The hallway smelled like new books and rotting secrets.
Vincent Banks stepped over a broken pen, keeping his head down as the crowd surged past him like a tide—lacquered shoes squeaking, designer bags swinging. Saint Helena Academy was all polished marble and polished lies, and he knew better than to look anyone in the eye.
But today… something felt off.
Not just the usual morning nausea or the faint hum of whispers that always followed him. This was different. The silence around the main staircase was too sudden, too sharp—like someone had pressed mute on a movie right before the body hit the ground.
He stopped short.
At the center of the school's grand rotunda, standing alone in the golden spill of light from the glass dome above… was her.
Adriana Bogdan.
God help him.
She wasn't walking. She was owning the floor. Tall, sculpted, with inky-black hair cascading over one shoulder, her blazer draped lazily over a crimson tank top that broke every dress code in existence. Her skirt was pleated like everyone else's, but on her it looked like rebellion stitched in silk. She didn't carry books—just a single black glove in one hand and a phone in the other. And when she looked up—
Their eyes met.
Just for a second. Long enough for the world to tilt.
Vincent looked away so fast he almost tripped on his own shoelace.
"Yo, V," a voice behind him whispered. "Did she look at you?"
Noel Hernandez popped up beside him like a caffeinated gremlin, short and wiry with curls that bounced when he grinned. His backpack was open, gum wrappers trailing out like confetti. "That's Adriana freaking Bogdan. Looking at you. Are we dead?"
"Shut up," Vincent muttered, heart hammering.
But he couldn't help glancing back.
Adriana hadn't moved. Still standing at the center of that light beam like some dark goddess fallen into the wrong building. Around her, the other students parted in silence—as if they knew better. You didn't bump into a hurricane and expect your bones to stay whole.
Vincent didn't need the rumors to believe the stories.
He'd seen enough.
Last fall, a senior cornered her in the art wing. Two days later, he transferred. Another boy tried to grope her in a dance. He walked into traffic a week later. Coincidence, maybe. Or maybe Adriana Bogdan wasn't just beautiful. Maybe she was untouchable.
Maybe she was dangerous.
And now, thanks to whatever cosmic joke was playing out, she was his new tutoring assignment.
Earlier That Morning – Guidance Office
"Mr. Banks, sit down."
Vincent obeyed, tucking his frayed hoodie sleeves under his arms as Mrs. Vargas, the guidance counselor, adjusted her pearls and looked him over with clinical indifference.
"I've spoken to your chemistry teacher," she said. "You're passing, but barely. You also have a near-perfect record for attendance and zero behavioral issues. Quiet. Consistent. Reliable."
He blinked. "…Thank you?"
"That wasn't a compliment."
She handed him a folder. "You're going to tutor one of our struggling students. It's part of our school's peer mentorship program. Think of it as community service with academic benefit. We want to see how you handle challenging personalities."
Vincent opened the folder.
And felt the color drain from his face.
"Nope," he said, standing immediately. "There's gotta be a mistake."
"There isn't," Vargas said without looking up. "You'll meet after classes. Library study room B. I suggest punctuality."
"But she—she doesn't even need tutoring. She's on the honor roll."
Mrs. Vargas smiled tightly. "This is above my pay grade, Mr. Banks. And yours."
Vincent clenched his jaw. The name on the file stared up at him like a death sentence.
Adriana I. Bogdan
Back to Present – Library, After School
The library's back room smelled like dust and leather. Rows of heavy encyclopedias sat like forgotten gods along the walls, and the ancient window barely let in any light.
Vincent sat at the desk, fidgeting with his pen, counting the seconds.
She was twenty-seven minutes late.
Maybe she wasn't coming.
He almost dared to believe it when the door creaked open and the air shifted—like a weather front had just arrived wearing perfume and sarcasm.
"You're the tutor?" she asked.
Her voice was lower than expected. Smooth. Almost lazy, like she didn't need to raise it to make people listen.
Vincent stood instinctively. "Yeah. I mean—yes. I'm Vincent. Banks."
"I know who you are."
She shut the door with one foot and dropped into the seat across from him like it was a throne. He noticed her nails were painted black, her fingers long and elegant, and there was a small scar running down the side of her wrist.
Dangerous detail.
Everything about her screamed danger in lowercase—subtle, slow, and inevitable.
"I didn't ask for this," she said, flipping open the chemistry book.
"I didn't either."
Silence.
He tried to focus on the page. He really did.
"So," he said carefully, "chapter four's on bonding. Covalent, ionic—"
"What's your price?"
He blinked. "What?"
She leaned forward. "Everyone here wants something. Money. Protection. Secrets. You're tutoring me. That means you're either brave, desperate, or stupid. So what do you want, Vincent?"
His heart skipped. "Nothing."
"Liar."
Her smile was small. Dangerous.
And for the first time, he noticed something behind her eyes.
Not cruelty.
Not boredom.
Loneliness.
Just for a flicker.
Then it was gone, replaced by the practiced arrogance of someone who never had to ask twice for anything.
He didn't know why he said what he said next.
"Maybe I just want to survive the semester."
She stared at him. Then she tilted her head, studying him like a puzzle.
And laughed.
Not cruelly. Not mockingly. But real laughter, like a flash of light through thick storm clouds.
"Well then," she said, closing the book, "I guess we both have something to lose."
Later That Night – Vincent's Apartment
His mom was asleep again on the couch, takeout boxes stacked like bricks on the table. Vincent tiptoed past, into his room, heart still pounding from the study session.
Adriana had written something in his notebook before leaving.
He flipped to the page.
You don't know anything yet, Vincent Banks.
But keep coming back. I might show you something real.
There was a phone number underneath.
He stared at it.
Then, beneath it, words appeared in red pen.
P.S. Bring chocolate next time. Or else.
Adriana's POV, Midnight
Adriana walked through the alley with her heels clicking like war drums.
Two men followed behind her—Malik and Leo. The van parked near the dumpster had a familiar tag: black dragon spray-paint, chipped rims.
"You sure it's him?" Leo asked.
Adriana didn't answer.
She opened the van door and dragged the bleeding boy out by the collar. He was older. Too bold. Tried to sell on her street without tribute. His nose was broken. His pants were wet.
"Please," he begged. "I didn't know—"
Adriana raised a hand.
Silence fell.
"You disrespected my family's turf," she said, voice like a blade under velvet.
"I'll pay! I swear, I didn't know it was yours—"
"But you knew it was someone's," she said. "And you rolled the dice anyway."
She knelt down slowly, her eyes flat. "Next time you want to gamble, bring enough to lose."
With that, she stood.
"Leave him outside the hospital," she told Malik. "Make sure he remembers the name Bogdan."
As she walked away, her phone buzzed.
Vincent:
Tomorrow. Library B. 3:30.
I'll bring the chocolate.
She stared at the message.
Then, for reasons she didn't understand, she smiled.
But that smile faded as she turned into the car.
Because tomorrow, someone else would be watching. Someone who wasn't supposed to know about Vincent Banks.
And someone who never forgave her for letting people in.