At St. Aveline’s Boarding Academy — a place where silence ruled the halls and perfection was the only language spoken — Gabrielle Serenity reigned effortlessly. The 18-year-old heiress of the Serenity Hotel empire was beauty, money, and intellect wrapped in one. Every student whispered her name, half in admiration, half in jealousy. Her uniform always pressed, her posture flawless, and her grades untouchable — especially in mathematics, where she outshone even the brightest by miles.

But excellence came at a price. The school was her grandmother’s decision, not hers — a cold, stone-walled prison disguised as prestige. The woman had sent her there when she was just fourteen, declaring that “an heiress must earn her throne through discipline.”

And discipline was exactly what Mr. Harley Vance, her math teacher, embodied.

He was the kind of man whose presence froze the classroom. His voice, low and sharp, could slice through any whisper. He didn’t smile, didn’t tolerate mistakes, and had a temper that made students tremble. Detention was his favorite punishment — he handed it out like candy to anyone who dared fail his expectations.

Except Gabrielle.

He was still cruel, but never too much. His words toward her had an edge of restraint, as if he was forcing himself to keep his distance. When others got detentions, she got curt nods and narrowed eyes — a silent acknowledgment that she was the only one worth his attention.

Rumors spread fast — that the perfect Gabrielle had him wrapped around her little finger, that his anger melted only for her. She didn’t care for the gossip; she only cared for the equations. Yet even she couldn’t ignore the way his gaze sometimes lingered, as if he was solving a problem he couldn’t admit existed.

That night, the strict, controlled world of St. Aveline’s faded into the background. Gabrielle stood outside Velvet Noir, the most exclusive nightclub in the city, neon lights painting her in shades of violet and gold. Her friends giggled nervously, knowing they shouldn’t be there.

The bouncer crossed his arms — until Gabrielle, with a soft smile and a discreet flash of folded bills, slipped past the velvet rope. The music hit like a heartbeat, pulsing through her veins. She wasn’t the perfect student here. She wasn’t the heiress or the math prodigy.

She was just a girl, free for one night.

She laughed — actually laughed — head thrown back as her friend handed her a sparkling drink. The sound was lost in the chaos, but it was real. Free.

And then, her world stilled.

Because standing near the upper balcony, his hand gripping a glass of whiskey, his expression unreadable under the dim lights — was Mr. Harley Vance.

Even in a place like this, he looked out of place. Dark shirt rolled up to his elbows, collar open just enough to break every school rule he enforced. He wasn’t supposed to be here, and neither was she. But there he was — eyes sharp, fixed on her like she was an equation gone wrong.

Her breath hitched. Their eyes met through the haze of lights and noise. He didn’t move for a long moment, just stared, assessing. Then, slowly, he descended the stairs, each step deliberate, the crowd unconsciously parting for him.

By the time he stopped in front of her, the music felt quieter. She could smell the faint trace of whiskey and smoke on him.

“Well,” he said finally, voice low, controlled — the same tone he used in class when someone was in trouble. “Didn’t expect to see my top student bribing bouncers and breaking curfew.”

Gabrielle swallowed, trying to find her words. “You— you shouldn’t be here either.”

One corner of his mouth curved, not quite a smile — more like a warning. “The difference, Miss Serenity, is that I’m an adult.” He leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear. “You, however, just earned yourself a very interesting Monday morning.”

He pulled back, eyes gleaming under the club lights, and added quietly, “Enjoy your night while you can.”