Chapter 163

Nathaniel unlocked his phone, the screen illuminating his sharp features. His thumb swiped open Instagram, where Alexander's latest post dominated his feed.

A candid shot from Willowridge University's football field. No faces visible, just elongated shadows stretching across the turf. One silhouette was petite and elegant, the other tall and broad-shouldered—clearly Harrison and Alexander.

The caption read: [Greatest birthday present ever.]

Likes and comments poured in instantly from their elite circle.

[Alex, birthday boy shouldn't be slumming it on campus!]

[What's with the college tour? The penthouse at The Grand Celeste is ready for you!]

[Amateurs. He's obviously crashing in the girls' dorm tonight.]

[Freshman girls hit different, don't they?]

Nathaniel's grip tightened around his phone. His mind flashed to Harrison's dorm room—that narrow bed with floral sheets where he'd slept weeks ago. Where they'd lain together, limbs tangled.

Would Alexander be lying there tonight too?

He exhaled sharply through his nose. Both he and Alexander were considered unattainable prizes in Willowbrook's high society. Yet here they were, orbiting the same woman. He couldn't decide whether to be furious or impressed.

The office door creaked open. Dominic entered, immediately sensing the glacial atmosphere. "Mr. Falcon," he ventured, "is this about Mrs. Falcon and Mr. Graves?"

Nathaniel's fingers tugged at his silk tie but remained silent.

"Sir, with all due respect, you've always preferred Ms. Isabella. Why does Mrs. Falcon's companionship bother you now? Weren't you the one who encouraged Mr. Graves to pursue her?"

A file crashed against the mahogany desk. Dominic barely dodged the flying paperwork as Nathaniel's cobalt eyes burned into him.

"I'll just... check on the Tokyo merger." Dominic scrambled backward, nearly tripping over the Persian rug in his haste to escape.

The door clicked shut. Nathaniel snatched his car keys from the obsidian desk organizer. The Phantom's engine roared to life before his assistant could blink.

At Willowridge, Alexander had just walked Harrison back from dinner. They lingered near the track field, the evening breeze carrying the scent of freshly cut grass.

"How did you know that letter wasn't from me?" Harrison tilted her head, curiosity sparkling in her hazel eyes.

Alexander's lips quirked. "Because you'd never write something so cliché." The ease between them was effortless, like slipping into a favorite sweater. Harrison found herself smiling without realizing it.

Ding.

Her phone vibrated. WhatsApp displayed a message from "Husband"—the first direct communication in their entire marriage.

[Outside now.]

Three words. A command, not a request.

[I'm still on campus,] she typed back.

[Look up.]

Her pulse stuttered.

There, beyond the wrought-iron gates, sat a matte black Rolls-Royce Phantom—Nathaniel's signature car. The streetlights glinted off its custom hood ornament, drawing whispers from passing students.

Luxury vehicles weren't uncommon near campus, but this? A Phantom with vanity plates reading "FALCON1"? That was the stuff of campus legend.

Female students slowed their steps, nudging each other as they eyed the car—and more importantly, whoever might be inside it.