First Look: Loathed Love - Chapter Three (Patreon)

As a First Look, you all are receiving early access to Chapter Three of Loathed Love. Please be respectful of your fellow readers and do not spoil anything for those who wish to wait to read. It's a very Happy Friday! You now have the first three chapters to dig into before Nov 10th, and we'll also be dropping Birdie's POV in Chapter 4 before the release too 🩷🕊️ Happy Reading!!

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Half-truths aren’t lies. It’s just omitting the full scope of what’s happening. Which is what I tell myself after I get off the phone with my mother.

She knows I made the quiz bowl team, but there’s no reason to tell her I’m on probation.

Hopefully I won’t be for long.

I spend the next three hours at the library before heading to my astronomy lab in the late afternoon. There, I learn to use a Newtonian telescope—which, interesting—but jitters and nerves override my love of learning. I’m losing time to solve a very real problem. And I can’t stop thinking about Birdie.

My best solution happens to be the most infuriating, aggravating person I’ve ever met. He rejected you, Audrey, I remind myself.

He’s not even a solution anymore. He’s a failed attempt.

Just thinking about him causes an intense scowl. I might start forming real wrinkles on my forehead alongside the golf-ball-sized bump.

As soon as class ends, I’m on the phone calling all the grad students in the music department who are listed as available for tutoring. And…every single one is booked up for the next two weeks.

I don’t have two weeks. I don’t even have seven days!

Sweat builds when I think about standing in front of Guy Abernathy and being outed as a fraud. Maybe it’d be better not to show up to practice at all? I could quietly forfeit my spot and make an excuse about pursuing other avenues, but quitting twists my stomach. It’s worse than being defeated. It’s giving up. Even the idea feels like being forced to strip bare in front of an entire auditorium. Humiliating.

It’s not just my ego I’m trying to protect.

My dignity is at stake. Who does Guy even know? Could he gossip about me? Will I be barred from other academic teams in the future if I ruin my reputation with these three students?

And yes, I should have thought about this sooner. But I had five seconds to either tell the truth or lie, and I chose lie. I must sit in the wake of my mistake or fight for a proper solution.

Quitting is a looming and agonizing option. One I try to ignore as I sling my heavy bookbag onto the backseat of the Range Rover.

“Have a good day, Miss Cobalt?” Hans asks from behind the wheel, always dressed in a dapper black suit, his graying caramel-colored hair smoothed with product.

He’s been my chauffeur since I moved to New York. Thanks to Beckett. My brother shifted his personal driver to my daily schedule so I’d get around the city safely. Which made me feel quite loved. Most especially coming from Beckett, who trusts very few people, and Hans has been his most trusted driver ever since my brother moved to New York at sixteen for ballet.

“It’s been…eventful,” I tell him, massaging my aching shoulders. My many textbooks spill out of the unclasped bookbag.

“Air conditioning okay?”

“Oui. It’s lovely. Thank you, Hans.” I push my books back into the leather bag, just as my phone buzzes on the seat. I forget about the strain in my arms and snatch the phone quickly.

KINNEY: Just got my phone back from detention. Knew you’d make the team. They would’ve been idiots not to have you.

So ridiculous that she got caught taking my call in the bathroom and was punished. I wish I’d been there to try and convince the principal to let her out with a warning. I’m sure Kinney just accepted her bad fate. 

AUDREY: Practice starts Thursday 🩷 Just need to find a music tutor so I can be a music specialist 😅 You know any musical savants?

KINNEY: Yeah, your brother. The genius one or the one in a literal rock band.

AUDREY: Sadly, Charlie and Tom are not options. I’m turning a new leaf here in New York. I shall be handling my own self-made problems these days.

KINNEY: Whoa. That is a very new leaf.

KINNEY: I’m sure there are tutors online…though that might be sketchy if they find out who you are.

There are times when being the daughter of famous parents has its perks. Other times…not so much.

I peer up from my phone, then out the window. The north quad is still in sight, and the Range Rover hasn’t budged an inch. “Hans?” I call out. “Why haven’t we left campus yet?”

“We’re waiting on someone, Miss Cobalt.”

“Who?”

The answer appears immediately as the door swings open and Charlie climbs in. What in the world is my eldest brother doing on campus?

He spares no words for me. Just simply shuts the door so Hans can drive. Charlie shrugs off a long wool coat and rakes a hand through his tousled golden-brown hair. His aggravated expression is commonplace. It’d be stranger to see him full of glee.

Do not look suspicious. Nothing is out of the ordinary. You didn’t just lie to a hot grad student to slither your way onto a quiz bowl team. You are a lion, not a fucking snake.

As the car bumps along the road, I spin too fiercely to my brother and my seatbelt yanks at my shoulder. “Are you spying on me?” I wonder. “I am flattered—”

“I wasn’t at MVU to spy on you.” He slumps backward and kicks off his loafers.

I smile. “Then for Ben? I’ve loved seeing you both get along. Gone are the days where you two wished each other dead. Metaphorically. You would never kill Ben.”

Charlie lets out a sharp, dry laugh. “There is still time. But I’m not here for Ben.” His tone is irritable, and then he eyes the goose egg on my forehead and the run in my tights. He appears unsympathetic. “Trip over your common sense today?”

“Hardly.”

“Keep catching your falls with your face and not your hands and I’ll keep believing you have zero survival instincts.”

I cross my arms. He’s going to wish he didn’t jab at me. “If you must know, I fell into a man’s arms today. He was one second from ripping off all my clothes and taking me against the desk. Rough, hard, to the point of—”

“I don’t care what’s happening in your imagination, sotte petite sœur.” He calls me his foolish little sister with extra bite. He also looks like he wants to fling himself out of the vehicle.

Normally, I’d feel victorious over perturbing him, but a wave of disappointment slams into me. This is not what I’m supposed to be doing in New York. It’s so easy to fall into my little sister role where I get a rise out of my brothers, especially after they tease me.

But I don’t want to be treated like the baby of the family anymore. I don’t want to annoy Charlie so much that he doesn’t include me in things.

“He is real,” I say more seriously. “I didn’t fib. The most handsome grad student caught me in his arms today.” I sink backward and finger the thin necklace at my throat. I’m warm all over remembering the literal run-in with Guy Abernathy. Only cringing a little, knowing this could end very poorly come Thursday.

“What’s his name?” Charlie asks.

I blink out of my thoughts. “You care?”

“Beckett will if you’re hanging out with anyone close to our age.” He names his fraternal twin.

“But you don’t care?”

“No.”

I squint, trying to detect a level of care. Maybe it is true. Maybe Charlie is callous, but it’s hard for me to accept his lack of empathy the way Ben has over the years. “Not even if the grad student pins me to the wall—”

“I’m not talking hypotheticals with you,” Charlie cuts in. “And if you ask me why, I will remind you that you are the most obnoxious person in this family.”

So much for not annoying him.

“That just means I’m the most engaging of the Cobalt Empire.” I swat my hair triumphantly off my shoulder. “Even Eliot would call me a winner.”

“Because he’d rather cut out his tongue than call our youngest sister a loser. Whereas I”—Charlie picks himself out of a slouch—“will tell you exactly what you don’t want to hear. The coldhearted fucking truth.”

“Mean-spirited,” I say to him. “That is what you are, and it’s not a pleasant attribute, Charlie. How do you expect to find your one true love if you’re exuding Grinch behavior?” It’s something I heard Tom say once, and I’m starting to agree.

“What’s his name?” Charlie asks again, but more bitterly.

“None of your concern…” I trail off. Does he look peakish? Sweat beads up on his forehead. “Are you ill?” I quickly dig in my bookbag.

He glares. “Ill-tempered.”

If he were truly sick, I don’t know if he’d tell me. I think my worry annoys him most. He would rather be met with swords than blankets.

I find my Tiffany-blue tin and pop the lid. Freshly baked gingersnaps line white tissue paper. Fortuitous. I baked Charlie’s favorite cookie last night. “Here. Have as many as you’d like.” I pass him the tin.

Charlie rarely rejects a gingersnap.

So I’m glad to see he doesn’t now. He chews the cookie. Then he rolls the sleeve of his black cashmere sweater, showing me gauze around the inside of his elbow.

There was a blood drive on campus today.

“You donated blood,” I realize. “That’s why you were at MVU then?”

He nods in confirmation and swigs water from one of the glass bottles in the console. Rosy color begins to return to his fair skin.

I smile, happy to see he’s not going to pass out. “You survived because of me, you realize.”

“Because I was going to keel over and die during this car ride if you didn’t feed me.” He gives me a look like be smarter.

I simply smile brighter. “What would you do without me?”

“Too many enjoyable things to count. If you believe this is an exaggeration, then continue to live in fantasy. It is where your insufferable romance exists.” He forces a half smile.

I ignore the sting.

I try not to let Charlie claim this win.

Audrey 1 vs. Charlie 0.

I shove the tin in my bookbag. He doesn’t thank me for the cookies. His appreciation is rarely said in words, but I like to believe it lies behind his harsh yellow-green eyes. Somewhere in there, the gingersnap is the best part of his day, and he’s grateful I exist.

They all are.

This uplifting belief leads me to Hell’s Kitchen.

To my new home.

Charlie is on the phone with Beckett, speaking in hushed French so I can’t eavesdrop, while the elevator ascends the luxury high-rise. We both step off at the twenty-first floor, but Charlie disappears into apartment 2166.

I watch the door shut behind him.

The speed at which I moved to New York throttled all five of my brothers. They didn’t expect me to graduate prep school early, but being the last one left at the Cobalt Estate, in that big house, was eerie and cold. No matter how much my mother tried to fill the space with noise, I missed my siblings.

Their laughter.

Their banter.

Their fighting and chaos.

I hated every second of walking the halls and hearing the creak of the floors, knowing they weren’t footsteps. Knowing Ben wasn’t running over to me with a humongous smile and calf-high socks, his pet bird flapping behind him. Just to grab my hand and tell me, “You have to come outside.”

“What for?”

The rain.

I hated the mud, but I would dirty my stockings and skirt for Ben. I’d catch droplets on my tongue and protect my hair with a clear umbrella, still able to see the world around me. When we were much younger, he’d make mud angels, and I’d rate each one a spectacular ten out of ten.

We’re not so little anymore, but now that we’re grown, I don’t want moments together to just cease to exist.

Time is finite.

I knew that the moment Ben almost…he almost…well, he’s still here now. That’s what matters most.

It’s why I couldn’t be alone any longer. Being the youngest already feels like a curse.

I don’t want to be left behind.

And living here with my brothers gives me the chance to show them I’m not little anymore.

I enter the neighboring apartment, 2168 etched into a gold plaque on the door. While Charlie, Beckett, Tom, and Ben all live together, my new roommate is solely Eliot.

He never once made me feel like a consolation prize or burden. He vied to be my roommate like the position was CEO of Cobalt Inc.

I’ve never loved him more in my lifetime than I do now.

And we have a much better apartment than the too-modern, too-ordinary bachelor pad next door. I push inside, and the décor instantly rouses my spirits.

Heavy burgundy drapery, velvet chaises, damask wallpaper, and so much clutter. I love the lived-in feel of the strewn books on the kitchen counter, the melted blue wax stuck to the coffee table, the remnants of yesterday’s late-night fireplace chat—wine glasses sitting emptied, my lip gloss on the rim.

It’s like living backstage at the Globe Theatre.

Paper hearts dangle from the ceiling, my addition for the month of February. I flip on the gas fireplace—and then freeze at the several lit candlesticks on the mantel. Is Eliot home?

No…I haven’t heard a noise.

I know my brothers Eliot and Tom are pyromaniacs, seeing as how they set Prince Snuggleton on fire and threw him in the pool when I was six. Beckett jumped in and saved my teddy bear from drowning in the deep end. All the while Eliot and Tom cackled like the witches from Macbeth. I forgave them within the hour.

I don’t like holding a grudge.

But I doubt Eliot is foolish enough to leave the apartment with candles burning.

I think?

I hope.

I sigh. I’ve only been living with Eliot for a month. It’s not as if I have him all figured out. The last time we lived together, I was thirteen. He was nineteen. A lot has changed since then.

On a typical day, Eliot would be at the theater by now, getting ready for his nightly performance on Broadway. He plays the Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart in the critically acclaimed stage play, Amadeus.

 But today is Monday, and Mondays are dark days. No performances. Eliot uses Mondays to do voice work, go to the gym, and get massages. He’s home by late afternoon unless he has a date.

I check the time.

6 p.m.

Maybe he’s at a cocktail bar with a girl.

I dump my bookbag at the end of a wine-red chaise and stack the chunky texts.

The History of Musical Instruments

Fundamentals of Music

Five Centuries of Keyboard

Choral Orchestration

I checked them out of the library as a last-ditch attempt to study on my own. But I know it’s more of a way to placate my feelings than a real solution. Reading these books would take hours and only cover a fraction of what I’d need to know.

It’d be far faster to have someone with this specific set of knowledge tutor me.

Birdie was my best shot.

Curling up on the chaise with a cable-knit blanket, I grab Fundamentals of Music and rub the creases of my eyes. I could still call Tom and ask for help, but that’d mean sacrificing another large slice of pride and looking like the little sister that’s unable to clean her own messes…again.

I need to figure this out myself. 

Uncapping a pink highlighter, I flip to the first page.

The front door opens abruptly. “Sustenance!” Eliot calls out in dramatic entrance. He hoists two white paper bags of takeout, arches his brows, and gives the bags a playful shake.

It’s impossible not to smile and laugh.

Eliot sets the takeout on our weathered oak kitchen table, then unwinds a scarf from his neck and slides a hand through his wavy brown hair while unbagging the containers.

At six-four, he’s not only skyscraping tall but impeccably dressed. Polished oxfords, crisp navy-blue button-down, tailored slacks, and a stylish black peacoat—he could fit in with the likes of my new quiz bowl teammates, I realize.

And yet Eliot never went to college.

He chose the arts instead.

The media calls him “devilishly handsome” and one of the most eligible bachelors in Manhattan. Kinney says he looks more and more like Superman by the day.

In my eyes, he’s just the brother who set me on his shoulders so I could pick the highest crab apples from the thick tree in our backyard. The brother that knocked out Sal Ferrari’s front tooth when he heard him spreading rumors about taking my virginity. The brother that put firecrackers on my birthday cake instead of candles and laughed hysterically when my handmade birthday streamers caught on fire.

I hated him for a mere five minutes.

Because he squeezed me in the tightest, most adoring hug and said, “You are by far my most favorite little sister, dearest sister.” His blue eyes sparkled with an earnest love.

“You only have one little sister, dearest brother,” I noted, always trying to mimic his way of speaking as a child. I loved the fanciful, lavishness of Eliot Alice Cobalt and his dramatic portrayal of Puck. Oh, to hear him monologue A Midsummer Night’s Dream was a marvel of my childhood.

He’d bend conspiratorially close to whisper, “‘Lord, what fools these mortals be,’” and I’d giggle.

I loved every second he noticed my existence. I still love it like one does a raging fire on a brutally cold night. But I never imagined he’d choose to live with me—not over living with Tom. Those two are only eleven months apart in age and bound together like twins.

Granted, his motive might be to ensure I stay out of trouble, but I am deeply honored that he cares about my well-being—and even more that he chooses to spend time with me.

I glance at the lit candlesticks. Only slightly concerned about the type of danger I’ve signed up for. “Have you been gone for long?”

“Just ran down to the lobby to pick up dinner. I couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.” All my brothers use a white-glove delivery service for takeout.

Eliot catches me eyeing the candlesticks. “Here…” He shrugs off his peacoat, folding it across the barstool, then journeys into the living room to blow out each flame on the mantel. “No fires. We’re all alive and well—” His voice dies instantly at the sight of me.

I don’t hide what I’m sure is an ugly bump.

His eyes darken considerably, and he darts over to me with mounting brotherly concern. “What happened to your head?” He tilts my chin upward to examine the goose egg in the light.

“Slow reflexes. I didn’t escape the path of a football quickly enough.”

“Someone hit you with a football?” He lets go of me like he might go grab a knife. “What’s his name?”

“It wasn’t intentional.” I sigh at my ripped tights. “I’m more upset at the stains in my skirt. I regret wearing white.”

“Those can be dry-cleaned.”

“My ego cannot.”

His lips quirk. “This isn’t the sister I know. She wouldn’t let grass stains affect her self-esteem. She knows her confidence is impenetrable.”

He’s right. I didn’t let Birdie’s laughter chip at my pride, and I certainly won’t let a fashion disaster be the cause either. “Tomorrow will be better.” I nod resolutely. “Everything will work itself out.” I stare at the tiny font of my book.

Somehow it will.

Eliot takes a seat at the foot of the chaise, my stacked textbooks between us. “You still don’t think you should have your bodyguard around?”

“Kosko is around,” I defend.

Eliot serves me a casual yet protective look. Like he wants to argue, but he also hates warring with me and the rest of our siblings. He fits the fourth-born role well as a peacemaking middle child. His attempts to glue us all together don’t always pan out the way he intends.

Each person in my family has a 24/7 bodyguard assigned to them. I’ve grown up with a constant source of protection like I’m the daughter of nobility or the president. Sometimes, I do pretend that my parents are seventeenth-century aristocrats, but my reality is much more prosaic. My parents are rich and famous and so caught up in the public eye that they fear their children might be used for bribes and ransoms.

But since I’ve turned eighteen, I’ve been able to have a little more control over when and where my bodyguard follows me. Vlad Kosko and I have an agreement. He’s on campus, if I need him, but he’s not going to trail my heels like a shadow.

He can watch me…from afar.

I don’t break the slight challenge in Eliot’s gaze. After a full minute, he releases a resigned breath.

A smile hooks my lips.

I’ve been having this discussion with him for weeks. He doesn’t like that my bodyguard isn’t within breathing distance of me while I’m alone. But I want the normal college experience. Or at least, normal enough.

How am I supposed to achieve that with a bodyguard following me around campus?

Plus, I want Charlie to be so painfully wrong—that romance doesn’t just live in my head.

How can the opportunity even arise if I have another guy attached to my hip? Kosko isn’t an old wrinkly man. He’s twenty-seven and a Navy vet.

“Anyway,” I add, “I doubt Kosko would have done much. The ball came out of nowhere. I barely had time to blink.”

Eliot nods, accepting this for now. He picks up The History of Musical Instruments, a flute, violin, and harp illustrated on the cover. His gaze cinches in confusion.

Before he can ask, I spring to my feet and head to the table. “Where’d you order food from?”

“Maison du Bœuf. Steak frites for you. Salad Niçoise and salmon tartare for me.” We don’t always eat French cuisine, but Eliot knows I’ve been on a steak frites kick.

“Did you get their beets and goat cheese?” It’s divine. I glance back. He hasn’t moved off the chaise.

Eliot grins up from the book. “Of course.”

I spot the beets, then I grab a container of…ratatouille? “Who are the veggies for?”

His smile falters at the edges. “I also invited Selene. I hope you don’t mind. We’ll be in my room.”

Ah yes, the revolving bedroom door of Eliot Alice Cobalt. Being his roommate has opened my eyes to his exploits. I made a complete fool of myself with Felicity, the first girl he brought over. While he was still getting ready, I chatted her up and tried to wingwoman Eliot. Telling her all his best qualities.

His loyalty. His devotion. His commitment.

I gave her my number and told her she could call me anytime for a girl chat or to trade recipes (she was also a lover of baking sweet things). Then the next night hit and Eliot introduced me to Penelope. As if Felicity didn’t even exist!

But yes, she very much exists.

I know based on the texts she sent me. Cursing me out. Telling me I’d set her hopes too high when all it’d been was sex.

The way Eliot doted on these women with fine dining and romantic strolls in Central Park, I just imagined they were more than one-night stands. He had real interest in them. Before he didn’t.

I suppose I don’t even know what flings are like. I don’t want short-lived, meaningless sex for myself. Is it so bad that I also want Eliot to find deep, devoted love? Not these fleeting spells of…passion.

Even if I know Selene might be well-informed that this will likely be her second and last date with my brother, maybe she’s perfectly happy with the arrangement. Maybe this is what fuels my brother’s soul.

But I just don’t understand it.

I don’t see what he sees, but I am his roommate. And I have to see these girls come in and out of his life like wisps in the night.

Regardless of my feelings, Eliot doesn’t need my judgment when he was the only one who vouched for me to move to New York early. I pop open the lid to my steak frites and pluck out a crisp fry, taking a tiny bite. “Selene is a beautiful name,” I tell him after I swallow. “You don’t need to hide her in your room if you don’t want to. I’ll be in mine. I have to study.” All truths.

Eliot raises the textbook. “What are you studying for? I didn’t think you were taking music classes.”

I’m in the kitchen, plucking a plate from a cupboard. “Extracurriculars.”

He joins me, and I pass him two more plates, one for him and Selene, as he says, “You’re in a music club?”

Lying to Eliot will tear me to pieces, so I admit, “You know how I made the quiz bowl team today?”

“Yes?”

“Well…” I scrape my bloodied steak onto the plate. “I made it probationally. And I might’ve lied about being a music specialist.”

His grin morphs into sheer pride. “My devious little sister.” He sets the plates down, just to pull me into a tight hug, lifting me up high with his height.

I laugh when my feet come off the floor. When he sets be back down, I say, “Don’t tell Mother and Father. There’s still a chance I don’t come out of this.”

“You’re a Cobalt.” His grin levels to something softer, more serious. “You’ll come out on top. We always do.”

I want that to be true, so much so that I don’t refute him.

I am a Cobalt.

Cobalts also don’t flub auditions, and they surely don’t squander a golden opportunity. Which is why I can’t waste another second.

I need to study, so I wish Eliot well on his date, then take my bookbag and plated steak frites to my bedroom.

It’s decorated in a simple yet sophisticated way for my new college life. A white wooden desk against one wall, a matching vanity against the other, a four-poster bed with billowing sheer white drapes on the posts. A reading corner is outfitted with towering wooden bookcases and a velvet blush-pink bucket chair.

Everything is new. I wanted to start a new chapter this year and not bring any of my high school things with me.

As soon as I place my plate on the desk, my phone buzzes in my bag. It takes me two seconds to unearth it and two seconds for my face to roast in anger.

UNKNOWN: This is Birdie St. Pierre. (See how introducing yourself first does wonders.) I got your number from my brother.

I drop into my fuzzy desk chair. I can’t believe he has the nerve to text me after what he said. I add his number into my contacts and reply quickly.

AUDREY: I’m not interested. That’s what you told me to remember when I wake up. Well, bud, it’s not even midnight.

BIRDIE: Bud?

AUDREY: Yes. Said condescendingly.

BIRDIE: I take it you have another offer to tutor you then.

I glare at my phone, then stand up and start pacing the length of my room. He can’t seriously be considering this now. He had been so against it that he was practically running away from me.

AUDREY: I don’t trust people who change their opinions so fast.

BIRDIE: Let’s just say circumstances changed for me. 

AUDREY: In less than eight hours?

BIRDIE: Yes, Virginia.

I growl. He’s so obnoxious. I could literally find anyone else. But by tomorrow? I collapse back on my soft pink comforter, his confident, annoying grin embedded in my brain. He should have been the one pelted with a football. I’m not going to just jump at the second chance without more answers. If I’m venturing down this road, I want to at least trust him.  

AUDREY: What changed?

BIRDIE: I need the money. How much does this tutoring thing pay?

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“Loathed Love," Copyright © 2026 by K.B. Ritchie