Llewellyn felt bad for reasons he didn't even understand. He sat still, rubbing his forehead in confusion settling like fog.
"Why did I do that?" he groaned, exhausted. "I shouldn't have done that… ugh." He cautioned himself, hitting his fist lightly against the chair's edge.
"Should I go after her?" he asked under his breath. "What am I even saying?" He caught himself—almost.
He was rude, arrogant—a player, to say the least. So why should he go after her?
He looked up again, scanning the hall with that same charmingly innocent expression, pretending to be focused. But his eyes lingered on the door, and he felt an empty space open inside his chest. His ego told him to stay seated, but his heart whispered go.
'That same space,' he thought.
She wasn't there—so what was he waiting for?
Finally, despite his pride, he stood up. Passing by the people seated, he left the hall, leaving the silence behind.
"Where could she be?" he murmured, he walked down the compound. His stride was confident, charismatic as ever, but worry bled through his poise.
Then he found her.
"Ahhhhhhhh!" Diane screamed, her voice echoing frustration and anger—though anger didn't even cover it.
Hands on her hips, she paced side to side, her backpack thrown to the ground. "Who does he think he is?" she snapped. "He chased me out?"
She stopped, fuming. "Yes, he owns this place, but he can't do that!" she barked, then cursed under her breath. "That arrogant little...!"
A teasing voice interrupted her. "Miss Diane is flaring up."
She froze. That voice—she knew it too well.
Llewellyn stood a few steps away, smiling. But this smile was different—mocking, light, not the worried one from earlier.
"Come on," he teased. "I called you Diane, not 'Long Hair.' Calm down."
Diane glared at him, but forced herself to stay composed. Still, his presence irritated her all over again. "Get lost," she said flatly. "I want to be alone."
"I understand that feeling more than you think," he said quietly, tone honest but strange.
"I said get lost!" she shouted, though her voice trembled, her anger losing strength.
He blinked, amused. "Why should I?"
"Because…" she stepped closer, jabbing a finger into his chest, "people like you think you can own everything..." poke "...and act however you please..." poke "...without caring what your actions do to others!"
Her words struck him. For a moment, he just stared at her, seeing the frustration in her eyes.
"That's why you should get lost," she finished, voice low but sharp.
A smirk tugged at his lips. "Why are you poking me? Or do you just like touching guys there?"
She immediately pulled back, muttering, "Spoiled brat."
"We were supposed to meet by the laboratory," he reminded her, voice lighter now. "But you came late. Why?"
"I don't owe you any explanation."
"You know cooperation really matters while..."
"Cooperation?" she cut in. "That's exactly what I am doing! If I weren't cooperative, I wouldn't even be here talking to you. So shut up."
He chuckled "You're fearless I like that".
She gave him a death glare. "Do you act like this with everyone?"
"No," he said smoothly, "just the interesting ones."
"What?" she exclaimed.
"Let's leave here," he said with a smirk. "Better than staying in this lonely spot."
He turned to walk away, and though she glared at his back, she eventually followed.
He paused and looked at her again—the one person stirring strange, dangerous feelings in him. The sunlight caught her dark hair, making it gleam richer than the day before. For a fleeting second, they looked like something out of a fairytale—a prince and his stubborn princess.
Her eyes still burned with anger. His gaze drifted to her backpack.
"Why the backpack today?" he asked, raising a brow.
"Obviously because I'm avoiding careless mistakes," she shot back.
He smiled—there it was again, that fire he couldn't resist.
"Did you think bumping into it was a mistake?" His words sounded more like a confession than casual talk or torture.
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he lied smoothly, "you were the careless one, not me."
"Do you enjoy torturing people into giving in to you?" she asked bitterly.
"You're getting it wrong, honey."
"I'm not your honey."
He chuckled. "Fine, partner. Does that please you?"
She stopped mid-step. "Why did you send me out of the hall?" she demanded.
His posture faltered, but he composed himself quickly. He couldn't tell her the truth—that she distracted him—so he said, "Because I wanted to. That's why."
He stepped closer, voice low, teasing. "Why? Are you planning to slap me again?"
' Calm yourself, Diane', she told herself.
"You're going to pay for that slap," he said softly, dangerously. "Maybe not legally… but in other ways."
Her heart skipped. What does he mean by other ways?
He took her wrist, pulling her close until her face filled his view. The air between them thickened. His dark-gold eyes gleamed—pure yet selfish. Too close. Too flawless. Too composed.
Diane's thoughts scattered. How can a person look this perfect? His maroon suit screamed quiet danger under the sunlight.
"We're close enough now," he murmured. "You can slap me again… Miss Long Hair."
His hand slid to her back, steady but burning.
' What's wrong with me?' Llewellyn wondered, his pulse faster than reason. He looked into her eyes, saying nothing but meaning everything.
She could only stare back—his flawless face, his silk hair, his voice that could ruin sanity.
She tried to push him away, but he caught her hand.
"I asked for a slap," he whispered. Then he let go, eyes gleaming.
"You're not as bold as yesterday," he said raising an eyebrow.
She stayed silent, trying to steady her racing heart.
"I just held your back, nothing more," he said casually.
"Yes, Diane… it's just a little grip," she muttered to herself—still flustered, still burning.
"You own this place and you're harassing your candidates?"
"I prefer sponsor. And harassment's an ugly word," he said amused.
"It's against the law," she shot back.
"But you liked it," he teased, voice turning silky, his eyes gliding over her with lazy seduction.
She immediately pulled her jacket tighter, as if hiding her body from his eyes. The smirk on his lips faltered. Why does she make me feel like I'm the bad one? he wondered.
"If you want to report me, go ahead," he said, suddenly flat. "But I hope you can afford the damage you've caused me."
"I'm rich," she retorted.
He laughed, the sound dangerously warm.
"I almost forgot," he said with a grin. Pulling out his phone, his eyes skimmed over the screen before he began, "Diane Grey. Twenty-one. College student. Graduated high school at seventeen…"
She blinked. "How do you..."
They were the details Rick had sent. He continued "Worked with several companies. Parents, two cousins, a duplex, a small truck… likes honesty."
"Okay!" she interrupted, hands raised. "You texted me without exchanging numbers. And now. Are you stalking me?"
"Yeah," he said simply, sliding his phone into his pocket. "Can't help it."
"Perfect. That's enough evidence for court,"
"You're twenty-one," he said smoothly. "I'm older. Maybe show a little respect."
"Respect my foot," she shot back.
He chuckled. "You know, I think you're trying to get my attention."
"Don't flatter yourself."
"Hm." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Let's go."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Why?" he asked, tilting his head.
"Why should I? To do what?"
"We're partners," he said simply.
"So?"
He sighed, his gaze drifting from her eyes down to her lips, lingering too long. Her heartbeat spiked.
He bit his lip, frustrated but drawn in anyway. Then he moved closer again.
"Hold this," he said, stretching his hand toward her. "So you'll know what we'll do next."
She blinked. "What?"
"Come on. You did last night. Why not again?" His tone turned low, daring.
She slapped his hand away.
"I thought you'd be worried about me," he said lightly. "Considering how you held my hand on the bus."
"I was only being cautious."
"So you didn't care?"
She rolled her eyes, refusing to answer.
"What's wrong with me," he muttered to himself. Then louder, "Just follow behind."
They walked in silence—his long strides ahead, hers trailing behind.
' Where's he even taking me?' she wondered.
"Wait!" she called. He didn't stop.
"Can't you hear me?" she shouted, annoyed.
"This punk keeps walking…" she grumbled—then bumped into his broad back.
He turned slowly. "What do you need?"
"Where are you leading me to?"
He smirked. "Where am I leading you to?"
"Yes!"
"To a room," he said, almost joking.
Her eyes widened. "To… to do what?"
He leaned close, voice a velvet whisper near her ear. "Maybe you'll find out once we're there."
Her heart tripped. His tone was dangerous, almost sinful.
He smirked, stepped back. "Shall we?"
She stood frozen.
He winked—a careless, dangerous wink—and turned away, his maroon suit catching the light like temptation itself
And suddenly, Diane's mind betrayed her.
She imagined him pulling her close again, his breath on her ear, that smirk daring her to either slap him… or...
She shook her head hard. What is wrong with me?
But the more she tried not to think about it, the more she did.
One wink, and her whole mind was chaos.
' Llewellyn Blackwood... you're dangerous,' she thought. Dangerous enough to pull her in, even when every part of her wanted to run.
Her gaze followed him, tracing the sharp lines of his back, his careless confidence.
He's beautiful. Too beautiful. But he's a player, she reminded herself. A dangerous one.
But beauty like his was never harmless and Diane had a feeling she'd already stepped too close.