Under his shield

Holly Erickson POV:

They called me K.B. Barry, a reclusive genius. They didn't know I was just Holly, a girl who wanted someone to see her, not the millions of words she'd written. The fame was a cage, gilded and shimmering, but a cage nonetheless. Every award, every bestseller, every interview request—they were all bars keeping me from a life I desperately craved. A normal life. A real connection.

I vanished. Not literally, of course, but I faded into the background. I traded private jets for public buses, designer clothes for oversized sweaters, and the constant glare of the spotlight for the anonymity of a bustling university campus. My disguise was simple: thick-rimmed glasses that hid my eyes, hair pulled back tight, and clothes that swallowed my figure. I looked studious, unremarkable. Invisible. And it was exactly what I wanted.

For weeks, I floated through campus life, a ghost in the machine. No one knew I was the acclaimed K.B. Barry, the literary sensation. No one spared me a second glance. It was glorious. I reveled in the quiet, the freedom to just be. I could sit in the library for hours, observing, learning, without a single person interrupting me to ask about symbolism or plot twists. It felt like breathing again.

Then came the incident at the student union. It was a Friday night social, loud and chaotic, the kind of place I usually avoided. But a friend, a genuine one I'd made in my statistics class, had dragged me along. I was nursing a lukewarm soda, trying to look absorbed in my phone, when the shouting started. A group of guys, all broad shoulders and sneering faces, had cornered a smaller, timid student. They were laughing, pushing him around, demanding his wallet. My stomach coiled. Old instincts, instincts I'd buried deep under layers of self-preservation, began to stir.

"Leave him alone!" I heard myself say, the words thin and reedy, completely unlike the sharp, confident voice I used in my head.

All eyes turned to me. The leader, a hulking figure with a shaved head and a cruel smile, sauntered over. "Well, well, what have we here? Little Miss Librarian playing hero?" He loomed over me, his breath reeking of cheap beer. "You got a problem with us, four-eyes?"

My heart hammered against my ribs. I knew exactly what to say to dismantle him, to expose his insecurities, to make him back down. I could shred him with words. I could even physically defend myself, years of unexpected self-defense training from my 'celebrity' life flashing through my mind. But if I did, it would draw attention. It would unravel everything. My disguise, my precious anonymity—it would all be gone. I stood frozen, caught between my moral compass and my desperate need for a normal life.

Just as the bully's hand reached out, presumably to shove me, a new scent cut through the stale air of the union hall. It was sharp, sophisticated, like sandalwood and something subtly metallic. My head snapped up, my eyes searching.

He emerged from the crowd, a phantom of cool confidence. Kade Livingston. The campus "king." Son of Senator Livingston, heir to a political dynasty, and effortlessly, breathtakingly handsome. His dark hair fell perfectly, his tailored shirt seemed out of place in the casual setting, and his eyes, a startling shade of green, held a casual disdain for everything around him. He moved with an innate grace, a predator gliding through its domain.

My breath hitched. His presence was a palpable force, silencing the room even before he spoke. The bully, who had been seconds from laying hands on me, froze mid-air, his swagger evaporating. Kade didn't look at me, not really. His gaze swept over the scene like a bored monarch.

"Is there an issue here, Blake?" Kade's voice was low, smooth, laced with an authority that left no room for argument. He didn't raise his voice, but the words cut through the remaining buzz in the room like glass.

Blake, the bully, visibly swallowed. "No, Kade. Just... a little misunderstanding." He gestured vaguely at me, then at the cowering student.

Kade finally turned his eyes to me. They were intense, analytical, and for a fleeting second, I felt utterly exposed. He saw more than the glasses and oversized clothes. He saw me. Or at least, he saw something. A flicker of curiosity, perhaps?

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice directed at me now, a strange intimacy in the public setting.

I nodded, my throat suddenly dry. "Yes. Thank you." My voice sounded even weaker than before.

He quirked an eyebrow, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement that nonetheless sent a shiver down my spine. "You seem… quiet," he murmured, his gaze lingering on my face for a moment longer than necessary. "What's your name?"

"Holly," I managed, sounding like a mouse.

He offered a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Holly. Right." He then turned back to Blake, his expression hardening. "Blake, take your Neanderthals and make yourselves scarce. Now."

Blake, clearly terrified, didn't need to be told twice. He rounded up his crew, muttering apologies and promises to behave, and vanished into the night. It was that simple. Kade hadn't even broken a sweat. His power was absolute.

Later, I learned more about Kade Livingston. Everyone on campus knew. He was the golden boy, the unreachable star. His father was the sitting senator, his mother a renowned philanthropist. Their name opened every door, closed every argument. Kade himself was notoriously brilliant, cruising through his high-level political science classes with an almost arrogant ease. He didn't need to be here, not really. He was cultivating an image, perhaps, or simply biding his time before stepping into his preordained role in the world. He treated the university like his personal playground, attending classes when he felt like it, commanding loyalty and adoration from almost everyone. And oh, the adoration. Girls flocked to him like moths to a flame, their eyes wide with longing. He rarely acknowledged them, a king too busy for his subjects.

But for some reason, he had looked at me.

That night, alone in my dorm room, I kept replaying his green eyes, the faint smile, the way he'd said my name. A ridiculous, unfamiliar warmth bloomed in my chest. I, Holly Erickson, the invisible K.B. Barry, was falling for Kade Livingston. It was absurd, destined for heartbreak, a complete deviation from my carefully constructed plan.