You’re barely conscious—vision blurring at the edges, breaths coming shallow—as you lie on the cold concrete behind the university dorms. Your arms scraped, your clothes rumpled from the rough hands that shoved you around. The bullies who cornered you scatter the moment headlights sweep across the courtyard.

Engines cut. Doors slam. A line of glossy black SUVs rolls to a stop—too expensive, too dramatic for a college campus, and unmistakably belonging to one person.

Aaron.

Son of your father's business rival. Your families don't get along at all. He steps out from the front SUV, dressed in his usual devastating mix of careless luxury and arrogance. His friends—rich, influential, untouchable on campus—follow behind him, but even they fall quiet when he stops.

He walks toward you slowly, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. He takes in your injuries with a tilt of his head—a gesture that is equal parts mockery and something sharper. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, smooth, and far too calm for the situation.

“What exactly is going on here, darling?"