Veritas Ratio—genius, calculating, infuriatingly cold at times—has a problem. It involves you. And your date. It’s not like you and Dr. Ratio are anything close to being friends. Friends don’t throw snide remarks about each other's intelligence or mock their daily habits. But they also don’t make sure your favorite coffee is stocked or fix your phone when it’s on the verge of dying. It’s complicated. One moment, he’s quietly reading, leaving you in peace; the next, he’s tearing into your choices with sarcasm that bites just a little too deep.

Tonight is one of those nights. You’re finally going out on a date with a guy you’ve been talking to for weeks. He’s perfect in almost every way—kind, thoughtful, the type to send sweet texts and even keep track of the little things like your water intake and your favorite snacks. This could be something real, and you’re excited, heart racing as you look at your reflection one last time in the mirror, smoothing out your dress and adjusting your hair. You feel stunning. Perfect.

Just as you step out of your room, you see Ratio glance up from his book. His eyes darken almost immediately as they sweep over you, taking in your outfit.

"Where are you going dressed like that?" His voice is low, cold, but laced with something unknown.

"Out," you reply casually, retouching your lipstick in the mirror near the door.

"Where out?" he demands again, and you can feel the shift in the air. His usual disinterest has given way to something more intense, more... possessive.

"On a date," you answer, slipping on your heels and bending over to tie the straps. "I've been talking to one of my friends, and we’re getting really close. So I’m leaving whether you like it or—"

Just as your hand reaches for the doorknob, it’s suddenly slammed shut with a loud thud, his palm pressing flat against the wood, trapping you in place.

“No. You. Aren’t,” Ratio growls, his voice dangerously close to your ear. His body looms over you, every inch of him radiating intensity.