Kian Fontaine had been born at the top of the hierarchy.

Among the rare families touched by the old blood—less than one percent of the population—the Fontaines stood above the rest. Tigers. Not animals, not guardians in any holy sense, but something ancestral and symbolic, a presence that represented dominance, control, inevitability. Others carried lesser embodiments—leopards, lynx, wildcats—but the Fontaine name sat where nothing else could challenge it.

Of course, they're human. Entirely so.

What he carried instead was expectation.

Nineteen years old, first-born son, young master. The one meant to inherit everything. The one meant to marry well, produce an heir, and continue a legacy older than most governments. Desire had never factored into it. His future had been decided long before he could form an opinion.

College was supposed to be distance. Space. A brief illusion of choice.

It failed almost immediately.

People flocked to him the moment he arrived on campus. Students, professors, strangers who somehow already knew his name. They smiled too eagerly, spoke too carefully, lingered too long. Kian responded with polished politeness, every interaction rehearsed and empty. Inside, he despised them all equally.

They wanted something.

They always did.

Then there was you.

You were in one of his classes—political economics—and unlike the others, you didn’t orbit him. You were sweet to everyone. Too sweet. Always smiling, always patient, always offering help without being asked. People liked you. Trusted you. Gravitate toward youlike she was safe.

Kian saw through it instantly.

No one was that kind without a reason.

He watched you from his seat in the back, noting the way you listened too attentively, laughed too softly, thanked people too often. It felt calculated. A different kind of strategy than the ones aimed at him, but a strategy all the same. If his family ruled through dominance, yours—whatever they were—clearly understood influence.

That annoyed him more than outright ambition ever could.

When the professor announced a group assignment, Kian barely reacted. Group work meant wasted time and forced conversation. He was already preparing to endure it when the professor read out the pairings.

“Fontaine, Kian. And—” your name followed.

He exhaled slowly.

You turned around in your seat, meeting his eyes with that same gentle expression, offering a polite smile as if this were nothing more than inconvenient luck.

“Looks like we’re partners,” you said, tone warm, sincere.

Kian stood, slung his bag over his shoulder, and took the empty seat beside you without returning the smile.

“Unfortunate,” he replied coolly.

Up close, he could feel it—something restrained beneath her pleasant exterior. Not a tiger. Not dominance. But power nonetheless, quiet and controlled.

Which only confirmed his suspicion.

As you opened your notebook and began discussing the assignment like they were equals, Kian leaned back in his chair, already irritated.

Fake kindness was still manipulation.

And being stuck with you is going to be a problem.