Chapter 3

Chloe

The next afternoon, I stood at the entrance of Bay Area Community College feeling like an alien who had landed on the wrong planet. My Stanford hoodie and designer jeans stood out among the other students' more casual, practical attire, practically screaming "privileged outsider."

The campus was smaller than Stanford's, prioritizing function over aesthetics. Concrete buildings, chain-link fences, and a parking lot filled with beat-up cars and motorcycles.

I walked toward the parking lot, hoping to spot Louis or his distinctive Harley. According to his social media, he usually hung out here with his motorcycle club friends after class.

The afternoon sun baked the asphalt as I weaved between rows of vehicles. While examining the motorcycles, a voice came from behind me.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

I turned to see three guys approaching. They were exactly the type my parents had always warned me about—baggy clothes, cocky grins, and the kind of stares that made my skin crawl.

"Looks like a Stanford princess got lost," said the tallest one, his voice dripping with mockery. "What's a rich girl like you doing in our neck of the woods?"

My mouth went dry. I tried to appear confident, but my voice came out smaller than intended. "I'm just looking for someone."

"Looking for someone?" The second guy laughed, a harsh sound that made me flinch. "Maybe you're looking for us. We can show you around, give you a real college experience."

They formed a loose circle around me, cutting off my escape routes. My heart began hammering against my ribcage.

"I should really go," I said, trying to sound casual while my mind screamed at me to run. "My friend is waiting for me."

"What friend?" The third guy stepped closer, and I caught the scent of cigarettes and cheap cologne. "I don't see any friend. Just a scared little princess who wandered into the wrong part of town."

Shit, I should have been more careful. Panic rose in my throat as they closed in. My phone was in my bag, but my hands were shaking too badly to reach it.

"Don't be shy," the tall one said, reaching to touch my arm. "We're just being friendly."

Just then, I heard the deep, thunderous sound of a motorcycle engine slicing through the afternoon air like a blade.

All four of us turned toward the sound. A black Harley was speeding toward us, its rider hidden behind a dark helmet and leather jacket. The bike stopped about twenty feet away, the engine still running, filling the silence with its powerful growl.

I held my breath. The rider's posture, the casual confidence with which he sat on the bike, sent my pulse racing.

The rider dismounted gracefully, removed his helmet, and revealed black hair and a face that made my heart skip a beat.

It was him. Louis Wild.

He was even more striking in person than in photos. Sharp cheekbones, deep-set dark eyes, and intricate tattoos that crawled up his arms like living art. He looked dangerous, beautiful, and completely out of my league.

His gaze swept over the scene, landing on the three guys surrounding me, and his expression turned thunderous.

"Who the fuck gave you permission to harass my girl?" he said, his voice carrying clearly across the parking lot.

My girl?

The three guys immediately deflated, their bravado dissipating like mist. "Hey, Louis, we didn't know she was with you."

"Now you do." Louis walked toward us with the easy confidence of someone who had never backed down from a fight. Each step radiated controlled power. "So I suggest you disappear before I decide to make this interesting."

"We were just talking to her," the tall one mumbled, no longer daring to meet Louis's eyes.

"Talking?" Louis's smile was winter-cold. "You call cornering a terrified girl 'talking'?"

I watched, fascinated, as these three tough guys suddenly resembled nervous children caught stealing cookies.

"We didn't mean any harm," one of them said weakly.

"Get lost." Louis's voice was soft, but there was steel underneath. "All of you. And if I catch you harassing any girl on this campus again, we're going to have a very different kind of conversation."

They didn't need to be told twice. All three hurried away, muttering under their breath, refusing to look back.

I stood there, still processing what had just happened.

He turned fully toward me, and for the first time, I got a clear look at my actual savior. Dark eyes that seemed to see right through me, a mouth that rarely smiled, and a presence so intense it made my knees weak.

"You okay?" he asked, but his tone was distant, almost cold.

"Yes, thank you." I found my voice, though it sounded breathless. "That was amazing."

He shrugged, as if rescuing damsels in distress was just part of his daily routine. "They're cowards. That type only picks on people they think can't fight back."

This was my chance. I was finally face to face with my real hero.

I stepped closer, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. "Are you Louis Wild?"

Something flashed in his dark eyes—surprise? Recognition? But his expression didn't change. "I don't know any Louis Wild. You've got the wrong guy."

The lie hit me like a physical blow. "But I—"

"You should be more careful," he cut me off, already turning toward his bike. "This isn't Stanford. People don't play by the same rules here."

"Wait!" I called after him, desperation seeping into my voice. "Please, I just want to talk to you!"

But he had already put his helmet back on, clearly done with the conversation. He swung his leg over the Harley, and just as he was about to drive away, something fell from his jacket pocket.

A small photograph fluttered to the ground like a falling leaf.

Louis didn't notice. He revved the engine and rode off, leaving me standing alone in the parking lot.

I walked over and picked up the photo with trembling hands.

My blood turned to ice.

It was a photograph of a car accident. A silver sedan—my silver sedan—wrapped around a tree, its front end completely destroyed. The flashing red and blue lights of emergency vehicles formed the background.

My accident. He had a photo of my accident.

I turned the photograph over with shaking fingers. In blue ink, someone had written: "Never forget - L.W."

L.W. Louis Wild.

The photo trembled in my hand as a dozen questions exploded in my mind. Why did Louis have this photo? Why was he carrying around a picture of the worst day of my life? Why lie to my face and deny he was Louis?

I looked in the direction his motorcycle had disappeared, feeling more confused than ever.

What was Louis hiding?

I tucked the photo into my bag, my thoughts in turmoil. Finding Louis hadn't given me the closure I'd expected. Instead, it had opened up a whole new mystery, leaving my chest tight with an uneasy mixture of anticipation and dread.