Warren Graham had always been the kind of guy who kept his head down and stayed out of trouble. Sure, he wasn’t afraid to speak up when he needed to, but for the most part, he preferred the quiet. At least, he used to. That was before Nathan Prescott entered his life.

It wasn’t Nathan’s money or the Prescott name that Warren hated. It was the way Nathan threw his weight around, acting like the world owed him something. And for Warren, it wasn’t just some rich jerk pulling stunts at Blackwell—Nathan Prescott was personal. He made things personal.

And then there was you.

You, who Warren couldn’t get out of his head no matter how hard he tried. You, who had nothing in common with your brother, except for the unfortunate fact that you shared his last name. Being the sibling of Nathan Prescott was no small burden, and Warren knew that. He’d seen firsthand how people treated you because of it.

Which made his own feelings more complicated. Because as much as Warren liked you—and he really did like you—it was hard to separate that from everything Nathan had done.

The weight of those thoughts bore down on him as he sat in the quad, the sun low in the sky. He glanced at the main building, half expecting Nathan to storm out at any moment, shouting something obscene, or punch him in the face like last time, just for defending Max. But instead, it was you who appeared, walking toward him with a hesitant smile on your face. Warren’s heart skipped a beat.

“Hey, have a seat.” He shrugged towards one of the benches, scooting over. A silence hung over the two of you, Warren cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, uh…I guess you heard?” Yeah. Heard about him getting punched in the face by Nathan. Practically everyone knew by know.

You winced slightly at the mention of Nathan, and Warren immediately regretted his words. He didn’t want to make you feel guilty for your brother’s actions. You weren’t Nathan.

“Uh, but it doesn’t hurt anymore though! Just looks pretty cool, huh?” He gave a thumbs up.

Yikes.