek, my eyes unwavering. “Forget all that. You only need to answer one question.” “Are you coming with me?” Her voice cracked as she spoke. “Dean, I want to go with you, but…” I cut her off. “Ms. Reid, the world doesn’t deal in ‘buts.’ You told me once, back in AP History, to stop overthinking and act. Did you forget?” Anya bit her lip hard. Then, in one decisive movement, she ripped the engagement ring from her finger and dropped it onto the carpet. At that moment, a furious roar came from behind me. “You bitch! Are you sure about this?”
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