Claimed by the Alpha and the Vampire Prince: Masquerading as a Man Chapter 127: How I Met Sara

CLARK POV:

Today is Friday.

And let just say—it’s been one of the weirdest, longest Fridays of my life. Not because anything major happened outside. No. Because inside this house, there’s a war going on. And I, Clark—the so-called genius twin—may have started it.

It’s been a long, frustrating week already. All I did was insist—keep insisting, really—that Clare should at least apply to a college. Any college. I even said she could major in her favorite subject, though between you and , I highly doubt she actually has one. She says she hates school altogether, so the idea of a favorite class is... a stretch. But I tried. I kept pushing her, gently at first, then more firmly when she wouldn’t even try. She flat-out refused, again and again, and I finally got frustrated.

So I did what any concerned, desperate, loving brother would do.

I told Mom and Dad. And now, I’m officially the bad guy.

Yeah... not my proudest mont.

They were furious. Not because she didn’t want to go—well, okay, partly that—but mostly because she wouldn’t even attempt to apply. Not one form. Not one search. Just flat-out "no." They gave her a serious talking-to last night. Which, of course, didn’t go well. And when they confronted her about it, she knew exactly who ratted her out.

Now Clare is furious at for "snitching."

She slamd her bedroom door on last night when I tried to talk to her, and she hasn’t said a single word since. This is the longest she’s ever gone without speaking to . Not a sarcastic jab. Not a teasing insult. Not even her infamous eye-roll. No yelling across the house. No fighting over the remote. Nothing.

She’s going full silent treatnt.

She even skipped both lunch and dinner just to avoid sitting across from . You have to understand—Clare never skips food. That girl once ate an entire family-sized pizza because I dared her. So for her to miss als? Just to avoid ?

Yeah. She’s that mad.

I let her be. For now.

I’m hoping that by tomorrow she’ll cool off and go back to being her loud, chaotic, unstoppable self. I know she’s hurt. But I also know she’s smart enough to realize I didn’t do it out of spite. I did it because I care. Because I know she deserves more than whatever reckless plan she’s cooking up in that head of hers.

While I give her space, I distract myself the best way I know how—research.

I boot up my laptop and dive into everything I can find about moville University—the place those oddly quiet, awkward student reps ca from. I rember how underwhelming their whole presentation was. It was weird. They didn’t seem excited. They barely smiled. I actually thought it might be so scam university with no real credibility.

But now, looking it up online, I realize how wrong I was.

The place is incredible.

Top-tier learning equipnt. Modern, world-class facilities. Their academic facilities are top-tier—labs, libraries, sports arenas, everything. It looked like a university straight out of a sci-fi movie. Fully equipped, modern, sleek. And the architecture? It looks like sothing out of a fantasy novel—a giant stone castle nestled in lush, green hills. It’s gorgeous.

And get this—it’s cheap. Like... suspiciously cheap. Even without the scholarship, the tuition costs are way lower than most decent colleges.

It’s cheap. Ridiculously cheap for such a high-standard university. And on top of that, they offer generous scholarship programs. My first instinct is suspicion—no top university should be this affordable. So naturally, I raised an eyebrow. I look deeper.

Turns out, it’s located in a small but economically thriving country. Low cost of living. High-quality public services. No poverty. No inflation. No student debt horror stories.

Like... is this place heaven or what?

The country itself is run by what looks like a council—a mix of leaders from various local communities. They apparently all vote together on national matters. It’s weird, but kind of... admirable? Like so real-life utopia or sothing.

Too good to be true? Maybe. But every article I read checks out.

Then I searched images of the campus and, holy crap, it looks like a castle. Not even kidding. Huge towers, old stone buildings fused with high-tech upgrades, green courtyards, and halls that could probably host royal banquets. I thought I’d clicked on the wrong link, but nope—that’s really the university.

I’m not gonna lie... the more I looked, the more obsessed I beca. I want to go. No, I need to go.

So now I’m even more obsessed with getting in.

And honestly? The more I learn, the more I wish those reps had actually done their jobs right. If they’d shown us any of this—photos, stats, real-life testimonials—they could’ve had the entire senior class applying by the end of the day.

Instead, they gave us robotic answers and monotone voices.

They weren’t passionate. They didn’t show us pictures. They didn’t give us solid information. They didn’t sell the dream. Heck, they looked like they didn’t even want to be there.

At the ti, I’d started assuming it was all a scam. That maybe the university was fake or bankrupt or desperate for students.

But now? I can say with total confidence: they completely dropped the ball. If they’d just shown us half the things I found online, I’m pretty sure half the senior class would’ve signed up on the spot.

Now it’s up to to convince Clare to at least consider it. I just hope she starts talking to again.

Because for all her flaws, I know sothing she doesn’t yet believe: she belongs in a place that sees her worth—even if she doesn’t see it yet.

*********

After spending what felt like hours deep-diving into everything moville University had to offer, I ended up on a random student forum—basically a thread where high school seniors like discussed the schools they were applying to, shared tips, and occasionally panicked together about adulting.

Most of the comnts were generic: people asking about application deadlines, soone complaining about their grades, a debate about whether scholarships were actually real or just bait.

Then I spotted a recent comnt.

The userna caught my attention: SARA221B. Her ssage was short, but there was this energy in it, like she was genuinely excited.

""Just learned about this school yesterday. The campus looks insane, and the scholarship offer sounds unreal. I’m applying tonight—can’t believe I almost missed it! .really hope I get the scholarship—this place looks like a dream!"

Sothing about it made smile. Maybe it was because I felt the sa way. Maybe because it reminded that other people were out there chasing this too. Or maybe it was just the fact that she seed as obsessed with the school as I had beco.

So, being , I replied.

"Sa here! The place looks insane. I thought it was a scam at first, lol. Still can’t believe the tuition is that low."

A few seconds later—ping—a reply popped up.

"Right?! I thought I was the only one who thought it was too good to be true. I’ve been stalking their site all day."

I laughed. Okay, this girl was definitely on my level. And we were both online at the sa ti? Cool.

"Right?! I thought the sa thing. At first, I thought it might be a scam, but the more I dug, the more real it got. Applying tonight too."

She replied within a minute. Fast.

"Glad I’m not the only one thinking that lol. The presentation at our school was kinda weird. The reps didn’t even seem interested in being there. If I hadn’t Googled it after, I probably would’ve forgotten about it."

I chuckled.

Sa exact experience.

"Are you a senior too? Where are you applying from?"

I know it’s not advisable to share details online. You never know who’s on the other end of the screen. My parents drilled that into my head early. But there was sothing about the conversation—it felt genuine. And I wasn’t giving away anything too personal. Just curiosity. And okay, maybe so loneliness too.

"Yeah, I’m in my final year. Small town. Midwest. You?"

She replied quickly again.

"Sa. I’m in Nebraska. This university looks like my only shot to go to college without drowning in debt. Fingers crossed I get the scholarship. What’s your plan?"

We started chatting back and forth, her responses quick and witty. She told she was a senior too, in another part of the country. She was also skeptical at first, but after doing so digging, just like , she was hooked. She’d already started her application and was planning to submit it by next week.

I didn’t usually talk to strangers online—not like this—but there was sothing easy about talking to her. Like we were just two students trying to figure out life, clinging to the one thing that gave us so kind of direction.

Still, I knew what I was doing probably wasn’t the smartest. All those internet safety talks from school kept buzzing in the back of my mind.

Don’t share personal information. Don’t give your real na. Never exchange numbers.

Yeah, yeah, I knew all that.

But she didn’t ask anything weird. She didn’t even ask for my na. Just asked what subjects I liked, what I planned to major in, if I was going to take the aptitude test moville required.

Totally normal stuff.

We kept ssaging back and forth. She was sharp, witty, and she didn’t try to flex or lie. Just real talk. She asked what I wanted to major in, and I told her—engineering, probably sothing with AI or sustainable energy. She seed impressed, or at least polite about pretending to be. Said she loved art but knew it wouldn’t pay the bills, so she was thinking of majoring in graphic design or communications.

And after almost an hour of chatting, sothing in clicked. I didn’t want the conversation to just end when one of us logged off. So I typed the words before I could second-guess myself:

"Hey, this might be easier to keep chatting on text if you’re cool with that? Here’s my number. Totally optional, no pressure."

I hit send.

And imdiately regretted it.

Why did I do that?

I stared at the ssage for a second, already thinking of ways to backtrack, to unsend it, to pretend it was a typo.

Then—ping.