- Yara -

The hallway was a chaotic mess of bodies and noise. With the junior classes temporarily relocated The press of strangers grated on my nerves, a tide of movement that made it impossible to breathe. Then—impact. A brutal collision sent me sprawling, my books scattering like fallen leaves.

"Shit." I cursed under my breath, frantically gathering them before the crowd stepped all over.

A hand entered my vision—elegant, deliberate. Long fingers closed around my sketchbook, the movement unhurried, as if time itself bowed to his will.

"Thank you so much," I murmured without looking up.

"Don't mention it."

A voice like smooth liquor—rich, refined. Familiar.

My breath faltered.

I looked up, clutching my book to my chest, as I stood up slowly.

Him.

Zayne Lanston stood there, offering me another folder. The same mysterious person from the party, whose presence seemed to shrink the space around him.

The tailored black turtleneck beneath his trench coat only sharpened the edge of his presence, stark against the mayhem of the hallway. The students around us may as well have been ghosts—nothing else existed at that moment.

His eyes—green, threaded with gold—narrowed slightly, sharp with recognition.

"You," he said simply.

The single syllable curled in the air between us.

Before I could reply, someone shoved past me, and I stumbled. A sharp inhale—then warmth.

A hand on my waist. Unyielding.

"Careful." His voice was low, like the pull of velvet over steel. His fingers didn't flex, didn't pull me closer, but they didn't let go either. "Are you alright?"

The space between us had shrunk to nothing, the scent of something expensive—cedarwood, rain, ink—filling my lungs.

Heat coiled low in my stomach.

"Y-Yeah," Flustered, I managed, pulling away too quickly. His touch lingered, phantom warmth against my skin.

The murmurs in the hall grew louder as students noticed him. Whispers of awe and curiosity rippled around us, their gazes fixed on Zayne as if he were a sculpture that demanded admiration.

I was forced to suggest awkwardly, gesturing toward a quieter corner. "I think we should find a place less crowded if we wanna talk." Zayne studied me for a beat, his lips curving faintly—almost imperceptibly—before he said.

"Lead the way."

As we approached a remote corner, I turned to him and offered a handshake. "I didn't get to introduce myself that day. I'm Yara."

His fingers curled around mine, rougher than I expected—warm, steady, yet undeniably strong.

"Zayne."

"I know." I exhaled, attempting a smile, willing my pulse to slow. "I had to know who my accidental victim was."

A ghost of a smirk brushed his lips. "Accidental, was it?"

He released my hand but didn't step back, his presence still looming.

"So," he mused, studying me. "You're studying...?"

"Art," I answered, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, trying to shake off the lingering effect of his touch. "I was here for a project meeting."

"That explains the precision."

The remainder of the wine incident burned my cheeks. "I promise my aim is usually much better. But... thank you for the compliment. I think?"

Zayne inclined his head. "It was."

The way he said it—calm, knowing, like he was amused by some private joke—unsettled me more than if he had laughed outright.

I cleared my throat. "What brings you to campus? Business?"

"Personal matters," he replied smoothly. Then, with a deliberate pause— "My sister's starting here soon."

So, he had a sister.

I hesitated, glancing at my watch. "Everyone's at lunch right now. If anyone's free, they'd hardly be processing papers."

"I know," he said, his lips twitching. "Just making sure everything's in order while I take in the faculty."

A spark of an idea shot through me, and my pulse quickened. "Want me to give you a tour?" I asked, daring to be bold.

Zayne glanced at me, surprise flickering across his face before his usual cool mask returned. He paused. "That's kind of you. But I won't turn down a quick tour if you're insisting."

"Let's go then," I said, trying to mask the excitement in my voice. "Did you check out the cafeteria?"

"No, not yet," he replied. "I suppose I've got time to see what the campus offers."

"Well, I hope you're hungry." I shot him a grin. "You can sample some of the dishes if you want."

As we walked, I kept talking—explaining buildings, sharing class stories, pointing out campus quirks. I couldn't help but notice how his stiff demeanor seemed to ease a little, though I couldn't shake the feeling of being hyper-aware of him. The way he moved—too calm, deliberate, his gaze always scanning like he missed nothing.

We ended up in a secluded courtyard, tucked between old campus buildings. Few students were relaxing between classes. I explained. "This is one of the quieter spots."

I looked up at him. "You like places like this?"

I wondered about his academic life, something told me he was studious. Was he the type to avoid socializing, completely immersed in his work? Had he always been this distant, even when others tried to befriend him? Like I was trying?

He glanced around, his expression barely shifting. "It has a certain charm. But I prefer places less... open."

"Let me guess," I teased, "You thrive in the shadows—a dim study, private lounge kind of guy?"

A flicker of amusement sparked in his eyes. "You could say that. Privacy has its perks." He regards me. "Less distraction, fewer interruptions." His low tone sent a chill through my spine. "More... private."

I froze for a second, my breath catching. "Sounds... intimate. Aesthetic."

His eyes lingered on mine longer than necessary—unreadable, but there was something that made my heart race. A flicker of heat crossed his gaze, but it was gone. "Perhaps." He replied.

A breeze stirred, rustling the leaves above us. One drifted down and caught in my hair. I fumbled to remove it, but Zayne was quicker.

His scent—cedarwood—enveloped me. I inhaled sharply as he reached up, fingers, brushing through my hair, plucking the leaf free. His touch lingered a moment too long, his proximity too intimate. I stood frozen, rooted to the spot. His eyes didn't leave mine, and for a brief second, the world seemed to vanish.

Then his phone buzzed, snapping the tension. Zayne's expression hardened as he glanced at the screen. A shadow passed over his face—a flicker of something dark and sharp, like the tightening of a string ready to snap.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice clipped. Without waiting for a response, he walked off, answering the call. Without even saying goodbye.

I stood there, taken aback, staring after him as his long strides carried him away further and further. "What's his deal?" I muttered. The man was an enigma—a maddening, magnetic enigma. The shift in his demeanor had been so jarring, that I couldn't quite process it. My chest tightened with unexpected fear, and disappointment, tinged with annoyance.

Had I done something wrong again?

Or was this just how he was—always halfway out the door, no matter who he was with?

"That guy doesn't even know that his fine face is causing me occupational pain," I muttered, as I hid my flushed face in my hands. "If only he was a bit more approachable."

Why couldn't I find my inspiration in someone easy to talk to? I couldn't boldly ask for his number due to my pride, I knew I should have shoot my shot but...I rubbed my face in frustration. He'd have rejected me, politely and I knew it. Heck, he didn't even say goodbye when I was just being friendly.

Suddenly, a reckless but brilliant idea hit me.

I quickly pulled out my phone and called Helen. After five rings, she picked up, her voice sharp and businesslike. "Speak."

"I want to deliver the apology gift to him personally," I replied bluntly.

Yeah, I probably sounded desperate, but when your professor's breathing down your neck about a missed deadline, desperation becomes second nature. Or that was what I wanted to believe.

There is a beat of pause.

"You barely bother to socialize with high society, especially men, why the sudden change of heart?" Her voice had a note of suspicion. "Don't tell me it's because you're feeling guilty."

"I am feeling guilty." I insisted though the real reason was more complicated.

It was like she didn't hear me at all, as she countered calling on my bullshit. "Yara," I could almost visualize her leaning back, and narrowing her gaze, "Perhaps that man caught your interest? Hm, I mean, sure, he is quite the looker."

I blushed, cutting her off. "Jesus, no. Helen, listen—I'm serious. I feel bad and I want to take responsibility for my mistake." I said, insisting my thoughts are as pure as a babe.

Helen almost hit the bullseye and missed by a few tad bit millimeters.

She paused considering my words, as her stern voice came from the receiver. "Your uncle needs his and his family's support. And if that isn't possible maybe a peace offering so they don't turn against him. You do realize it's not just a simple apology gift, right?"

"I do," I replied. "I'm not playing any childish games, and I think he'd prefer it came from me since I'm the one who..."

"Christened him at a high-profile party." She finished it for me, relishing my rare guilt. "Fine. You'll go—but with Trevor."

I blinked in surprise. That was easier than expected but then she threw another hard ball. "Wait, Trevor? Why?"

"To accompany you," she stated the obvious, clearly finding this entertaining which irritated me.

"I'd rather go alone," I said quickly. "Is there a problem with that? I don't need a babysitter, and I've got this."

Besides, I won't be able to ask Zayne to be my model with Trevor hovering around.

Helen's tone turned skeptical. "Alone? Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I thought of an excuse and blurted out one. "Sending your assistant may seem a bit eager."

Helen sighed, defeated. "You're stubborn, but fine. Just remember—one wrong move could complicate things for your uncle. Beside...." She paused briefly, then her voice hardened, "But I trust you can handle it. Just don't turn this into some personal adventure, alright? Be careful. He may have seemed polite, but he's dangerous."

A strange chill prickled at my spine. "Dangerous?" I echoed, lowering my voice as I instinctively glanced around to ensure no one was eavesdropping. I faintly thought of that phone call and his change, and abrupt departure.

"I don't know all the details," Helen admitted, her tone thoughtful, almost cautious. "But his sudden resurgence in high society—it's... unnatural. And the way he's secured his position within the Lanston empire, so quickly and so decisively—it tells me he's a man who knows how to get what he wants. By any means."

I blinked, the weight of her words settling heavily in my chest. For Helen to speak about him in this regard means he had more influence outside my imagination.

"So, think carefully before you decide to do this alone." Helen did one last attempt to sway me.

Instead of deterring me, her warning did the exact opposite. I was irrevocably more intrigued.

"Well, as long as you've agreed..." I said lightly, waving off her concerns with feigned ease. "Don't worry, Helen. I've got this."

The lie rolled off my tongue effortlessly, holding my phone closer to my ear as I stared at the yard.

There was a long pause on the other end, static humming faintly in the silence. Then Helen's voice, with an edge of warning, broke through. "Be careful, Yara. With men like him, curiosity can cost more than you think."

I swallowed, my grip tightening around the phone. "I'll be fine," I replied, forcing lightness into my tone, but my heartbeat betrayed me, quick and restless.

She sighed. "Alright. Call me if you need anything."

"I will."

Helen's final words lingered in my mind, and deep down, I already knew—there was no turning back now.