Chapter 2: Power Plays

A campus security guard emerged from around the corner, radio in hand.

Mid-fifties. Beer gut straining against his uniform. The kind of guy counting down to retirement.

Jack felt a flicker of relief. He didn't need help—but the interruption might cool things down.

The guard approached. Then he saw Ethan's face.

His entire demeanor shifted.

"Mr. Hawkins?" The guard's voice cracked slightly. "Sir, I apologize—I didn't recognize you immediately."

Ethan turned slowly, that arrogant smile returning. "Hey, Officer... Morrison, right? I remember you."

"Yes, yes." Morrison practically bobbed his head. "You remember me. I'm honored. So, uh... you and your friends here are—"

"Just having a discussion," Ethan said casually. "Academic matters. Right, Jack?"

Morrison's gaze shifted to Jack. No concern there. Just a warning.

"Well, this area's off-limits," Morrison said, though his tone carried zero authority. "Gym's under renovation... but since it's you, Mr. Hawkins, I'm sure it's fine. I'll leave you to it."

"Wait," Jack said. "I want to file a complaint—"

"Sir." Morrison cut him off, voice dropping to a threat. "Don't make trouble for yourself. There's nothing to complain about here. You're just talking. Right?"

He looked between Ethan and Jack.

Message clear: know your place.

"Officer Morrison," Ethan said smoothly. "Thanks for understanding. My father mentioned you recently. Said you're a man who gets how things work."

Morrison's face lit up. "Not at all, not at all. It's my privilege to serve the Hawkins family. I'll leave you gentlemen to your conversation."

He retreated faster than he'd arrived, like he was fleeing the scene of a crime.

Ethan turned back, smile widening. "See that, Jack? That's reality. On this campus, in this city—my family is the rules. Nobody will help you. Nobody dares help you."

He stepped closer, almost nose to nose. Jack caught the scent of expensive cologne.

"So let's get back to business. Leah. I want her to agree to a date. Preferably one that ends... memorably. Simple request."

"And if I refuse?" Jack asked calmly.

"Then you're gambling." Ethan's eyes went cold. "Trust me, Jack—I have a hundred ways to make your life hell. All perfectly legal."

Ethan reached out, straightening Jack’s collar.

“Twenty-four hours. Tomorrow, same time. Either she’s in my bed, or—”

He didn’t finish.

His fingers were still there.

Jack glanced down.

Then calmly took Ethan’s wrist—and moved it away.

Ethan stilled for a fraction of a second.

Jack met his eyes.

“You should keep your hands to yourself,” he said quietly.

A beat.

“Things tend to go badly for people who don’t.”

Ethan’s smile thinned. “Is that a threat?”

Jack tilted his head slightly.

“More like a timeline.”

Ethan frowned. “What?”

Jack’s voice didn’t change.

“Thirty seconds.”

Silence.

Something shifted.

Ethan stared at him—trying to decide if it was a bluff.

Jack didn’t move.

Didn’t explain.

Didn’t need to.

Ethan let out a short laugh, stepping back.

“Careful, Jack. Confidence like that gets people hurt.”

Jack said nothing.

Just watched him.

Ethan held his gaze for a beat—

then turned. “Let’s go.”

This time, he didn’t linger.

Jack watched them go for a second, then gave a small shrug.

Whatever.

He turned away, crossing the lawn until he found a quiet patch of grass with no one around.

Dropping down, he stretched out on his back,

one arm behind his head. The other lifted his book, resting it over his face to block out the sun.

Campus noise drifted around him—distant chatter, footsteps, the hum of normal life.

Like nothing had happened.

He exhaled slowly.

“Idiot,” he muttered.

Twenty-four hours?

Ethan really thought this was a negotiation.

Jack almost smiled.

Then—

A sudden burst of noise cut through the calm.

Not normal.

Jack’s eyes opened.

A small crowd had gathered around the fountain. Students staring, whispering. Some holding up phones.

When Jack saw who stood at the center, he understood.

The woman looked around twenty-two, maybe twenty-three. Five-eight. Hair like spun gold cascading past her shoulders, catching the late sun like it was made of light itself.

Cream-colored sweater. Dark jeans. Simple clothes that did nothing to hide stunning beauty.

Deep blue eyes. Strong nose. Sculpted jawline. Sun-kissed skin. Features so perfect they belonged in a Renaissance painting—the kind that carried inherent nobility.

Jack recognized her immediately.

Sophia Howard. Transfer student. Started two weeks ago. Graduate program, international relations.

Rumor was she came from old German aristocracy. Previously studied in Switzerland. Her sudden transfer to a mid-tier state school had raised eyebrows across campus.

Jack's gaze didn't linger on Sophia.

He scanned her surroundings instead.

Five bodyguards. Minimum. Positioned at different angles, forming a protective perimeter. And judging by their placement and alertness—these weren't mall cops playing dress-up.

Then an idea struck him.

Jack noticed one of them—a brick wall of a man—adjusting position to tighten the circle around Sophia.

From his build and bearing, this guy was clearly the team leader.

Six-three. Shoulders like a linebacker. Scar on his neck. Movement controlled, purposeful.

Jack narrowed his eyes. He'd seen this type before. Former Delta or SEAL. The kind who retired into private security for billionaires.

Jack bought a coffee. using a cluster of phone-wielding students as cover. He slipped into the bodyguard's blind spot.

Ghosted forward.

Three seconds. Maybe less.

Then he stood less than three feet behind the big man.

"Hey," Jack said, voice casual. "Want some coffee?"

"What the—"

The bodyguard spun, right hand instinctively reaching for his waistband. Then he saw Jack.

And froze.

His face went white.

Because this kid had closed to kill range without triggering a single alarm.

Worse—his earpiece hadn't made a sound. Which meant the rest of his team hadn't spotted the approach either.

Impossible.

Sweat beaded on the bodyguard's forehead.

"Who... who are you?" His voice dropped low. Right hand stayed near his weapon.

"Relax." Jack raised both hands, still holding his coffee. Smile harmless as Sunday morning. "I think someone's crashed your perimeter. Nine o'clock. Navy jacket, black baseball cap. He's not one of yours."