Adrian's pov:
I saw her today.
I didn't expect our paths to collide again , but fate has a twisted, sadistic sense of humor. As she stumbled into my arms, the world down to the scent of her hair and the terrified gasp she let out.
I searched her eyes—those storm-grey eyes I'd seen in my dreams for a decade—looking for a flicker of recognition. A spark of the past. But there was nothing. No terror, no warmth, not even a haunting shadow of a memory.
She looked at me as if I were a stranger who had simply done a good deed. She has no idea who I am, or the weight of the history that binds us together.
A part of me wanted to shake her, to ask, "Don't you remember me?" But I dismissed the thought as quickly as it came.
Rubbish. I'm not here to dig up ghosts; I'm here to bury them.
My internal storm was interrupted by the Director's voice, pulling me toward the podium.
He wanted "motivational words" for the graduates. I had no interest in dispensing life lessons or pretending that the world outside these gates is anything but a shark tank. Besides, no student wants to hear a professor's hollow platitudes.
Yet, I found myself standing before the microphone, as I delivered the cold, calculated advice they expected, my gaze remained fixed on a single girl in the sea of black: a girl in a black silk dress, her vibrant red hair a defiant stain against the monotony of the crowd.
The ceremony blurred into a sea of black caps and gowns, I was a ghost standing on the stage going through the motions until it was finally her turn.
As she walked toward the stage, my eyes trailed her with a hunger I couldn't mask. She was breathtaking in that silk black dress—sharp, elegant, and entirely unaware of the lethal power she held over my composure.
She refused to meet my gaze as she approached the faculty line. I could feel the coldness radiating off her; she was clearly offended by my silence at the gate. I had walked away without acknowledging her "thank you," but I don't need her gratitude.
I don't want it.
Then, she was standing in front of me. She shook the hands of the other faculty members with a polite, distant smile — a mask she wore well, but when her palm finally met mine, the air left the room.
The sensation was immediate—an electric current of warmth and softness shot up my arm, making my skin crawl and my heart hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird. I held on for two seconds too long, a lapse in my own iron-clad discipline, before forcing myself to let go.
She took her certificate and vanished down the steps. I watched her go, knowing this was only the beginning of a very dangerous game.
Fallon's pov:
The weight of the ceremony, the eyes, the heat, the strange encounter at the gate — finally lifted the moment we stepped back into our cozy and comfortable apartment. We shed the heavy graduation gowns and suffocating silk, trading them for oversized hoodies and the comfort of our worn-out sofa.
We sat cross-legged on the sofa, attacking a box of lukewarm pizza we'd grabbed on the way home. Usually, Amber is a whirlwind of chatter, a golden retriever in human form. But today, the silence was a heavy.
I watched her pick at a crust, her usual sparkle dimmed. Only her mother had shown up today; her father, as usual, was "too busy" with the gallery.
Elsa wasn't doing much better. Her grandparents had been there, but her parents were nowhere to be found. I knew Elsa's relationship with them was fractured—a cold, silent war she never spoke about—but the sting was still visible in the way she held her shoulders.
I wanted to fix it, but I didn't know how. So, I did the only thing I could: I checked my phone.
I scrolled through my inbox, expecting the usual spam, when a subject line caught my eye.
My heart stopped. I read it once, then twice. For the first time in twelve years—since the smoke and the screams—I felt a surge of genuine, unadulterated joy.
"I got it!" I screamed, the sound echoing off the kitchen tiles.
Amber jumped, nearly dropping her slice, and Elsa's head snapped up, her blue eyes wide with alarm.
"It's good news! Amazing news!" I gasped, my hands shaking. "The university... they accepted my application. I'm officially a Junior Professor!"
The transformation in the room was instantaneous.
Amber let out a deafening squeal, throwing her arms around my neck, while Elsa let out a long breath, a rare, genuine smile breaking across her face.
In seconds, the gloom of the morning was forgotten. Amber darted to the freezer, producing a tub of my favorite Pistachio ice cream, Elsa's Salted Caramel, and her own Dulce de Leche.
We sat there, laughing and eating straight from the cartons, the flickering light of a movie playing in the background.
But the night wasn't over yet.
"Alright, ladies," Amber said, wiping a stray drop of caramel from her lip. "The ice cream was the appetizer. Now, it's time for the main event. Move it!"
We were dragged into Amber's room—the only place in the apartment that resembled a professional beauty salon. Between Elsa and me, we barely owned a single tube of lipstick. Amber, however, treated makeup like an Olympic sport.
"Makeup isn't a mask, Fallon," she lectured for the hundredth time, already lining up her brushes like a general preparing for battle. "It's an accessory. It's war paint. You should never be embarrassed to enhance what God gave you."
Reluctantly, Elsa and I sat in her vanity chairs. Over the years, under Amber's strict tutelage, we had actually learned how to apply eyeliner without stabbing ourselves in the eye, but tonight, she insisted on doing it herself.
As she worked on my kajal and flicked a perfect wing of eyeliner, I looked at our reflections in the mirror. We were getting ready for a party hosted by the tech elite—a world of sharks like Xaden Ridley.
By working in a whirlwind of hairspray and shared eyeliner, we managed to beat the clock, finishing our transformation far earlier than expected. We were still admiring our reflections when a sleek, black sedan—sent by Xaden—purred to a halt at the curb below, waiting like a dark omen to carry us into the night.
But as the "Sunshine Princess" painted our faces and the "Ice Queen" watched on with a smirk, I knew we were ready.
Tonight, we weren't just survivors. We were a force.
I nodded, feeling the weight of the dark sedan outside. We were headed into a den of wolves, but for the first time, I wasn't afraid of the big bad wolf. I was ready to meet him.