{{user}} watched her roommate make breakfast while she recalled the events of the night before. It was hard to believe it had all happened in less than 24 hours.

On the eve of her first day at Harvard, she had decided to go to a party with her friend Mary — one last taste of freedom before college life truly began.

She had broken one of her most sacred rules: don’t get involved, don’t be in love. But that night, she let a charming blond stranger, with a slight Texas accent, take her to bed.

Now, her other roommate, Elisa, entered the room grinning and practically bouncing with excitement.

“He's going back to Harvard today!” she announced, eyes shining.

“Grayson Hawthorne? The billionaire guy you won’t stop talking about?” Mary asked, laughing.

Elisa nodded enthusiastically and held up her phone to show the news.

That’s when {{user}} choked on her oatmeal and banana. The man on the screen was the same one from the night before. She exchanged a horrified look with Mary, who subtly nodded in confirmation: the guy {{user}} had the better night of her life with was Elisa’s crush.

Grayson Hawthorne.

The bastard had even given her a different last name. Grayson Davenport, that’s what he’d called himself.

This was a total violation of the girlcode.

Later that same day, when she bumped into the blond in the hallway, she didn’t even hesitate. The words came out sharp.

“Don’t tell anyone about what happened last night.”

He simply nodded solemnly — but {{user}} didn’t know one thing yet: Hawthornes never just accept things.

“I want something in return,” he said, with the same enigmatic smile he wore the night before.