The next day of the seminar dawned like chaos dressed in sunlight. Llewellyn prepared in his own measured way, and Diane faced the day on her own terms.
"Bro!" a familiar voice cut through the morning noise:warm, teasing, steady as ever. Rick.
Llewellyn turned. He was dressed in a maroon-brown suit, the kind that screamed money stitched this, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he met his friend's outstretched hand. They clasped palms hard, pulling each other into a shoulder bump the way guys did when words weren't enough.
Rick, all in black as usual, carried that quiet edge of rebellion.
"How's Grandma?" Llewellyn asked, his tone softening. He had long taken Rick's grandmother as his own.
"She's fine," Rick replied easily, a faint smile touching his lips. "She asked about you, actually. You should really come see her sometime."
A strange warmth filled Llewellyn's chest. "Yeah," he whispered.
Rick tilted his head. "So… how did you handle your problem?" His voice carried weight. They both knew what problem he meant; Ana and the driver.
"My way," Llewellyn sighed.
Rick almost rolled his eyes. He knew exactly what my way meant in Llewellyn's language: disaster. More complications. Just like when Llewellyn had impulsively hugged Ana in a fit of confused bravado, or when he had marched up to his driver with that imperious command to leave, as if dismissing him could solve everything.
Usually, Rick would distract the driver, giving Llewellyn time to escape. But this time, Llewellyn had confronted him head-on. Predictably, the driver had gone straight to his father to report that Llewellyn had refused to get in the car.
Later, the two friends sat on the roof of the institute's highest building, legs stretched out, cups sweating cold in their hands. Below them, the campus sprawled like a miniature kingdom; steel towers gleaming, courtyards alive with chatter, banners snapping in the hot wind.
"I don't understand," Llewellyn muttered at last, brows furrowed.
"What?" Rick leaned lazily against the wall, sipping his drink.
"How could she turn down my offer?" Llewellyn's disbelief cracked through his voice.
"That's why you asked me to vet her!" Rick exhaled sharply. "You've seen it, right?"
"Yeah, I did." A teasing smile curved on Llewellyn's lips. "She's… interestingly boring and different."
Rick turned to him, startled.
Llewellyn's teasing didn't last. Rick steered the talk back. "Maybe she's got a disorder," he said dryly. "Or she's just defective."
"Oh, that must be it," Llewellyn replied quickly, grasping at the excuse. "I mean, who else would refuse me? No one in their right mind would act that way toward me." His tone dripped with arrogance.
Rick stared at him flatly. "What a dummy."
Llewellyn blinked. "What did you just say?"
"I said maybe she's just not like that," Rick replied calmly. "Some girls aren't the way you imagine them."
Something inside Llewellyn faltered. His eyes flickered faintly, pride struggling to hold steady. Rick's words stirred something strange, something that reminded him of that moment in the mirror when he'd seen a spark he couldn't name.
"Oh," he whispered, almost sadly.
Rick set down his drink. "I think you should apologize."
Llewellyn exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The thought sank in like a stone into water.
The two sat in silence, watching the bustle below as the sun burned white-hot in the hazy sky. The drinks in their hands felt colder now, sharper against their skin.
***
Later At The Lecture Hall
The two sat apart from the rest of the students. Of course, Llewellyn was important here, and Rick simply enjoyed the luxury of his friend's influence.
Llewellyn looked unsettled. He kept glancing at his watch, and Rick noticed.
"What are you doing?" Rick asked, curious.
"Mind your business," Llewellyn murmured, scanning the hall restlessly. His eyes swept over faces, searching for something or someone, he couldn't quite name.
The instructor was already deep into his lecture on the properties of an Energy Tower and how to assemble one.
Diane, meanwhile, was running late. Traffic had delayed her, and Clara's warning still echoed faintly in her mind, though she refused to believe it. All she believed was that Llewellyn was nothing but a rude, spoiled brat.
Llewellyn and Rick sat at the back, high above the rest, like the lecture was beneath them. Llewellyn's gaze stayed fixed, sharp, waiting.
Then the door creaked open.
A young woman stood there, breathless, clutching her backpack. Her long coat framed a simple shirt and black trousers, her hair slightly disheveled from running.
"She looks all messed up. Her hair's scattered… ugh," Llewellyn muttered.
Rick smirked. "That's what you've been waiting for?"
Diane stepped inside, apologizing shyly before searching for a seat. Sneers followed her. Some girls whispered insults, laughing cruelly. They mocked her for what had happened the day before; for daring to stand up for herself.
The words stung, but she said nothing.
When she finally found a spot, someone sneered, "Go to the back. There are plenty of seats there."
"Of course," Diane muttered under her breath. "Why did I even bother…"
She sat halfway down the hall, isolated in the middle of the crowd.
The lecture continued. Diane listened carefully despite everything, trying to drown out his face, his voice, his arrogance.
But the peace didn't last.
A sharp, taunting voice cut through the air. "Ah, ah, mic testing… one, two."
Feedback squealed. Heads turned.
"Is there a Diane Grey in this hall?"
Diane froze. The words sliced through her chest like glass. The crowd whispered.
It was him.
She turned, dread curling in her stomach. The far end of the hall was dim, but she saw the familiar silhouette.
"Oh, found her," Llewellyn said, voice thick with teasing amusement.
He'd been waiting for the perfect moment to play his little game.
The hunt had begun.
Anger flared. She wanted to fight back, but Clara's warning whispered: Don't escalate it.
Still, her heart thumped painfully. "Of course he can do this," she muttered. "He owns this place, after all."
The instructor cleared his throat awkwardly. "All right, let's… continue." No one dared offend the owner of the institute.
He tried to refocus the class, asking questions. Most students whispered or faked cleverness.
Diane frowned, scratching her head, when that same lazy voice echoed again:
"Hey, partner, why don't you answer his question?"
The hall fell silent.
"I… I don't know, sir," she said softly.
"Okay, anyone else?" the instructor tried.
But Llewellyn wasn't done. "Let her answer," he said.
"Sir, she clearly..."
"I said let her say something."
His tone dripped with arrogance. "She was bold enough to talk yesterday," he murmured, "so why not now?"
The girls joined in, mocking: "Yes! Let her answer!"
Diane clenched her fists. No. This was too much.
She turned toward him, eyes sharp. "Fine," she said, voice clear as glass. "I don't know the answer. What are you going to do about it?"
The crowd gasped.
Llewellyn smirked. That spark; he'd found it.
"Probably want you more," he said, voice low and dangerous, as if he could own her.
Something about her unsettled him.
The instructor cleared his throat again. "Let's, uh, forget that question."
The class tried to move on, but Llewellyn called out once more:
"Hey, Diane."
Everyone froze.
"Come up here," he said, lazily lifting a finger to beckon her like a king summoning a servant.
The hall gasped.
Diane smiled, a blaze rather than joy. She rose slowly and walked toward him.
When she reached him, she stood firm. Then she noticed another pair of eyes, green, cold, assessing. The bodyguard.
"Hey, stranger." Rick waved, looking far too entertained.
Her gaze snapped back to Llewellyn. "What exactly is your problem?"
"You are my problem," he murmured.
"You think you can just boss everyone around because you own this place?"
"Oh, someone's done their homework," he teased. "You refused to answer my text."
Rick nearly choked. "Wait… a text?"
Diane crossed her arms. "I refused your existence."
"Ouch. That hurts," Rick said dramatically.
But Llewellyn didn't laugh. Her words landed harder than he expected. No one ever dismissed him like that.
The hall went still.
"You're arrogant, rude, and entitled," Diane said, voice rising. "You own this place, so you don't need these lectures. Why not let those of us who do need them learn in peace, you spoiled brat?"
Gasps rippled through the hall.
"What did you just call me?" Llewellyn's voice dropped, sharp and dangerous.
She didn't flinch. "You heard me, you pesky, rich, rotten brat."
His smile returned, slow and dangerous. "Okay," he said softly. "Challenge accepted."
"You're pretty rude yourself," he added.
"Coming from the king of rudeness?" she shot back.
He laughed quietly, eyes never leaving her.
Why can't I resist her? He thought. Why does she feel.... different?
"Is that what you think?" she said, misreading the silence as arrogance. "You don't even know what money's for...except to waste it."
He crossed his legs elegantly, his voice smooth and cutting. "On girls," he said. "And I know you'll become one too."
Her eyes widened. The crowd fell silent. For a second, she almost raised her hand to slap him, but something held her back.
Then she turned away, walking off, head high.
Llewellyn watched her go. Her words replayed where they shouldn't have. She'd made him feel something....and he hated it.
How brazen is she? he thought.
Every time he blinked, he saw her again; the messy hair, the spark in her eyes. Rapunzel, he thought mockingly, though the tease felt hollow now.
She burned inside him like a stubborn flame.
"Why can't I stop thinking about her?" he muttered.
"Because you're still staring," Rick said behind him, grinning. "You've literally locked your concentration on her."
"Shut up and go," Llewellyn snapped.
"Fine. But the word is… Truce's dudes are off their lane again," Rick said, tone shifting.
Llewellyn didn't reply.
Rick slipped away quietly.
Around him, girls whispered mockingly, "She's just trying to act tough."
Diane turned toward them, her voice calm but firm. "You all can keep quiet and let him fool you."
Llewellyn heard it. And somehow, he cared. He didn't want to—but he did.
Why do I care?
The confusion pressed heavy. He exhaled, the weight in his chest unbearable, and acted without thinking, recklessly, as always.
"Diane!" he called into the microphone, his voice slicing through the air once more.
Every head turned. The instructor froze.
Diane didn't respond.
"Get out of the lecture hall," Llewellyn ordered.
The hall erupted in gasps.
Her eyes widened. "What?" she whispered, disbelief flooding her face.
He sat there, legs crossed, expression cold. "I can't concentrate while you're in here." He murmured.
Whispers filled the room—some mocking, some pitying. The girls who'd insulted her earlier clapped quietly, triumphant.
Diane's lips trembled into a small, bitter smile. She picked up her bag, held it tight, and began walking toward the exit. Every step was heavy. The murmurs followed her like shadows.
She smiled again, but it was full of anger this time—anger at herself, at him, at everything. She was strong, but even strength had its limits.
Tears pricked her eyes, but she didn't let them fall.
When the door closed behind her, the hall erupted with quiet murmurs again.
Llewellyn rubbed his forehead. "I can't concentrate while she's in here," he repeated under his breath, but his voice sounded more like a confession than a command.
She was his distraction.
Even when he looked away, his mind stayed with her. He hated it, he hated that he couldn't stop.
Then came more whispers, more laughter.
Before he could stop himself, he slammed a hand on the table and shouted, "Shut up!"
The hall went dead silent.
He stared straight ahead, chest rising and falling with emotion he couldn't name.
Why did I react? he wondered.
His eyes lowered.
"What is she doing to me?" he whispered.