The lecture hall hummed with restless energy, sunlight scattering across the desks. We were halfway through senior year's second week, but today felt different. Tension vibrated like a taut violin string.
"Let's be clear," I said, rising from my seat, gaze locked on the room full of expectant faces. "This fundraiser represents Elysian Prep. That means efficiency, elegance, and prestige. Nothing less."
From behind me, Sebastian's voice cut like velvet laced with mockery. "And here I thought it was about raising money for charity. Silly me."
A few students snickered.
I turned, pinning him with a smile that was more blade than curve. "Charity without presentation is just begging in silk. We are not beggars."
Sebastian leaned back in his chair, folding his arms like he owned the air between us. "You mean you're not. The rest of us are just your stage props, right?"
Heat surged in my chest, but I kept my expression composed. He wanted me to break. To crack. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"Props don't argue," I said coolly. "Though perhaps that's all you're good for—set dressing."
The room erupted in laughter. Even Selene's lips curved.
Sebastian's eyes narrowed, but the smirk never faltered. "Careful, Queen. Sometimes props steal the show."
The professor cleared his throat sharply, dismissing the class with a wave. But the damage was done: every pair of eyes had seen our battle lines etched in fire.
The library smelled of dust and ink when I found him there hours later, sleeves rolled, hair disheveled, sprawled across the table with blueprints of the fundraiser layout.
"You're late," he said without looking up.
"I wasn't aware we scheduled a bedtime story," I shot back, sliding into the chair opposite him.
He finally looked at me—and smirked. "You wound me. I saved you the easy parts."
"What easy parts?"
"Convincing half the suppliers not to hate you."
I bit back a retort. Instead, I let silence stretch, pen tapping against paper as I scanned his notes. His handwriting was surprisingly neat—precise, measured. Not the chaos I expected.
"You're thorough," I admitted grudgingly.
"You say that like it's an insult."
"It's… unexpected."
His grin widened. "Careful, Valmont. That almost sounded like a compliment."
The following week, a supplier issue forced us out of the city—an estate winery in upstate New York that had promised to donate a rare vintage for auction. The drive was long, the countryside rolling past like a moving painting.
Sebastian drove. I didn't ask why. Maybe I didn't want to know.
"You hate this," he said after a while.
"I hate your driving."
He laughed. "I meant not being in control."
"I am in control."
"Sure," he teased. "That's why you've been gripping the door handle for the last hour."
I forced my hand to relax, glaring at the passing fields. He just smirked, humming tunelessly to the radio.
The vineyard was all sprawling vines and sun-warmed earth, a world away from marble halls. Negotiations dragged—Sebastian smooth where I was sharp, charming where I was dismissive.
The supplier wanted recognition, their name printed on banners. I dismissed the idea immediately. "Our fundraiser is about prestige, not advertising space."
"Prestige doesn't pay bills," Sebastian countered smoothly. "If a banner gets us the wine, then we give them a banner."
The vintner looked between us like we were a particularly entertaining show. In the end, Sebastian charmed them into agreeing without conditions, sealing it with a handshake and a smile that made my jaw ache.
I hated him for being right.
We left near sunset, the gravel drive glowing gold. My heel caught on a loose stone, and suddenly the ground lurched.
I stumbled—sharp, sudden.
Strong hands caught my waist before I could hit the ground.
The world stilled. My palms pressed against his chest, the heat of him searing through fabric. His breath brushed my cheek, too close, too intimate.
"Careful, Queen," he murmured, voice low. "Can't have you shattering your crown on gravel."
I jerked back, smoothing my skirt like armor. "I don't need you to catch me."
"Maybe not. But I like watching you fall."
The words should have burned. Instead, they lodged in my chest, hot and confusing.
We stopped at a roadside café on the way back. Old brick walls, buzzing neon, the kind of place no Valmont would ever step into.
While I ordered coffee, a man at the counter slid too close, his smile slick with cheap cologne. "Pretty thing like you doesn't belong here," he said, hand reaching for my arm.
Before I could react, Sebastian was there.
He caught the man's wrist, grip iron. "She's not interested."
The man sneered. "Who the hell are you?"
Sebastian's smile was razor-thin. "The guy who's going to break your hand if you touch her again."
The man backed off quickly, muttering under his breath as he disappeared into the crowd.
Sebastian didn't let go until he was gone. His fingers lingered a second longer than necessary, protective and infuriating all at once.
"I could have handled that," I said stiffly.
"I know," he replied. "But why should you have to?"
Back in the car, silence stretched like a thread ready to snap.
Finally, Sebastian spoke. "You keep trying to convince yourself you don't need anyone. Maybe you're right. But wouldn't it be easier… if you didn't have to fight every battle alone?"
I turned away, refusing to answer.
But his words lingered, threading through the cracks I swore didn't exist.
And for the first time, I wondered if the war between us wasn't as simple as victory and defeat.