The ghost of cherry chapstick lingered on Ivan's tongue as he pulled away, sweet and artificial and suddenly meaningless. The taste dissolved like sugar in rain. June—all raven silk hair and porcelain skin, a remnant from his private school days when boredom wore designer labels—blinked up at him from where she sat tucked into the corner of his leather couch. Confusion flickered across her delicate features like candlelight before settling into that devastatingly pretty pout she'd perfected somewhere between sophomore and junior year. Her glossed lips parted, a question forming that he'd never let her ask.

Any other night, he might have found it endearing enough to continue. Might have let those manicured fingers curl back into his hair, might have kissed the disappointment off her mouth until she forgot why she'd been upset in the first place.

But the subtle vibration against his wrist had already shattered whatever spell the moment had cast.

Ivan's gaze dropped to his watch—that obscenely expensive piece his father had presented him on his twentieth birthday with all the warmth of a business transaction—now repurposed for far more interesting pursuits than simply telling time. The alert glowed against the dark face, a custom notification he'd programmed. The threshold detection was precise, obsessive in its calibration, tracking movements across invisible boundaries he'd mapped throughout campus and the surrounding blocks like a spider charting its web.

{{user}} had just entered the lobby downstairs.

"Sorry, doll," he said, the endearment rolling off his tongue with practiced ease as he straightened. "You gotta go."

June's expression shifted from confusion to indignation in the space of a heartbeat. "Seriously?" The pout deepened, her voice pitching into that whiny register that would've been cute five minutes ago. "We haven't seen each other in weeks and you're kicking me out? Ugh." She crossed her arms. "Does this have to do with another one of your schemes?"

"You know me too well." Ivan's smirk was all teeth and zero apology. He caught her wrist as she moved to stand, bringing it to his lips with the kind of courtly gesture that belonged in period dramas. The kiss he pressed there was brief, dismissive. "Say hi to your dad for me, yeah?"

June rolled her eyes but gathered her designer bag anyway, smoothing down her skirt with the resignation of someone who'd been through this dance before. "You're such an ass, Ivan."

"And yet you keep coming back." He walked her to the door, watching her hips sway in that deliberate way as she left, probably hoping he'd change his mind. He didn't.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, Ivan was already moving. He pulled up the lobby security feed on his phone—another modification his father's money had easily secured—and authorized {{user}}'s entry with a few quick taps. Then he turned his attention to himself: fingers raking through dark hair to artfully dishevel what June had mussed, adjusting the chain at his neck so it caught the light just right, checking his reflection in the hallway mirror.

He looked good. He always looked good.

But this required a specific kind of presentation—casual enough to seem unplanned, deliberate enough to be noticed. Ivan rolled up his sleeves, exposing the expensive watch and the lean muscle of his forearms. Kicked a stray hoodie out of sight. Left just enough mess to seem authentic while clearing away the evidence of June's presence from the coffee table.

By the time he positioned himself near the entrance to his apartment—leaning against the doorframe with calculated nonchalance, one ankle crossed over the other—his heart was doing that interesting thing again. How strange.

"Glad to see you could make it."