Chapter 9: Valentine’s Day, Public Eyes, Private Lines

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Chapter 8 Recap

Flowers outside Jamie’s door. Tea Room chocolates. A signature that does not belong to Alex or Mara. Jamie realizes the gift is not random because the chocolates are from a place she mentioned only in conversation. Alex finally admits he knows CJ, and Jamie understands the threat is not just rumor anymore. Someone is close enough to listen, and bold enough to act.

Read Chapter 8 of the series

Chapter 9: Valentine’s Day: Roses With Witnesses

Valentine’s Day arrived with the kind of cheer that felt almost aggressive. 

Hearts appeared everywhere overnight, taped to residence doors, pinned to backpacks, stamped onto café cups. In the JDUC, a student group had set up a table with red paper roses and handwritten cards, the kind you could buy for five dollars and send to someone’s lecture with just enough anonymity to feel brave. The air smelled like melted snow and cinnamon, and the campus moved with a strange mix of excitement and performance. 

Jamie noticed all of it. 

She also noticed how often people looked away when she looked back. 

The flowers and Tea Room chocolates CJ left outside her door should have been the end of it. Instead, they had become a beginning. Now every heart-shaped sticker and every loud laugh felt like part of a larger stage she did not agree to stand on. 

Outside Vic Hall, two first-years passed her on the steps, laughing too loudly. One held a bouquet wrapped in pink paper. The other carried a gift bag with tissue paper spilling out like a confession. 

Jamie tightened her scarf and kept walking. 

Riley fell into step beside her, coffee in hand, hair pulled back in a practical ponytail that made her look ready for a midterm, a crisis, or both. 

“Valentine’s makes people loud,” Jamie said. 

Riley huffed a soft laugh. “It also makes people reckless.” 

Jamie’s phone buzzed. She waited a few seconds before checking it. She had learned that her nervous system deserved better than instant jolts. 

Riley glanced at her. “Alex?” 

Jamie nodded and looked down. 

Alex: I submitted the intake request. I included your name too, like we discussed. You can confirm or change anything. 

Alex: Are you still okay with today? 

Jamie read the messages twice. The tone felt careful and restrained, written like he was trying to rebuild trust without pushing. 

She typed back. 

Jamie: Yes. Thank you for doing it. 

Jamie: Today, but in public. 

Alex: Stauffer steps at four? After classes. 

Jamie: Four. 

She put her phone away. 

Riley watched her face. “He followed through.” 

“He did,” Jamie said. Saying it out loud felt risky, as if the universe might overhear and decide to test her again. 

Riley nodded. “Trust is built with actions.” 

They passed the Valentine table in the JDUC. A volunteer called out, “Send a rose to your crush!” Students hovered in loose circles, pretending not to care while they watched who walked up to the table. Someone wrote names in neat marker and slid cards into envelopes. A small sign promised “delivery to class and campus locations,” like affection could be scheduled between lectures. 

Jamie kept her gaze forward. 

Riley leaned closer. “You are handling this better than you think.” 

Jamie almost laughed. “How would you know?” 

“Because you are still going to class,” Riley said. “You are still making plans. You are eating. You are sleeping enough to function. You are not letting fear run your schedule.” 

Jamie swallowed. Her mind flicked to Priya’s office, the quiet steadiness, the practical steps that made panic harder to feed. Priya had called it risk management, and the phrase had felt strangely comforting. It made the situation less mystical and more solvable. 

“I am trying,” Jamie said. 

Riley’s voice softened. “Trying counts.” 

Classes dragged. Jamie listened, took notes, answered a question when called on. She did everything she normally did, but normal felt like an act performed for an audience that did not deserve it. Each time her phone vibrated, she forced herself to pause before checking. Each time her thoughts started to sprint, she used Priya’s grounding exercise quietly, with both feet planted. Five things she could see. Four she could feel. Three she could hear. 

The day stayed manageable. 

Until it did not. 

After her last class, Jamie stepped into the hallway and stopped short. 

A student stood near the bulletin board holding a bundle of paper roses. The roses were simple and cheerful, the kind that looked sweet from a distance and cheap up close. A small envelope was stapled to the stems, the same style the JDUC volunteers were handing out. 

The student scanned faces, then smiled directly at Jamie. 

“Jamie Brooks?” 

Jamie’s blood cooled. 

Riley, half a step behind her, went still. 

Hearing her name said out loud again, in a hallway full of strangers, made Jamie’s skin prickle. This was not a private message. This was a public moment, chosen on purpose. 

The student lifted the envelope. “I have a delivery. It came through the Valentine table. Someone paid for a campus drop-off.” 

Riley’s voice stayed calm but edged. “From who?” 

The student glanced down. “It says CJ.” 

The hallway seemed to tighten. Students drifted slower. A few heads turned. Someone pretended to check a poster and listened anyway. 

Riley stepped forward. “Give it to me.” 

The student hesitated. “It is addressed to Jamie.” 

Jamie found her voice. “Read the card.” 

Relief crossed the student’s face. She flipped it open and read, loud enough for nearby students to hear. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jamie. You looked braver yesterday. I like that. I hope you like The Tea Room too. Some people do not deserve second chances. Some people do. You and I can talk when you are ready.” 

A pause, then the signature. 

“It is signed CJ.” 

Heat crept up Jamie’s neck. CJ had picked a method that came with witnesses. If she reacted, it would travel. If she stayed calm, it would still travel, just in a different shape. Either way, he got what he wanted. 

Riley took the roses from the student without asking and turned the card over, checking for anything else. Her expression stayed composed, but her eyes hardened. 

Jamie looked around. A few people in the hallway had slowed. One student lifted a phone, then lowered it when Riley’s gaze snapped toward them. 

Jamie forced herself to breathe. 

Riley’s voice dropped for Jamie alone. “This is what he wants.” 

Jamie nodded. “An audience.” 

Riley held the roses out. “Do you want them?” 

Jamie stared at the paper flowers. The point was that they looked harmless. They could be defended as “sweet.” They could be used as proof that CJ was “kind.” They could be used as proof that Jamie was “cold.” 

She made a choice. 

“No,” Jamie said, clearly. “I do not want them.” 

The hallway went quiet. 

Jamie looked at the student who delivered them. “Thank you,” she said, politely, because politeness was a kind of armor. “You can go.” 

The student nodded quickly and walked away. 

Riley held the roses at her side. “Good.” 

Jamie’s hands trembled slightly. She shoved them into her pockets and started walking again. She refused to scan the crowd for CJ. If he was watching, she would not feed him. 

Stauffer was crowded when she arrived. Valentine’s had pulled couples outside for photos and small gifts, and the steps had turned into a waiting area for feelings. Students posed with roses against the limestone like it was a backdrop built for softness. Study groups hovered at the edges with laptops open, pretending they were not watching anything. Someone was handing out heart-shaped stickers near the entrance. Someone had taped a heart to the limestone with pink painter’s tape beside a cheesy poem on printer paper, the kind that made people laugh and then check who had heard them laugh. 

Jamie spotted Alex immediately. 

He stood near the edge of the steps, hands tucked into his coat pockets, eyes scanning the crowd until they found her. Relief crossed his face, quick and unguarded, before he steadied himself. 

“Jamie,” he said as she approached. 

Riley stayed a few steps back, close enough to be present, far enough to give Jamie space. 

“Hi,” Jamie replied. 

Alex’s gaze flicked briefly to Riley. He did not look annoyed. He looked relieved that Jamie was not alone. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

“CJ sent me roses,” Jamie said. “In public. Through the Valentine table.” 

Alex went still. 

His expression tightened in an instant. He knew the name. 

Jamie held his gaze. “You know him.” 

“Yes,” Alex said. 

Riley stepped closer, just enough to be included. “He delivered it in public,” Riley said. “This is escalation.” 

Alex’s jaw tightened. “That is his style.” 

Jamie felt a cold clarity settle in her chest. “Tell me.” 

Alex looked away for a moment, then back. “CJ thrives on public narratives. He frames things so he looks generous and everyone else looks suspicious. If you reject him, he becomes the wounded guy. If you accept him, he becomes the hero.” 

Jamie’s mouth went dry. “Why me?” 

Alex hesitated. 

Jamie’s voice sharpened. “No fragments.” 

Alex swallowed. “Because you are connected to me. He thinks he can control the story better if he controls the person people sympathize with.” 

Riley’s eyes narrowed. “So he wants to separate you.” 

Alex nodded once. “Yes.” 

Jamie’s heart beat harder. “Was he involved with Hawthorne?” 

Alex looked down at the snow near his shoes. “He was not in the room,” he said. “But he was close enough to get details quickly. Close enough to post first.” 

Jamie remembered the way names became stories. How quickly a group chat could turn uncertainty into certainty. 

Jamie’s voice dropped. “Riley got a screenshot yesterday. CJ wrote, ‘Alex has the vial. Watch what he does with it.’” 

Alex’s face tightened. “I have seen that message.” 

“You have seen it before,” Jamie said. 

Alex nodded slowly. “Yes.” 

Riley’s voice stayed level. “He did not just spread information. He shaped what people believed.” 

Alex looked at Jamie, eyes tired. “He wants you to doubt me.” 

Jamie exhaled slowly. “It is working.” 

Alex flinched, then steadied himself. “I know.” 

Jamie did not soften the truth for his comfort. “I do not know what to do with this. With him. With you.” 

Alex nodded. “That is fair.” 

He pulled out his phone and turned the screen toward her. 

A calendar confirmation. An intake request submitted. A time window. A note field that read: asking about support options for communication, stress, and relationship strain. 

He had written it carefully. 

He had done what he promised. 

Jamie stared at the screen until her eyes stung. 

“I followed through,” Alex said quietly. “You asked for actions. Here is one.” 

“Thank you,” Jamie managed. 

Riley’s expression softened slightly. “Good.” 

Alex hesitated, then spoke again. “I need to tell you something else.” 

Jamie’s stomach tightened. “Okay.” 

“After Hawthorne,” Alex said, voice low, “CJ kept contacting people. People who were scared. People who wanted answers. He made himself the person with information.” 

Jamie felt cold creep up her arms. “He framed it as protection.” 

Alex nodded. “Yes. He uses fear as currency.” 

Jamie thought of Priya’s words. Boundary-crossing dressed up as care. 

Jamie’s hands clenched inside her pockets. “So what do we do?” 

Alex looked at her, then at Riley, then back. “We do what you said. Daylight. Public. No secrecy. We do not let him isolate you.” 

Riley nodded. “That is a start.” 

Jamie took a slow breath. “First, I tell residence staff about the gifts. I want it documented.” 

Riley nodded. “Agreed.” 

Alex’s eyes stayed on Jamie’s. “Second?” 

Jamie’s voice stayed steady. “Second, we keep the counselling appointment. We show up. We do not treat it like a symbol. We treat it like a tool.” 

Alex nodded. “Yes.” 

Jamie continued. “Third, no more surprises. If you know something about CJ, you tell me.” 

Alex swallowed. “Okay.” 

Riley added, firm and clear, “We verify what we can. We do not accept group chat captions as truth.” 

Jamie felt a sharp flash of gratitude. Riley was not only a friend. Riley was a line between Jamie and the worst version of her own fear. 

“Valentine’s was supposed to be sweet,” Jamie said. 

Alex’s expression softened. “We can still make it quiet.” 

Jamie blinked. “Quiet?” 

“We can sit inside,” Alex said, nodding toward the library. “We can talk. We can plan. We can exist in public without performing.” 

Jamie hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.” 

They walked toward the doors together. Not rushing. Not hiding. Moving forward with intention. 

Inside the library, warmth met Jamie’s face. The smell of books and damp winter coats filled the air. Her shoulders loosened slightly. 

Her phone buzzed again. 

A notification flashed across the screen from a group chat she did not remember joining. 

A new post had been pinned. 

The username was simple. 

CJ. 

The pinned message was a photo. 

Jamie and Alex on the Stauffer steps, taken from far enough away that it felt like surveillance, close enough away that it felt deliberate. Riley stood blurred in the background like an afterthought. 

The caption beneath it was one line. 

Happy Valentine’s. Ask her why she trusts him. 

Jamie’s breath caught. 

Her stomach dropped. 

The chapter had not even ended before CJ had turned it into a headline. 

She lifted her eyes to Alex. Her voice came out low, controlled. 

“He is here.” 

Alex’s face drained of color as he read the screen. 

Riley stepped closer, reading over Jamie’s shoulder. Her jaw tightened. 

Jamie stared at the pinned photo, at the casual cruelty of the caption, at the way CJ turned a holiday into a weapon. 

Valentine’s was not a spotlight anymore. 

It was a stage. 

CJ had just stepped onto it. 

Cliffhanger 

CJ has gone public with Jamie and Alex in real time. How long has he been watching, and what will he post next to force Jamie to choose a side?