Chapter 7 The Knight in Shining Armor

Case File #07

Victim: Ophelia Ashby

Primary Suspect: Maverick Beaumont

Witness: Azalea Ashcroft

Location: St. Jude’s Academy, North Wing Corridor & The Ivy Coffee House

The sudden buzz of her phone cut through the silence, sending a chill straight up her spine. 

“He can’t protect you everywhere. Look behind you.”

She turned around so fast her boots slipped on the floor. The Student Lounge was empty except for two freshmen whispering in the back. No one was standing behind her.

Clutching her broken laptop, Azalea stepped into the corridor. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking. Maverick’s threat had driven Penelope away, but associating with a Beaumont in St. Jude’s was more dangerous than walking alone.

"Lea! Hey, wait up!"

Raphael came jog-walking down the corridor, his hair was slightly damp from the rain outside, and he looked breathless, as if he had been searching the entire wing for her.

When his eyes landed on her pale face and the shattered casing of her laptop, his expression crumbled into immediate, genuine distress.

"Oh, God," Raphael breathed, stopping right in front of her. He didn't reach out without asking, but his hands hovered near her arms, instinctively creating a buffer between her and the empty hallway. "Zoe told me about Penelope. How dare she do this to you?!!"

Lea swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing a nod. "It's fine. The screen is gone, but maybe the drive is..." Her voice cracked, the adrenaline of the last hour finally giving way to exhaustion.

"It's not fine," Raphael said softly. His eyes were warm, steady, and filled with a quiet anger that felt clean—nothing like the suffocating, lethal dark energy Maverick radiated. "Come on. You're trembling, Lea. You need to get off campus for an hour before your next class."

"Raphael, the lockdown curfew—"

"I'm the Senior Monitor for this shift," he cut in gently, offering her a small, reassuring smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "I can authorize a thirty-minute off-campus pass for distress. Let me carry that."

He didn't wait for her to argue. Raphael took the broken laptop from her arms, taking the weight off her aching shoulders. He gestured toward the side exit that led toward the town's quiet street, away from the police tape and the whispering crowds.

The Ivy Coffee House sat three blocks past the gates. It was a cozy basement cafe with exposed brick walls and warm string lights. Unlike the cold Gothic grandeur of the academy—a complete different world— where murder, secret societies, and scholarship threats couldn't reach them.

Raphael set Azalea’s computer on the corner of a table. A minute later, he returned with two mugs, handing her one.

"Hot chocolate with extra marshmallows," Raphael said, sliding into the armchair across from her. "I remembered you ordered it twice during the orientation week.”

Azalea looked down at the mug, feeling a sudden wave of warmth hit her chest. "You remembered that?"

"I pay attention to things that matter," Raphael replied simply. He took a sip of his black coffee, watching her over the rim. "You've been through hell the last few days, Lea. Between the police, the South Tower, and Penelope... nobody should have to deal with that alone."

"Maverick stopped her," Azalea murmured, staring into her mug. She hated that her mind kept returning back to him. "He threatened to bankrupt her father's firm."

Raphael’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a shadow of concern. He leaned forward, setting his mug on the table. "Lea... be very careful with Maverick. I know it looked like he was saving you back there, but guys like him don't do anything without an angle. The Beaumonts treat people like chess pieces. He’s using you to stay ahead of Detective Hale."

"I know," Azalea whispered. "He's cold. It's like he doesn't feel anything at all."

"Exactly," Raphael said, his tone softening back into its gentle, protective rhythm. "You don't belong in his world of threats and leverage. You deserve to feel safe here."

He reached behind his armchair, reaching for an acoustic guitar that sat resting in the corner of the booth—a instrument the cafe owner left out for local acoustic sets.

"What are you doing?" Azalea asked, a tiny, genuine smile finally breaking through her exhausted expression.

"Diverting your attention," Raphael said  tuning the top string before plucking a soft melody. "I happen to have a secret weapon against bad days."

He intentionally misplayed a jarring, off-key chord, making a ridiculous face of agonizing pain as if the sound had physically hurt him.

Azalea let out a sudden, startled laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. It was the first real laugh she had uttered since the prom night. 

"See?" Raphael said, his eyes lighting up as he smoothly transitioned into a sweet tune. "Progress. The color is coming back to your face."

"You're ridiculous, Raphael," she said, leaning her head back. 

"I'm a man of many talents," he replied smoothly, continuing the quiet, soothing melody. "Senior monitor, hot chocolate delivery system, and mediocre guitarist. If you ever need to escape the academy again, the position of personal bodyguard is officially taken."

Azalea watched him in the dim, golden light of the cafe. Sitting across from Raphael felt effortless. He didn't lock her against bookshelves, he didn't whisper terrifying warnings into her ear, and he didn't bring the suffocating weight of high-society power struggles into her life. He was a safe harbor in the middle of a storm.

So why did her chest still feel tight every time she remembered Maverick’s fingers touching her wrist in the library?

She pushed the thought away, taking a warm sip of her drink as Raphael played another soft chord, filling the quiet space between them with peace.

By 1:00 PM, the rain had stopped, Raphael walked her all the way back to her dorm hall, carrying her laptop and making sure she reached the third-floor corridor safely.

"I have monitor duty at the main gate until five," Raphael said, handing the computer back to her at her door. He looked at her with genuine warmth, his hand lingering near hers for a second. "Lock the door, take a nap, and don't worry about Penelope. I'll talk to Headmaster Vance myself about your laptop."

"Thank you, Raphael," Azalea said, her voice sincere. "For everything."

He gave her a sweet, reassuring nod before turning to walk down the corridor.

Azalea unlocked her dorm room, stepping inside. The room was clean now, Zoe having gone to her afternoon class. The light filtered through the window, casting long, quiet shadows across the rug.

Azalea set her laptop on her desk. As she pulled her jacket off, her foot brushed against something hard tucked beneath her bed frame.

She frowned, kneeling down on the floor to look beneath the bed.

Tucked into the far corner was a heavy, dust-covered metallic box—an old camera locker belonging to her deceased father, Julian Ashcroft, brought with her from home years ago and forgotten.

The latch was bent, as if someone had tried to pry it open during the break-in but failed.

Azalea’s breath caught. With shaking fingers, she pulled the box out into the light.