The corridor hums like a hive. Streams of students collide and part, laughing, swearing, smelling of coffee, perfume, and freedom. I walk beside Giselle, and our steps fall into a single rhythm, as if we are not just friends but co-conspirators, heading into the next round of a game called life.
"Victoria, so how is work?" Giselle leans closer, almost shouting to cut through the roar of voices. There is bright curiosity in her eyes, seasoned with that sweet toxin of envy she would never admit to herself.
I shrug, trying to look calm.
"It's fine. Paperwork, reports, numbers. Nothing heroic."
I lie. Just a little.
A glass office flashes before my eyes. André's gaze, lingering too long, too intent. And Christian's back—cool, controlled—as he walks away, as if erasing me from the room.
"You're insanely lucky," Giselle presses on. "First year, and you're already at Solaris Dominion Group. Half the students don't get anywhere near that place even by graduation."
"Are you jealous?" I ask with a smile, deliberately light.
"Not even a bit," she snorts. "I have Finn. Young, handsome, rich. And you…" she squints at me, "…you're sighing over some suspicious guy."
"He's not old," I snap, too sharply. "He's twenty-eight at most."
Why am I even clarifying that?
My heart betrays me faster than my words.
And then—right on cue—Sebastian appears beside us. A shadow. Careful, tense. I glance around automatically, searching for Theo. He really is keeping his distance, but I feel his presence on my skin, like electricity before a storm.
"Victoria… Giselle…" Sebastian begins, his voice strangely quiet. "I wanted to apologize. For us. For Theo."
Giselle crosses her arms.
"Apology accepted, but not guaranteed."
"He… lost his head," Sebastian continues. "He really likes you, Giselle. Too much."
"That's not an excuse," I say, looking him straight in the eye. "We were loyal until you decided to play heroes with your fists."
Sebastian nods. Quickly. Almost with relief.
"I get it. There won't be any more trouble."
He leaves. I only exhale once he disappears into the crowd.
"Ugh," Giselle presses a hand to her chest. "I thought they were about to pull something again."
We take a few more steps, and I casually toss out, as if it means nothing,
"By the way… André Cortland invited me to the Angel club this Saturday."
Giselle stops so abruptly that I take an extra step forward by inertia.
"What? Has he completely lost his mind?"
"Relax," I smile. "He's getting married in three months. To Sophia Blackmore. He'll be there with his fiancée."
A beat of silence. Then Giselle smiles slowly.
"Well… in that case, it's actually interesting. Finn and I will come too."
There's the first hook, I think.
"The main thing is—Christian will be there."
"You're hopeless," Giselle sighs. "Why do you chase someone who is obviously indifferent to you?"
I shrug, feeling a strange warmth somewhere beneath my ribs.
"Probably because that's what real addiction looks like…" I correct myself, "…love."
We keep walking.
And inside me, a lock clicks shut.
Saturday is close.
And for some reason, I am certain—at the Angel club, someone is going to tear off a mask.
**
The gym smells of metal, sweat, and other people's anger.
The clang of iron slices through the air, underlining every thought I'm trying to outrun.
I stand in front of the heavy bag and hit it again and again.
My fists burn. My breath tears out of my chest.
The world shrinks to impact, pain, and the dull thud.
Hit.
Again.
Harder.
There are no faces in my head—only shadows.
Sophia.
My father.
My mother.
Their looks. Their decisions. Their constant this is how it has to be.
"Damn it…" I breathe out, and throw the final punch with everything I have, as if I'm trying to break through not the bag's skin, but my own life.
My strength drains all at once.
My legs buckle. My hands tremble.
I rest my forehead against the cold leather and laugh—short, sharp, hysterical.
Metal creaks behind me.
Christian.
He's working the weights—calm, precise, as if the world moves to his tempo.
He finishes his set, racks the bar, straightens up.
His eyes lock onto me immediately. They always do.
"I hate myself and my life," I throw into the void—but the words land right at his feet.
Christian frowns and steps closer. His presence presses against my skin—pressure, certainty, control.
"André," he says evenly, "you come from money. You're getting married in three months. Red convertible. A full catalog of mistresses."
He smirks slightly.
"Explain to me exactly what it is you hate."
I snap my head up.
"This isn't mine!" I almost shout. "None of it is! It all belongs to my father. The money. The company. Even my damn freedom!"
My fists clench.
"Sophia… she's not a woman, Christian. She's a control system. One mistake and she'll cut me off at the knees. And I—"
My voice cracks.
"I don't even have the right to protest."
The words spill out faster than I can stop them.
"Not with my parents. Not with my future wife. I'm trapped. A beautiful, golden cage—but still a cage."
Christian watches me closely. Too closely.
Not just listening—measuring.
"Then your situation really is bleak," he says at last. "But not because of Sophia. And not because of your father."
He takes another step closer, invading my space.
"But because you're addicted."
A pause.
"And because you allow it."
Those words hit harder than the bag ever could.
"Easy for you to say," I scoff. "What am I supposed to do? Walk out and announce, 'I don't want this wedding'? I'd be erased."
Christian's lips curve at the corner. There's something dangerous in it. And magnetic.
"Then ask Sophia," he says calmly, "why her parents walk on silk around her."
He looks straight into my eyes.
"She isn't stronger than you, André. She's braver."
Something clicks inside my head, like a lock snapping open.
Sophia.
Her gaze.
Her certainty.
The way she commands without ever raising her voice.
"Damn…" I exhale slowly. "You're right. That's exactly what she is."
A strange feeling blooms in my chest.
Not hope—an idea.
Christian claps my shoulder. Almost friendly. But there's power in the gesture.
"See? Not everything is hopeless."
I grab a towel and wipe my face, as if erasing an old version of myself.
"By the way," I add casually, "Sophia and I are going to Angel. With Victoria."
Christian raises an eyebrow.
"Did you tell Sophia that Victoria is my friend?"
"Yeah." I grin crookedly. "You'll have to play along."
He smiles back. Slowly. Predatory.
"I'll play, André."
He leans closer.
"And I'll take a good look at your fiancée. Maybe I'll even steal her from you."
I laugh—this time for real.
"That would be perfect."
A pause.
"Though… I think to her I'm just a favorite toy."
Christian holds my gaze for a long second.
"Then it's time to stop being a toy."
Behind me, the heavy bag sways softly, as if nodding in agreement.
And for some reason, I know this isn't just a night out at a club.
It's the first real fight.