The campus of the University of Nevada, Las Vegas buzzed like it was alive — laughter, footsteps, voices blending into the air the kind that only came from young people who believed the world still belonged to them.
Ophelia felt every gaze.
Eyes followed her as she crossed the courtyard, heels clicking against stone. Some were curious. Some appreciative. Some shamelessly hungry.
She had not expected attention — the outfit Darren had insisted she change out of was subtle — but she hadn't expected the sheer force of it. The black pencil skirt traced every line of her body, the soft beige blouse kissed her skin, and the designer bagpack slung over her shoulder screamed money she didn't have.
But it wasn't the looks from strangers that lingered.
It was his.
