Page 61 of Creeping Lily
Fine. Let them watch.
If Goliath wants me to stay away from Lily, I’m going to do the opposite.
If they think they can decide who’s safe for her, they’re aboutto find out just how bad I can be when someone tries to leash me.
By the time I reach the corner, I’ve already made my choice.
I’ll dig until I hit the root of this thing.
I’ll tear apart whatever they’re keeping from me.
And when I finally know the truth about why Lily Snow matters so damn much to Goliath…I’ll decide for myself what to do with it.
And God help anyone who gets in my way.
31
LILY
Bentley Walker doesn’t leave.
Two days later, he’s still here.
The sight of him on campus hits me like a slap. I’m walking out of English, the afternoon sun in my eyes, Bethany beside me complaining about her professor, when I catch movement across the quad.
It’s him.
Bentley Walker.
It’s hard not to notice him with his long legs eating up the distance between us, expensive slacks pulling taut over his thighs, hands shoved casually into the pockets of a tailored coat that doesn’t belong in the middle of a student campus. He looks like he’s walking out of a glossy magazine spread, not a lecture hall.
Bethany stops mid-step, eyes going wide.
“Oh. My. God,” she whispers, her voice sharp with warning.
I don’t stop walking. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
But of course, he falls into step beside me.
“I thought you’d left,” I say, my frown sharp enough to cut through him.
“You didn’t call,” he says, like that explains anything.
“There’s a reason for that,” I bite back.
He tilts his head. “Can we walk and talk?”
Bethany shoots him a glare, then mutters under her breath, “Don’t mind me,” before peeling off toward the library. Smart girl.
I stop dead in the middle of the walkway. “Why are you still here, Bentley?”
He halts too, studying me like he’s choosing his next words with surgical precision. I can’t stand it—the way he stares, like I’m a puzzle he’s still entitled to solve.
“Unfinished business,” he says.
I bark out a laugh—ugly, humorless. “Unfinished business? The last time we met, you didn’t just hurt me, Bentley. You destroyed me. You reached into my chest, ripped my heart out, and ground it into the dirt. You left me bleeding. Tell me—what the hell could be unfinished after that?”
His eyes drop to the pavement. For a second—just a second—he looks almost human. Then he lifts his gaze, locking onto mine, and I hate that his stare still carries weight.
