Diane kept her eyes on him from behind, heart skipping with every confident step he took. Llewellyn moved with flawless grace, the maroon of his suit catching the sunlight streaming through the glass doors. She stared, unblinking, caught between fascination and frustration. How could he speak so effortlessly, so arrogantly, without a hint of guilt? she wondered, frozen like a statue.
"Llewellyn!" Several girls clustered around him as he walked, their voices playful, teasing, vying for his attention.
"What do you want?" he asked, voice smooth, teasing, yet calm.
"Switch partners with me!" one demanded.
"No, switch with me!" another argued.
He climbed the stairs to the board building, letting his eyes flicker over them lazily. "Find someone else. I already have my partner," he said softly, pride rolling off every syllable.
He glanced back, catching Diane standing there, backpack dangling, hesitant. A teasing murmur escaped him: "What's with her?"
"Hey," he called gently. Diane hesitated before stepping toward him. Together, they entered the board building. Llewellyn walked with calm, effortless control; Diane was scattered, her heart pounding like a frantic drum.
The elevator doors slid open as if predestined. Llewellyn stepped in first, turning to glance at Diane outside. "Are you coming in?" His voice hit her like a spark.
She stammered, cheeks warming. "Umm… I'll take the next one. You go first." She hurried forward, pressing the button with trembling fingers. The first elevator was packed. "It's full!" someone shouted.
"I can see that," she whispered under her breath, stepping back. She turned to head for the other elevator, only to find those dark golden eyes fixed on her, tracking her every movement.
Panic surged. What am I going to do? She quickly brushed her hair forward, trying to hide her face.
Too late.
"Diane," Llewellyn called, voice smooth and low.
A tight knot formed in her stomach. Busted.
"Y...yes?" she stammered.
"Aren't you coming?" he asked.
"Sure, sure," she waved awkwardly, her words tumbling. "I...I'll take the stairs."
She turned and hurried away, heart pounding. Llewellyn watched her go, wondering if it was something he said that made her act that way.
Diane reached the stairwell, muttering to herself. "What is wrong with you, Diane? Get it together." Her voice echoed softly off the marble walls.
She started down, one careful step at a time—until she froze mid-step.
"Ah, sorry, miss," the cleaner said, blocking her path. "The stairs are out of order."
"What?" she blurted. "How can stairs be out of order now?"
"Some students spilled grease earlier," the cleaner explained, shaking his head.
Diane just stared. Of course. It felt like the universe was against her. This was supposed to be her escape route—away from him.
Still, she tried to push her luck, placing her foot gingerly on the step, testing it like a princess avoiding a trap. Her heel slipped slightly, and she gasped. No choice. She had to go back.
But… to which elevator?
She turned slowly, peeking down both hallways. "No sign of him," she muttered, releasing a shaky breath.
Facing the ground, she walked back to the elevator and pressed the button again. The doors opened with a soft chime.
And when she lifted her head—her heart stopped.
There he was.
Her nightmare in human form, standing there, leaning casually against the wall of the elevator… waiting for her.
Llewellyn leaned against the elevator wall, casual and devastatingly composed. Diane's eyes widened.
"L-Llewellyn?" she blurted, her voice betraying her surprise.
He smiled faintly, that effortless kind of smile that made everything worse. "I waited for you," he said. "It's like you're running away from me."
"Me? Why would I?" she stammered, her tone caught between denial and panic. Why would I? she echoed silently, scolding herself.
He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "Will you keep standing outside?"
Her throat tightened. She cleared it, forcing her legs to move. The elevator doors closed behind her, sealing them in — just the two of them.
The mirrored walls reflected their contrast perfectly: one calm and composed, the other trembling with chaos. Diane stood pressed against her side of the elevator, hands fidgeting like she was holding herself together. Llewellyn's gaze, however, moved freely — quiet, steady, unrestrained.
"You're sweating," he remarked, his eyes flicking to her forehead.
"Oh," she said quickly, touching it, flustered. She forced a laugh that came out strangled.
When she dared to glance at him again, his gaze hadn't moved. It burned — sharp, unreadable, unreadably aware.
Then—her imagination betrayed her.
In her mind, Llewellyn stepped closer, caught her wrist, and pinned her gently against the mirrored wall. His eyes held hers, slow and dangerous. His breath touched her skin as he leaned in...
"No," she whispered aloud, snapping back to reality.
"No," Llewellyn echoed suddenly.
Her heart skipped. Was he imagining the same thing?
She reached into her bag, desperate to find her handkerchief. Nothing. Her fingers trembled over the empty pocket. Of course. The universe hated her.
Then a white square of fabric appeared before her eyes. A handkerchief — elegant, clean — held out by Llewellyn.
"Here," he said.
She blinked, startled, then took it carefully. "Thanks."
She pressed it to her forehead, the faint scent of his cologne rising from the fabric. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears.
"Let's forget what I said earlier," he said after a pause, his tone softer, almost unreadable.
She looked up. "Forget…?"
"It seemed you didn't like it," he added, gaze lowering for a fraction of a second. Something unspoken flickered in his expression, something even he couldn't define.
Before she could answer, the elevator chimed open.
He stepped out first, walking like he owned the floor, every movement drenched in quiet confidence.
Diane trailed behind, trying to regain her composure. "You can go on without me… I'll catch up," she said, voice too high, too nervous.
He turned slightly. "How will you know where I am?"
"I will…" she hesitated, forcing a small laugh.
He raised a brow, unreadable, then left.
As his figure disappeared down the hall, she muttered under her breath, "Of course I will. I'll just trace the scent of pride and arrogance."
She pushed open the restroom door and stared at her reflection.
"Wake up, Diane," she whispered, splashing water on her face. "He's a player. Breathe in, breathe out." She slapped her cheeks lightly. "He doesn't mean anything."
But the reflection staring back at her didn't seem convinced.
Maybe this was the beginning — before everything broke!
***
The office was luxurious — it screamed power, wealth, and charisma, and yet, it breathed danger.
Llewellyn sat at the edge of his desk, a woman tracing lazy fingers over his chest. She wore a short white gown that shimmered under the light, her every move soaked in practiced allure.
"Babe," she purred.
"Get your hands off me," Llewellyn said coldly, brushing her away. Her touch irritated him for reasons he couldn't name.
But she stayed, her hand still clutching his jacket — until bang!
The door flew open.
Diane froze. Her eyes blinked too fast, her throat went dry, her heart thudded in wild confusion. She stood there gripping the doorknob, caught between leaving and being unable to move.
Her gaze followed the scene — Llewellyn, calm and silent, shirt slightly open to reveal the smooth line of his chest. The woman still pressed against him, like the start of something indecent.
'Shouldn't he move her?' Diane thought, but he didn't. He just sat there.
"Don't you knock?" the woman snapped at Diane.
"Pardon," Diane whispered.
"Hey," Llewellyn said sharply. "She's my partner. Watch your words."
"Well, let her excuse us then," the woman hissed.
Diane almost backed out quietly — until Llewellyn's voice stopped her.
"Wait."
He turned to the woman. "I have a meeting with her."
"So?"
"You should excuse us."
The woman stared, stunned. "Llewellyn?" she said, disbelief painting her voice, but he didn't look back. She stormed out, brushing Diane's shoulder hard as she passed.
"We didn't do anything," Llewellyn said flatly. "So calm down."
Diane's eyes widened before she forced them to soften. Her chest felt tight, her fingers frozen around the doorknob. Llewellyn studied her—the confusion, the innocence, the disbelief. 'Why does she make me feel bad?' he wondered. She just stood there, silent and still, like a statue caught between curiosity and shock.
"Have you really never seen something like that?" he asked under his breath, more to himself than to her.
"Can you close the door behind you?" his tone dropped, smooth but heavy.
"Why?" she asked before realizing how absurd it sounded. "Oh—right. The door. I mean... what could happen?" she murmured under her breath.
He tilted his head, giving her a look that said he'd heard every word.
'Why did I say that out loud,' she scolded herself silently.
She shut the door and turned back to him.
"Look, Diane," Llewellyn began, his tone clipped. "I'm not some weirdo. I've got girlfriends...fine. But I'm honest about it. I don't pretend to be who I'm not."
His voice cracked somewhere between pride and pain.
Was he... hurt?
Her expression must have said something, because he looked away suddenly, jaw tight. Then, without another word, he stood and walked toward an adjoining door.
"I shouldn't have to tell you to come, right?" His tone was smooth—gentle, but edged with authority.
Diane bristled. 'Who does he think he is'? She folded her arms, tilting her chin slightly — childish defiance dressed like dignity, a lady of high class, stubborn proud and composed.
He looked at her and for a moment, was almost fascinated.
She followed him anyway.
The door shut behind them with a soft click, and her heart skipped. The "lady" she had tried to imitate vanished, replaced by nerves and wild imagination.
She sat cautiously on a chair near the table, keeping one between them like a fragile shield.
The room looked different — more private, more dangerous.
He slid a file across the table.
"What… what is this?" she stammered.
"A contract," he said simply.
"I'm sorry, I don't sign contracts..."
"It's for staying with me," he interrupted. "You already know my status. This is just... procedure."
Her pulse raced.
"Relax," he said, lips curling into that teasing smirk. "It's just my office."
That smirk again. That same irritatingly perfect smirk.
In her mind, she was already holding a shovel. "I'll scrape that smirk off if you don't stop," she muttered — in her imagination, at least.
In reality, she sat frozen, eyes locked on him — wondering if the universe had just started another one of its cruel jokes.
"Plus, you know what we'll be working on, right?" Llewellyn asked.
Diane shook her head. "No."
"Well, you'll see. It's written in the contract," he said casually.
"Is it the free test trials?" she asked, her voice brightening slightly despite her nerves.
He looked at her, faint amusement flickering in his eyes. "You don't need a free trial with me. Just write your say on the contract."
He gestured toward it.
Diane picked up the pen. Her fingers trembled slightly as she began to write. She could feel it again—that gaze. It wasn't cruel, just heavy. Watching her without restraint. It made her pulse race, her hand shaky.
"Diane," Llewellyn said suddenly. "I'm sorry."
She froze.
"For everything," he added—but only in his head. The words never left his lips.
"Are you okay, Diane?" he asked aloud instead.
"Yeah, I'm fine," she said quickly, trying to steady her voice. Her eyes darted toward him again. At least he should button his shirt, she thought, exhaling quietly.
If only the ground could swallow her whole. But no—she was still there, under his steady, unreadable stare.
Then—bang!
The door flew open.
"Bro! Truce moved faster than we thought..." a familiar voice called.
Diane turned. The figure in black made her blink in disbelief. Rick.
Her silent prayers were apparently answered. Llewellyn's attention shifted to his reckless friend.
"Oh, you're busy?" Rick said, glancing at Diane with a teasing grin. "Hey, stranger."
'Why does he keep calling me that?' Diane wondered, baffled.
Llewellyn stood, expression hardening into quiet authority. Rick followed him as they left the room, moving like his shadow.
Diane was left alone.
She looked at the contract before her. The word Truce echoed in her mind. What did that even mean? And why had Llewellyn's face changed the moment Rick mentioned it?
She signed her name anyway, and left the office.
***
Evening draped over the city. After a day of chaos disguised as sunlight, Diane finally boarded the bus home. The moon hung pale in the sky, but the city lights drowned it out.
The bus was crowded. She stood, gripping the handle as it rattled down the road. Her mind wouldn't stop spinning—Rick's words, Llewellyn's reaction, that strange tension between them. Why so serious over a single word—Truce?
She sighed deeply, brushing her hair back. Morning had chased her, and now evening was doing the same. The world seemed determined to wear her down.
Then, the bus jolted and stopped abruptly.
"What now…" she muttered, hearing the low murmur of passengers.
"Not again?" someone said near her. The tone wasn't fear, it was familiarity.
Again?
Diane turned, peering past the bodies pressed against the glass. Outside, the street shimmered with the glow of headlights and tension.
And then—she saw him.
A man dressed head-to-toe in black. Rick. You guessed right.
Her gaze followed his line of sight and she frozed.
Another figure stood beside him, hands shoved into his pockets, posture sharp and effortless. Power. Arrogance. Pride. Danger.
Llewellyn.
He stood like he owned the street, his eyes locked on someone she couldn't see—someone blocked by the crowd.
'Who is that?' Diane wondered, her heart thudding.
The murmurs grew louder. The night itself seemed to pulse.
What was Rick doing there? And Llewellyn—what kind of man was he really?
The bus engine hummed, the city lights flickered against the window glass, and Diane whispered to herself,
"What kind of evening is this…"
An evening dressed in chaos, wearing the street's own light.