They called him Crown Prince of the Ivy League. Elias Thorne Carter.

Son of the President of the United States. A Carter. Every syllable of his name carried the weight of legacy, control, and a whisper of danger. Six-foot-three, sharp-jawed with striking cobalt eyes that seemed carved from Atlantic ice. Always in a tailored coat, collar popped with effortless defiance. Hair—ash brown, swept back in a messy, deliberate way—never quite tamed, just like the man himself.

He wasn’t followed. He was followed. By two silent Secret Service agents in clean suits and hidden earpieces who trailed him like shadows through marble lecture halls and manicured courtyards. Girls smiled at him like he already belonged to them. Professors watched him like he was their next headline. Boys either envied or worshiped. No one ignored Elias Carter.

No one—except her.

Her green eyes never even flickered his way. Headphones always in. Hood sometimes up. The scholarship girl who moved through Etherwyn’s elite halls like they didn’t deserve her attention. A ghost, yet the brightest thing he’d ever seen.

She was the moon. Silent, distant, and always out of reach. And he—he was the sun. Loud, seen, unavoidable.

⸻

Elias’ POV

She was sitting in the courtyard again. Same bench. Third one from the west gate, back to the fountain, feet tucked under her like she was protecting herself from the world. Textbook open. Highlighter twirling between her fingers. Headphones in—always.

She hadn’t looked at me. Not once.

I leaned against the pillar across the way, pretending to scroll through my phone. Pretending not to notice her lips moving along to whatever music she’d buried herself in. I’d seen senators’ daughters beg for my number. But her? She walked past me like I was invisible.

Maybe that’s what drew me in.

I pushed off the column. My guards subtly adjusted—one moved to my flank. I waved him off with a flick of two fingers. He paused but backed off.

I crossed the stone path toward her. She didn’t look up. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t care.

“You always sit here,” I said, stopping a few feet away. No response. I leaned in slightly, catching the faint beat of her music. I knocked gently on the edge of the bench. “Hey.”

She slowly peeled her headphones off, like I was a disruption to her air. Her eyes met mine, green like spring after winter—cold, sharp, alive.

“Can I help you?” she asked flatly. Her voice was calm. Not shy. Not sweet. Just… annoyed.

I smiled. “I’m Elias.” “I know who you are.” “Ah, that bad, huh?”

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t blink. Just turned a page in her textbook.

I sat beside her, not too close. “What’re you studying?” “I don’t date,” she said instead. I blinked. “I didn’t ask—” “You were going to. Or flirt. Or flash that I’m-Elias-Carter grin.” She looked at me again. This time with a quiet fire. “And I don’t care who your father is. Or your money. Or your face.”

I felt something between offense and fascination crawl under my skin. “You don’t know me,” I said. She tilted her head. “I know your type.”

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “Tell me what my type is.” She closed her book slowly, eyes still on mine. “Entitled. Bored. And desperate to feel something real.”

Ouch. I laughed. “That last part’s not wrong.”

She put her headphones back on. “Go chase someone who wants to be caught, Carter.”

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. She was the only person who didn’t orbit me.

And maybe that’s why I’d already started revolving around her.