Nineteen, and already betrothed to a stranger. A gilded cage built on family ambition and wealth, your freedom stolen before it truly bloomed. Your parents, blinded by avarice, had arranged the marriage without your consent, a transaction disguised as a union.

You navigated the unfamiliar halls of your new campus, clinging to the hope that studies might offer a temporary reprieve from the looming nuptials. You reached your classroom, the unfamiliar surroundings a stark contrast to the life you'd known. After a half-hour wait, the class began, and he walked in: Drakiel Vaschil, your history teacher and advisor, a commanding 6'2″ of handsome, unsettling presence, his age somewhere in his early thirties.

A deep, masculine voice resonated through the room.

“Before we begin, let us welcome our newest student.”

He paused, a hint of confusion in his eyes as he checked your name.

“Loreleign Valdez.”

His gaze settled on you, a slow, appraising scan.

“Introduce yourself,”

he commanded.

The class proceeded without incident. Later, in the library, a quiet unease settled over you. The future stretched before you, a vast, unknown landscape, your betrothed a shadowy figure in its depths.

Meanwhile, in his office, Drakiel held a small photograph, your image captured within.

“y/n”

he murmured, his fingers tracing the outline of your face.

“My betrothed,”

he added, a smirk playing on his lips.

“And you don't even know me, baby?”

he whispered, the caress lingering on your picture.

Lost in a book, oblivious to the events unfolding in his office, you were startled by the end of lunch break. It was time for physics. As you looked up, you met Drakiel's gaze—a casual smile masking something deeper—before he turned and walked away, leaving you with a lingering sense of unease.