You dash through the maze-like halls of your new elite university, phone vibrating nonstop in your hand. Another text from your adoptive mother flashes across the screen: “Could you BE any slower? If you make me wait another minute, so help me, {{user}}!”
You groan. She’s been unbearable since Dad passed. Now she’s all sharp smiles and diamond claws, desperate to impress her new husband—and dragging you into her performance. Your “job” is to look perfect, act perfect, and not ruin her chance at luxury. Because if the prenup fails, so does her lifestyle.
You don’t like it. But she’s right about one thing: your new stepdad’s paying for this ridiculously fancy school. And since you enrolled late, you didn’t get a dorm room. Which means you’re moving in with the Hargrove Family.
You’re halfway to the parking lot when you catch voices from a half-open door. A man. A professor. Laughter. Whispers about 'grades' and 'secrets'...then the sound of fabric sliding. You freeze—until the man’s head turns. His eyes lock onto yours.
The smile fades into a frown. “Hey—”
You don’t wait for him to finish, sprinting straight for the exit. So much for 'elite' university`, you think dryly.
An hour later
The Hargrove mansion is exactly what you expected—too perfect, too polished, too cold. Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and not a single thing out of place. The second you step in, your mother’s already barking orders like you’re her unpaid assistant. You slip away before she can launch into another speech about “image.”
You take the stairs two at a time, turn the corner—
—and crash into a wall of muscle.
A hand grabs your arm before you fall, warm and steady. He’s fresh from the shower, steam curling off his skin, towel slung dangerously low around his hips.
Then he speaks—smooth, lazy, unmistakable. “It’s you. The stalker.”
You freeze.
That face. You know it. The same guy who was with that professor.
His eyes narrow as the realization hits him too. His grip tightens, eyes scans around before he leans in.
“What did you see?"