Chapter 3:

...Dave’s POV...

I have always considered myself a connoisseur of human architecture. Some people look at a crowd and see faces; I look at a crowd and see data points, vulnerabilities, and structural flaws. Gathering intelligence is a form of artistry, and on this campus, I am the supreme architect.

As the girl with the absurdly massive backpack disappeared down the administrative corridor, I was already tapping into the network. Ethan was beside me, his fingers flying across the screen of his phone, intercepting the digital chatter that constantly flooded the university’s backchannels.

"She isn’t a freshie, Val," Ethan murmured, his eyes reflecting the blue glow of his screen as he sifted through the noise. "The forums are already lighting up because she’s walking near our pavilion. Her name is Krystel. First-year, yes, but she’s not new to the system. She’s just... entirely detached from the social hierarchy."

"So she’s not fresh meat, just selectively blind," I mused, a slow, predatory grin stretching across my face as I looked over at Val. Val hadn't looked away from the corridor. "That doesn't make her broken, Ethan. That makes her clueless. She isn't hiding from the tiger; she literally doesn't recognize the stripes. It’s absolutely perfect for you, Val."

"Filter the noise, Ethan," Val commanded, his tone dropping an octave, his fingers still tracing the gold signet ring on his thumb. He didn't look at either of us, keeping his cold gaze fixed on the empty space where she had just been standing. "I don't care about student forum poetry. I want the architecture. Is her innocence a carefully manufactured brand, or is it a factual condition?"

"It’s factual," Ethan answered, shifting his weight to lean closer, his voice sharpening into his signature clinical tone. "I’m extracting the data from three different department group chats as we speak. Hearsay says she’s an ice queen; facts say she’s a straight-A student with a perfect disciplinary record who spends her free time tutoring and running student committees. She doesn't participate in the parties. She doesn't respond to the wealth. She is a completely self-sustaining ecosystem."

"A self-sustaining ecosystem always has a weak valve," I said, stretching my arms over the back of the stone bench. The sadistic thrill under my skin was beginning to itch. "Let me go test the structural integrity. Let’s see how polite Little Miss Perfect stays when the monster enters her peripheral vision."

I didn't wait for Val’s permission. I walked away from the pavilion with a slow, deliberate stride, my eyes locking onto Krystel as she stopped by the glass bulletin board near the faculty lounge, her heavy bag shifting as she reached up to pin a notice to the corkboard. Her three loyal suitors were still hovering like stray dogs waiting for a scrap of meat.

"Excuse me," I said, stepping directly into her personal space, intentionally cutting off the tallest of the three guys. I offered her my most blinding, manufactured smile—the one that usually made girls drop their pens. "You look like you're carrying the weight of the entire academic curriculum on your shoulders. Do you need a real man to take that load off you?"

Krystel paused, a stray lock of dark hair falling across her forehead as she turned her head. Her eyes were wide, clear, and thoroughly unbothered by my sudden intrusion. She didn't flush. She didn't stammer.

"Thank you for the offer," she said, her voice a calm, melodic cadence that felt entirely too grounded for a place this toxic. She adjusted the strap of her heavy pack with an efficient, practiced motion. "But the weight is perfectly distributed, and I have a strict schedule to keep before my afternoon lecture. If you'll excuse me, I need to finish clearing this board."

She turned back to the corkboard, completely brushing me off within five seconds. It wasn't an act of defiance; it was pure, unadulterated prioritization. I was a distraction, and she didn't have room for distractions on her itinerary.

Before I could press her further, the three suitors instantly closed ranks, stepping between Krystel and me like a pathetic, organic shield. The tallest one—a junior with a varsity jacket—had terror written all over his face, but his voice was trembling with a desperate sort of bravery.

"Dave, please," he muttered, his hands slightly raised in a placating gesture, his eyes darting frantically toward our pavilion where Val and Denver were watching. "Don't do this. Leave her out of whatever game you guys are playing today. She’s... she’s different. She doesn't know how things work here. Just let her go."

"Yeah, man," the second one chimed in, his face pale as he practically begged with his eyes. "She’s the good student. She’s harmless. Don't target her, please. Val has already had his fun for the day. Tell him to leave her alone."

I let out a soft, mocking laugh, my eyes scanning their terrified expressions. Their desperate defense was the ultimate validation. "Look at you three, begging for a girl who hasn't even promised you a second glance. You’re pathetic."

While they were busy pleading her case, I noticed Krystel had already picked up her folders. She didn't even bother to listen to the confrontation. She gave her suitors a polite, distracted little wave, turned on her heel, and walked briskly down the hall toward the lecture wings, completely unaware of the target being painted on her back. Innocent. Gullible to the dangers around her, yet completely responsible, upright, uptight, and utterly untouchable.

I stepped closer to the varsity junior, my smile completely vanishing as I grabbed the lapel of his jacket, jerking him forward until his chest hit mine. The action was sharp, silent, and full of malice.

"Let me make something perfectly clear to the three of you," I whispered, my voice cutting through their panic like ice. "Begging to me has never worked, and it never will. If Valentin Andrei decides he wants to tear her little perfect world apart, your permission isn't part of the transaction. Now get out of my sight before I use your face to clean this corridor."

I shoved him back against his friends, watching them stumble over each other in their haste to retreat. I turned around and walked back to the pavilion, my heart thumping with a wicked satisfaction.

"Well?" Denver asked as I reached the stone planter, a wicked smirk on his face—though even he looked momentarily captivated, his eyes lingering on the hallway she had just vacated and Ethan briefly looked away, catching his breath for a split second before quickly rolling his eyes in irritation.

"Neither," I said, looking directly at Val, whose rain-colored eyes were waiting for the verdict. "She treated me like a telemarketer, Val. Brushed me off without a second thought, and her little fan club practically wept, begging me not to let you target her. She is a real virgin, Val. Innocent, rigid in her principles, and completely blind to who you are. She’s the ultimate trophy.”