Her back arched against the bed, her legs spread wide- 'Devon!' she cried. 'That's my good girl,' he praised..."
Argh.
I sigh, rolling my eyes as I adjust my position on the bed, curling up with one knee bent.
"What's with all these kinks everyone's into?" I mutter, mimicking in a low baritone, "That's a good girl," complete with a ridiculous smirk.
My voice drops deeper-mocking, smug. The kind of voice that, apparently, makes girls drop their panties.
I snort at my own thought. "Authors need to work better on these things," I mumble. "Like-how is that even physically possible? Absurd."
I glance back at my phone, thumb swiping past moaning Emma. "The size of a forearm..."
The door bursts open.
"Dora!" a familiar baritone calls.
Still glued to the screen, my brain stuck on the forearm logistics, I don't bother lifting my head.
"What did I say about knocking?" I mutter.
"Dor-aaa," he whines, stretching the vowels like it's cute or something.
I hate that it kind of is.
Maybe the panty-wetting voice theory does hold water-but as if I'd ever let him know.
When I finally raise my head, I'm met with a 6'3" giant: tortilla-toned curls in scattered defiance, amber-green eyes that I can never fully decide are more gold or forest, and of course, that smug little grin plastered on his face.
I roll my eyes. "What is it, Mal?"
He stood by the foot of my bed like he didn't know the effect he had, like just existing in that loose shirt and joggers wasn't a crime.
The hem of his faded tee hung unevenly, clinging in places it shouldn't, and the joggers sat low on his hips-soft charcoal fabric that shifted every time he leaned on one leg.
From down here, I could see everything-those coily, tortilla-toned curls haloing his face, the strands falling into his eyes that he never seemed to bother brushing aside.
And those eyes. Caught in the glow of my lamp, they flickered gold. But in another light, they'd darken, go mossy-green. Like they couldn't decide what shade of dangerous they wanted to be.
How can someone be so good-looking?
"Charming, right?" he said, like he heard my thoughts.
I snapped out of it. "As if," I muttered, forcing a disgusted face-though my heart had the nerve to skip a beat.
He just shrugged. "You just don't have good taste. The others seem to adore me."
I sighed at his narcissism. Unfortunately, he had the face to back it up.
His cheekbones caught the light, high and sharp but not severe. That square jaw of his always tensed when he was thinking-and it was doing that now.
His brows were thick, clean without effort, slightly arched like they were sculpted just for expression. His lips-God-were full, the top one curved just enough to be distracting.
I looked away. I'd been staring too long.
"So why were you looking for me?" I asked, eyes back on my phone.
"Escaping Camie," he said quickly.
A twinge. Quick and sharp. Right in my chest.
"Yeah... Camie."
How could I forget?
Just as cheeky, charming, and ridiculous as Mal was... he was also a flirt. A full-on, no-shameskirt chaser. And the worst part? He didn't even have to try. A smirk. A wink. Sometimes just breathing in a room was enough to make half the girls melt.
And I mocked book boys for being unrealistic.
Mal and I...
Sometimes, I just wished... maybe he'd notice me too.
Malakai saw me lost in thought, head down scrolling through my phone.
"Let me guess smut reading, am I right?" he teased. "Dora, as your best friend, if you ever need somewhere to practice all you've read, I assure you, I'll gladly sacrifice my body for this just cause."
I snapped out of my thoughts and let out a dry laugh.
"Sorry, I'm only interested in guys whose jaws could cut through diamonds - and who growl anytime another man dares to look at me."
His face scrunched up like he couldn't believe someone could say something so cringe-worthy. I laughed at his expression dragging him down Malakai caught off guard as I suddenly dragged him down, pinning him to the bed.
"What you say, babe?" I growled.
He laughed, then pressed me down gently but firmly, switching our positions. "I believe this is how you growl," he said-and let me tell you, it was primal.
I stared into his eyes, their amber-green shade glowing with a golden tint under the lamp's light, mesmerized and hyper aware of the close distance between us-our heaving chests and labored breaths mingling in a tension charged with something more than just air.
At that moment, I realized how much I truly loved this man in front of me, my best friend, Malakai Crowe.
Sensing the tension, Malakai's eyes locked on mine, his breath warm against my skin as he closed the distance. Our lips brushed lightly before he tilted his head and captured my lower lip with his upper one. Sparks ran through my body, and I closed my eyes to savor the moment.
Just as he was about to deepen the kiss with his tongue, I heard a voice outside my door -"Isa?"-followed by a knock. My heart skipped a beat, and the charged atmosphere between us shattered.
Malakai pulled back, recovered his composure, and apologized before rushing out of the room. "Hi, Mrs. Ellis," he called, and I heard hurried footsteps retreating down the stairs.
I took a deep breath, still tasting the memory of his lips on mine.
"Isa," I hear, "you okay there?" I catch the concern in her voice.
"I'm alright, Mum," I reply quickly.
"You can come in," she says, and the door opens. Mum steps inside, a very pretty woman in her forties. She had me quite young with Dad, always saying it was love at first sight, that they couldn't keep their hands off each other. And here I am, nineteen years later.
Mum wears casual clothes, wide-legged pants and linen blouses, always with earrings. She has the same moss-green eyes as I do, but hers are soft and warm. Her eyebrows crease slightly, probably because she doesn't believe my 'I'm alright' speech, but she doesn't press me. Her long auburn hair is styled in loose waves, tied roughly into a bun. Sometimes I wish I had her hair instead of my long black jhurli curls which can't decide if they're soft black or blue-black.
Mal always said my hair was the prettiest shade of black he'd ever seen, and that when the lighting was right, it shimmered a bluish black, giving me an ethereal look. I'd scoff every time, but secretly, I loved the compliment.
So I guess my hair holds its own against Mum's auburn waves.
"Isa," Mum's voice pulls me from my thoughts.
"There's mail for you."
"Mail?" I exclaim, surprised. "Who still sends mail?"
She shrugs and hands me a thin white mailer.
Mum doesn't linger, she moves to the reading desk by the window, setting down a half-full grocery bag with a sigh. "We're low on milk," she mutters, pulling out items one by one. "And no more cereal, apparently."
I tear open the mailer. A single envelope slides out.
It's unusual no printed ads, no plastic wrap or barcode stickers like usual mail.
The envelope is black - velvety, deep, like night pressed into paper. Its edges are trimmed in a thin line of gold, not shiny, but with an aged softness to its gleam. There's no name or address, just a wax seal on the back, dark red, finely pressed with an unfamiliar crest.
Mum glances up from her list. "What's that?" I don't answer right away, turning the envelope over in my hands. I notice the seal bears a quartered shield: an open book with no words, a feathered quill crossed with an iron key, a candle burning low, and a stone tower tangled with ivy. Above it, a narrow banner reads: Veritas in Tenebris.
Mum narrows her eyes. "That's not one of those scholarship things, is it?" Without noticing, she stands for a closer look, frowning. "It looks... old.
I slip a thumb beneath the seal and break it.
Inside is a letter, folded crisply, the paper as deep black as the envelope. The writing shimmers faintly in gold ink - neat, slanted, unnervingly formal. The edges of the page are framed in gold, precise and symmetrical.
At the top it reads:
Miss Isadora Ryles
You have been selected for entry into the Autumn Term of Creisleigh Hall. Your acceptance has been noted by the Council, and your place reserved.
You are expected to arrive at the school grounds no later than 5:00 p.m. on the 3rd of September, via the designated route provided in your orientation map. Late arrivals will not be permitted entry without prior clearance from the Head Administrator.
Included with this letter you will find a preliminary handbook detailing the school's Rules, Regulations, and Expectations. You are required to read it in full prior to arrival. Failure to comply with these rules at any point during your time at the school may result in disciplinary action or dismissal.
As you have been awarded a full academic scholarship, it is imperative that you maintain a minimum grade average of 87% across all assessed subjects. Failure to uphold this standard will result in the immediate termination of your scholarship, after which you may be required to withdraw or assume full responsibility for tuition, housi
Among the more immediate expectations:
All students are to be properly attired in uniform from the moment of arrival.
The use of mobile phones, electronic devices, or modern accessories is strictly prohibited within school walls.
Communication with the outside world is limited and may be supervised.
Attendance at Morning and Evening Assembly is mandatory, without exception.
Students are to remain within permitted zones unless instructed otherwise by staff.
The school grounds are not to be exited without written permission.
Certain areas are off-limits to all students, regardless of standing. These are clearly marked and must not be breached.
Upon arrival, report directly to Madam Velda, Quartermaster of Uniforms and Residential Affairs. She will provide you with full student
Attendance at Morning and Evening Assembly is mandatory, without exception.
Students are to remain within permitted zones unless instructed otherwise by staff.
The school grounds are not to be exited without written permission.
Certain areas are off-limits to all students, regardless of standing. These are clearly marked and must not be breached.
Upon arrival, report directly to Madam Velda, Quartermaster of Uniforms and Residential Affairs. She will provide you with full student attire, including robes, insignia, and dormitory key.
Failure to report will be regarded as noncompliance.
We advise discretion regarding your attendance. The school maintains a policy of limited external publicity. Share this notice only with those you deem necessary.
Before I could fully process what was happening, there was a shout of joy, and I was engulfed in a tight hug.
"Isa, baby!" Mum's voice trembled with emotion.
"You got in!"
I unconsciously hugged her back, reality settling in as joy flooded me. "Yeah, Mum, I did."
After the joyous chaos, I reread the admission letter. I was to resume in two weeks. I'd already read the handbook. The rules were absurd, even ridiculous, but if it weren't for the cutting-edge research, advanced technology, and the prestige of an elite school offering a full scholarship, I might have reconsidered. "As if," I muttered to myself. No matter how many rules there were, I was going.
I could hardly believe it - Creisleigh Hall. I remembered the research I'd done:
About Creisleigh Hall Established 1824
Creisleigh Hall has long been where tradition meets challenge, every lesson steeped in history. For nearly two centuries, it has nurtured minds eager to rise beyond the ordinary, within walls filled with proud and whispered stories.
The education is rigorous, demanding discipline and dedication. But beyond textbooks and lectures, Creisleigh offers more a community shaped by legacy, old rivalries, and secrets lingering just beneath the surface.
For those who seek not only knowledge but a place where spirit and resolve are tested, Creisleigh may mark the beginning of a remarkable journey. Here, every student is invited to write their own story, surrounded by echoes of those who came before.
With a smile, I imagined the new life ahead.
....
The office was dimly lit. Lamps cast soft pools of light, barely reaching the corners, leaving most of the room in gentle shadow. Thick drapes muted the daylight outside. Dark wood walls absorbed the warmth, making the space feel quiet and still.
A long table stretched across the center, polished to a low sheen, its surface reflecting vague shapes rather than clear images. At its head sat a man. His face was hidden in shadow beneath the high-backed chair, but his presence was unmistakable - calm and commanding. He wore a black wool coat, sharp-collared and fastened with antique brass clasps. A deep burgundy sash crossed his chest, marking quiet authority.
He tapped a single gloved finger against the table, the sound gentle but deliberate.
"They've all been sent?" His voice was measured, heavy with weight but slow.
From the shadows, a younger man stepped forward, shoulders tense. "Yes, sir. All letters were dispatched before dawn."
A brief pause. The head of the table shifted slightly, weighing the answer.
"Good," he said.
Then, low and even, "Inform Mr. Thorne, he will oversee orientation this year."
Silence followed.
"And remind him... there must be no incidents this time."
"Yes, sir," came the quiet reply.
The room settled back into stillness, waiting for the next move in a game only its occupants understood.