The First Rule
Chapter One
The First Rule
The first thing I learned at Blackwood University was that everyone had a secret.
The second was that some secrets were worth killing for.
The third?
I learned that one much later.
When I fell in love with Damien Cross.
But on my first day, I was still naïve enough to believe that the biggest problem I would have at Blackwood was finding my classroom.
I was wrong.
I had been on campus for exactly eleven minutes when I crashed into him.
Literally.
My books flew out of my arms.
My coffee went everywhere.
And the entire hallway went silent.
I froze.
A drop of coffee slid slowly down the front of the most expensive-looking black shirt I’d ever seen.
I looked up.
And immediately wished I hadn’t.
He was tall.
Not just tall.
The kind of tall that made everyone around him look smaller.
Dark hair fell messily over his forehead, like he’d spent zero effort making it look that way and somehow still looked unfairly perfect.
His eyes were the first thing that caught me.
Gray.
Cold.
Sharp.
They moved from my face to the coffee stain on his shirt.
Then back to me.
“You’re kidding.”
My stomach dropped.
“I’m so sorry.”
I crouched down to collect my books.
He didn’t move.
Neither did anyone else.
Which was strange.
People were staring at us like they’d just witnessed a car accident.
I grabbed my notebook.
Then my textbook.
Then the folder that had fallen open across the marble floor.
A black leather shoe stopped directly in front of my hand.
I looked up again.
He was still standing there.
“You’re new.”
It wasn’t a question.
I stood.
“Yes.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“Clearly.”
I glanced down at his shirt.
“Look, I’ll pay for the cleaning.”
A few people nearby laughed.
His expression didn’t change.
“You’ll pay for the shirt.”
I blinked.
“Okay.”
He looked at me for another second.
“Do you know how much it costs?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He stepped closer.
“Then you might want to sit down before I tell you.”
I stared at him.
Was he serious?
I folded my arms.
“Or you could just tell me.”
Something changed in his expression.
Barely.
A tiny flicker of amusement.
“You’ve got attitude.”
“And you’ve got coffee on your shirt.”
The girl standing behind him gasped.
I immediately regretted speaking.
Not because of him.
Because of the way everyone reacted.
Who was this guy?
He reached down and picked up the last thing I’d dropped.
My student ID.
His eyes scanned it.
Then stopped.
AMARA HALE.
He looked at me.
Then at the card.
Then back at me.
“Amara.”
The way he said my name sent an unfamiliar shiver down my spine.
I reached for the card.
He didn’t give it back.
“That’s me.”
“I know.”
“Can I have it?”
He tilted his head.
“Blackwood scholarship?”
My jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
The amusement disappeared.
Something colder replaced it.
He finally handed me the card.
“Interesting.”
I took it.
“Why?”
He turned away.
“Nothing.”
Then he walked off.
Just like that.
No apology.
No goodbye.
Nothing.
I watched him disappear into the crowd.
“Who the hell was that?”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
A girl beside me laughed nervously.
“You really don’t know?”
I shook my head.
She stared at me like I’d just admitted I’d never heard of oxygen.
“That was Damien Cross.”
The name meant nothing to me.
It clearly meant something to everyone else.
“Okay?”
Her eyes widened.
“Okay?”
She glanced around before lowering her voice.
“Damien Cross.”
I shrugged.
“And?”
“His family practically owns Blackwood.”
I looked down the hallway.
“He owns the university?”
“No.”
She paused.
“Almost.”
By the time I reached my first lecture, I had already decided I hated Blackwood.
The building itself was beautiful.
That was part of the problem.
Everything was beautiful.
The old stone walls were covered in ivy. Tall arched windows let in pale morning light. Chandeliers hung from ceilings that looked like they belonged in a museum.
Even the floors were polished enough to reflect your shoes.
I’d spent the last three months imagining what it would be like to study here.
I’d imagined quiet libraries.
New friends.
Freedom.
A fresh start.
What I hadn’t imagined was feeling like everyone could see the wordscholarshipstamped across my forehead.
Most of the students here came from families that owned companies, hotels, political connections, or enough money to buy a small country.
I came from a two-bedroom apartment and a mother who had spent years telling me that education was the one thing nobody could take away from me.
That’s why I was here.
I hadn’t fought for this scholarship just to be intimidated by some arrogant rich boy.
I took a seat near the front.
My professor walked in five minutes later.
“Good morning.”
Everyone quieted.
He placed a stack of papers on the desk.
“Welcome to Advanced Criminal Law.”
My stomach tightened.
I loved law.
It was the reason I’d applied to Blackwood in the first place.
The professor began taking attendance.
Names.
One after another.
Then—
“Cross, Damien.”
“Here.”
My pen stopped.
Of course.
I slowly turned around.
Damien was sitting in the back row.
Black shirt.
Same cold expression.
Only now there was no coffee stain.
His eyes met mine.
A faint smile appeared.
I turned back around.
No.
Absolutely not.
I was not going to let this man ruin my first day.
“Before we begin,” Professor Bennett said, “I’d like to remind everyone that your final grade will be based heavily on the semester-long case analysis.”
A collective groan filled the room.
“The project will be completed in pairs.”
That got everyone’s attention.
“Your partners have already been assigned.”
He began reading names.
I held my breath.
Please don’t be him.
Please don’t be him.
“Amara Hale.”
My eyes closed.
“Damien Cross.”
The room erupted.
Someone behind me whispered, “Oh my God.”
I slowly turned around.
Damien was already looking at me.
He raised one eyebrow.
I mouthed,Seriously?
His mouth curved into that infuriating half-smile.
Then he leaned back in his chair.
Like he’d just won something.
Professor Bennett continued speaking, but I didn’t hear a word.
My entire body was burning.
I raised my hand.
“Professor?”
He looked at me.
“Yes, Miss Hale?”
“Can I change partners?”
A few people laughed.
Professor Bennett didn’t.
“No.”
“But—”
“The pairs are final.”
I glanced at Damien.
He was still watching me.
“Any other questions?”
I lowered my hand.
No.
I had no other questions.
I had one very large problem.
And he was sitting twenty feet behind me.
After class, I packed my things as quickly as possible.
I was halfway through the door when someone grabbed my wrist.
I turned.
Damien.
“Where are you going?”
I pulled my hand free.
“Somewhere you’re not.”
He smiled.
“You’ll get used to me.”
“That’s unlikely.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like you.”
His smile widened.
“You’ve known me for twenty minutes.”
“That’s plenty.”
He laughed quietly.
It was the first time I’d heard him laugh.
And annoyingly, it sounded good.
“You’re interesting, Amara.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why?”
“Because you say it like you own it.”
Something flickered across his face.
Then he stepped closer.
Close enough that I could smell his cologne.
Clean.
Warm.
Dangerous.
“Maybe I like saying it.”
My heartbeat betrayed me.
I stepped back.
“Where are we meeting for the project?”
“Tonight.”
I frowned.
“Tonight?”
“Eight.”
“Where?”
“My dorm.”
I stared at him.
“Absolutely not.”
He laughed.
“You think I’m going to attack you?”
“No.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know you.”
“You’ll know me by the end of the semester.”
He walked past me.
Then stopped.
Without turning around, he said,
“Room 317.”
And disappeared.
I stood there for several seconds.
Room 317.
I hated him.
I hated his voice.
I hated his stupid smile.
I especially hated the way my heart had reacted when he’d stepped closer.
I turned toward the exit.
I was not going to his dorm.
Absolutely not.
At 7:56 p.m., I stood outside Room 317.
I stared at the door.
This was stupid.
I should leave.
I lifted my hand to knock.
Before I could, the door opened.
Damien stood there.
His hair was damp.
He was wearing gray sweatpants and nothing else.
My brain stopped functioning.
His eyes dropped to my face.
Then slowly moved downward.
“You’re staring.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I was looking at—”
“My chest?”
I looked away.
“Your face.”
He laughed.
“Sure.”
I shoved past him.
“Let’s just finish this.”
He closed the door.
His dorm room was nothing like mine.
Of course it wasn’t.
Huge windows overlooked the campus. A leather sofa sat in the corner. Bookshelves lined the walls.
But there was something strange.
The room was almost too clean.
Too empty.
Like nobody actually lived there.
I opened my notebook.
“Let’s start.”
Damien didn’t answer.
I looked up.
He was standing beside the desk.
Staring at me.
“What?”
He walked toward me.
Slowly.
Then stopped directly in front of me.
“You lied to me this morning.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
His eyes hardened.
“You said you didn’t know who I was.”
“I didn’t.”
He reached into his pocket.
Pulled something out.
And placed it on the desk.
A photograph.
Old.
Faded.
My blood turned cold.
Because I knew that photograph.
I’d seen it once before.
Years ago.
In a box hidden underneath my mother’s bed.
I picked it up with trembling fingers.
Damien watched my face.
“Funny thing,” he said quietly.
“My father is in this photograph.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Then he leaned closer.
“And so is your mother.”
