Chapter 183: 184 | With My Luck Lately, Fighting Is Always Necessary
Noel sat down on the edge of her bed. The silk robe pooled around her thighs. Her mind raced through possibilities and none of them led anywhere good.
This could be a trap. An attempt to drive a wedge between her and Rome before the exhibition match. Century East had resources. Connections. They might have learned about her involvement with Rome and decided to exploit it.
Or it could be genuine.
Rome himself had admitted there were things she didn’t know. Things that would change how she saw him. Things he’d promised to tell her tonight after his meeting with Vivian.
What if Vivian told her first?
Noel’s thumbs hovered over the keyboard.
The smart move was to ignore this. Report it to Rome. Let him handle his own family drama while she focused on training and match preparation.
But she’d never been good at letting other people handle things.
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
A meeting. Somewhere public. Tomorrow afternoon. I’ll tell you everything he won’t.
WHY WOULD YOU BETRAY YOUR OWN BROTHER?
Because he’s not my brother. Not really. And you deserve to know who you’ve gotten yourself tangled up with.
Noel read the message three times. Her chest felt tight. Her hands trembled slightly as she typed her response.
I’LL THINK ABOUT IT.
She set the phone face-down on the nightstand and lay back on the bed. The ceiling stared down at her with the blank indifference of expensive paint.
What the hell had she gotten herself into?
The exhibition match was supposed to be her crowning achievement. Three weeks of intensive training. A coordinated team assault on Century East’s undefeated record. Her strategic brilliance finally recognized on a stage that mattered.
Instead she was lying in bed at six in the morning, body still tingling from kissing Rome D’Angelo, while his mysterious sister sent cryptic messages about secrets that would change everything.
Her life had become a bad drama. The kind her mother watched on streaming services while pretending she wasn’t crying into her wine.
Noel pressed her hands against her eyes and groaned.
The worst part was that she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Not Rome the rival. Not Rome the target. Rome the person who’d pinned her to a mat and looked at her like she was something worth seeing. Rome who’d said he wanted her to be happy regardless of circumstances. Rome who kissed like he meant it and fought like he’d been born for violence and somehow made both things feel like the same language.
He was dangerous.
She’d known that from the beginning. The original Rome had been dangerous in predictable ways. Arrogance and entitlement and casual cruelty toward anyone he deemed beneath him.
This Rome was dangerous in ways she couldn’t map. Couldn’t anticipate. Couldn’t defend against because she didn’t know where the attacks would come from.
And she wanted him anyway.
Noel sat up and grabbed her phone again. Not to respond to Vivian. To look at Rome’s contact information instead.
His picture stared back at her. White hair. Mismatched eyes. That infuriating face that belonged on magazine covers and wanted posters in equal measure.
She’d taken the photo herself during a class exercise last month. Before everything changed. Back when she still thought she knew who he was and what she wanted from him.
Back when her hatred had been clean and uncomplicated.
Her thumb hovered over the call button.
What would she even say?
Hey Rome, your sister just messaged me with ominous warnings about your true nature. Want to skip ahead and tell me yourself?
Or maybe: I know we’re supposed to be training partners and occasional hate-sex enthusiasts, but I think I might actually have feelings for you and that terrifies me more than anything in my entire carefully planned life.
Or the most honest option: Help. I don’t understand what’s happening to me and you’re the only person who might and I hate that.
None of those options seemed particularly appealing.
Noel set the phone down again and stood up. Movement helped her think. She paced the length of her room, silk robe swishing against her legs with each step. The fabric was cool against her skin. Still too warm for comfort.
Everything felt too warm lately.
The facts hadn’t changed. Rome was hiding something big. Something that went beyond typical academy politics or corporate rivalry. His sister knew what it was. The exhibition match was in three weeks and their team’s success depended on trust and coordination.
Trust she didn’t have.
Coordination that fell apart the moment he looked at her a certain way.
She needed information.
Meeting with Vivian was stupid. Dangerous. Probably exactly what Rome’s enemies wanted her to do. Walking into an obvious trap set by the sister of a man whose entire existence confused her on a fundamental level.
But Noel Stark hadn’t built her reputation on making safe choices.
She picked up her phone and typed a response before she could second-guess herself.
TOMORROW. 2 PM. THE CAFE ON FIFTH AND MAIN. IF YOU’RE LATE, I’M LEAVING.
The reply came immediately.
I’LL BE THERE. WEAR SOMETHING THAT DOESN’T SCREAM HERO ACADEMY. WE DON’T WANT ATTENTION.
Noel stared at the message. Then she laughed, and the sound surprised her with its bitterness.
She was about to meet the sister of the man she was sleeping with to learn secrets he’d promised to tell her himself. All while preparing for a match that could determine her entire future trajectory.
No pressure.
Her reflection caught her eye again. The girl in the mirror looked tired. Confused. Slightly unhinged around the edges.
She looked nothing like the untouchable Stark heiress everyone expected.
Maybe that was okay.
Noel dropped the robe and reached for actual clothes. A fitted black turtleneck. Tailored grey slacks. Professional enough for her morning classes but comfortable enough to fight in if necessary.
Because with her luck lately, fighting was always necessary.
She dried her hair and pulled it back into a severe ponytail. Applied minimal makeup. Checked her reflection one final time and found something resembling her usual composure staring back.
Better.
