Chapter 2

...Valentin Andrei’s POV...

The athlete’s blood had dried into a stiff, rust-colored crust over my split knuckles, a dull ache pulsing beneath the skin with every twitch of my fingers. It was an irritatingly mundane sensation. Around us, the courtyard remained frozen in our orbit, a gallery of wide eyes and hushed breaths. I watched Dave casually extend his foot, catching the ankle of a scrawny sophomore who was trying to scurry past our bench with a stack of library books.

The boy hit the concrete with a sharp, pathetic grunt, his papers scattering across the wet grass. Before he could even look up, Denver stepped forward, grounding the heel of his designer boot directly onto the boy’s outstretched fingers. A sharp gasp of agony clipped through the air.

"Watch where you’re going, modern scholar," Denver murmured, his voice dripping with a lazy, venomous amusement. He didn't even look down at the boy, his gaze already wandering back across the campus grounds. "Val’s shirt is ruined because people like you don't know how to navigate a clearing."

"Please—I'm sorry, I didn't see—" the boy choked out, his face pale as Dave knelt down, grabbing him by the hair and pulling his head back just enough to force him to look at me.

"He’s asking for an audience, Val," Dave said, his smile stretching into something thoroughly sadistic. He gave the boy’s hair a sharp tug, making him wince. "Should we teach him how to look at his betters, or do you want to let him crawl?"

"He's not worth the energy it takes to look at him," I said, my voice cutting through the boy's whimpers like a blade through silk. I didn't glance at the mess on the floor. My eyes were already scanning the crowd, looking past the terror, searching for anything—anyone—remotely capable of curing the suffocating boredom settling into my chest. "Let him go. He’s ruining the view."

Dave shoved the boy's head down into the dirt with a disappointed sigh, while Ethan stepped over the scattered books, his fingers adjusting the gold links at his wrists.

"We need a distraction," Ethan stated, his eyes flicking over the passing groups of women who were practically breaking their necks to see if I was looking at them. "The selection this semester is entirely uninspired. Val, you’ve broken the spirit of every notable heiress and campus beauty within a three-mile radius. The rest of them..." He paused, his lip curling in a sneer as a pair of giggling girls in heavy makeup tried to catch his eye. "Too desperate. Too predictable. Too ugly to even warrant the cost of a dinner."

"They're all the same," I muttered, leaning my head back against the stone pillar, the heavy signet ring on my thumb clicking against the stone. "You give them a glance, they give you their dignity. There is no sport in it anymore."

"Hold on," Denver said suddenly. His foot left the scrawny sophomore, who immediately scrambled away like a rat into a drain. Denver was squinting toward the glass double doors of the main administrative building, a sharp, genuine grin breaking through his usual bored expression. "Look at the locker bank near the faculty wing. Now that is an anomaly."

I didn't move my head, merely shifting my cold gaze toward the corridor he was pointing out.

Standing by a row of gray metal lockers was a girl. She wasn't looking at the crowd. She wasn't looking at us. In fact, she seemed entirely insulated from the atmosphere of fear we spent every day cultivating. She was intensely, almost aggressively, focused on her own world, reaching up to twist her dark hair into a quick, efficient knot while balancing a stack of thick folders under one arm.

What caught my attention first wasn't her face, but the absurd, massive backpack slung over her shoulders. In a university where everyone carried minimal leather totes or sleek digital tablets, she looked like she was preparing for a month-long trek into the wilderness. It was heavy, bursting at the seams with textbooks and binders, totally contrasting the clean, elite aesthetic of the campus. She looked chaotic—a little messy, a little rushed—but as the sunlight hit her profile through the high glass window, the lines of her jaw and the curve of her throat were undeniably, strikingly beautiful.

"Well, well," Ethan chuckled, a low, intrigued sound vibrating in his chest as he leaned against the railing to get a better vantage point. "Look at the flock she’s gathered. One, two... no, three. She has three suitors hovering like flies around honey."

I watched the scene unfold. Three different guys from the senior class were surrounding her locker, each trying to offer a hand, carry her absurd bag, or hand her a coffee. What made me narrow my eyes was her reaction. She didn't look flustered. She didn't look annoyed. She smiled—a sweet, dazzling, completely angelic expression—nodding to one, letting another hold her folder for a split second, and laughing at a comment from the third.

"Look at that," Ethan laughed, his eyes bright with clinical appreciation. "She’s being incredibly sweet to them, practically radiating a coquettish charm, yet she isn't giving a single one of them a concrete promise. She’s playing with their hearts without them even realizing they're on a leash. A masterclass in subtle manipulation."

"She doesn't look like a manipulator," Dave countered, his posture shifting as he took a step closer to the edge of the pavilion. His eyes locked onto her face, analyzing the soft curve of her lips and the wide, clear innocence of her expression. He gave me a playful, sharp nudge with his elbow, his voice dropping into a dark, suggestive whisper. "Look at that cute, angelic face, Val. Take that one. Look at her. That is a real virgin. Pure, untouched innocence. She probably doesn't even know what sex feels like."

I kept my eyes on her as she finally hoisted the massive backpack higher onto her shoulders, completely ignoring the lingering gazes of the three guys she had just effortlessly left behind. She checked her watch, her expression shifting back to that disciplined, busy demeanor, and began walking down the corridor with a purposeful stride.

A small, dangerous spark flared against the cold backdrop of my chest. She didn't know the rules of this campus. She didn't know me.

"What's her name?" I asked quietly, the silence of my friends proving they knew I had just taken the bait.

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