Prologue
There were three simple rules to keeping my scholarship at St. Severin University: maintain a squeaky clean 3.8 GPA, don’t get arrested, and try not to look like a charity case in front of people whose trust funds had trust funds.
I was doing great on the first two. The third one was a daily struggle.
My name is Aria. I am eighteen, entirely broke, and currently living in the renovated garage on the edge of the Vance estate. My mom is their head housekeeper, which means I get the absolute privilege of living next to the royal family of the university while wearing clothes from the clearance rack.
And by royal family, I mean the two brothers who basically owned the campus.
First, there was Leo Vance.
Leo was nineteen, a sophomore, and looked like he’d been custom built in a lab to ruin girls' lives. He had messy dark-blonde hair that always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, warm amber eyes, and a sharp, dimpled jawline that he used to his convenience. He was charming, loud, and slept through half his classes. The dude uses girls like disposable lighters, flicking them on, getting his high, and tossing them into the dark when he’s bored. I had been carrying a deeply embarrassing, highly, super duper secret crush on him for three years.
Then there was Damon Vance.
If Leo was the golden boy, Damon was the refined, quieter version that kept the whole family business running. He was twenty-four, the eldest heir, and sat on the university board of trustees. He didn't do college parties. He had hair just a few shades darker than Leo's, a rich, deep, dark brown, and those exact same striking amber eyes, though Damon's were far calmer and harder to figure out.
His face wasn't harsh or intimidating, just smooth, elegant, and composed. He wore dark suits that probably cost more than my tuition, moving with the quiet ease of someone who never had to prove himself to anyone. Rich people.
I was currently trying not to stare at Leo while navigating the crowded hallway of the humanities building.
Leo was leaning against the marble pillar, his blue varsity jacket slouched over one shoulder while three girls laughed at a joke he probably hadn't even finished telling. He had that lazy, infectious grin on his face.
Stay focused, Aria. Look at the floor. Avoid eye contact.
I ducked my head, clutching my canvas bag to my chest as I shoved my hand inside to feel around for my phone.
Smack.
It was like walking full-speed into a brick wall.
The impact knocked the breath straight out of my lungs. My bag slipped off my shoulder, hitting the floor with a tragic thud, and the zipper burst wide open. My pens, my cheap water bottle, and my folders scattered across the marble floor like a crime scene.
"I am so, so sorry!" I stammered immediately, dropping to my knees. Great. Fantastic. A+ for grace.
A pair of shiny black leather shoes stood completely still in front of me.
The wall I had hit was a person. And that person hadn't even swayed.
I scrambled to grab my water bottle, my cheeks burning with enough heat to melt the floor.
Right beside his shoe, lying face up, was my thick leather journal. It had popped open.
Of course it did. Because the universe hates me.
I didn't even check what page it was open to. I was too busy praying to every force in the galaxy that he wouldn't see the messy handwriting and charcoal sketches. I reached out frantically to grab it before my life flashed before my eyes.
Before my fingers could touch the leather, the man stepped forward just an inch, his shoe casually cutting off my angle.
He didn't yell. He didn't spit out a single word.
I kept my head down, grabbing two highlighters, assuming he was just waiting for the clumsy girl to clear the runway. I didn't see his eyes drift down for two quiet seconds, sweeping over the open page containing my detailed sketch of Leo's face and three very unholy paragraphs about him.
Damon didn't react. His face didn't twitch, his jaw didn’t do that thing men do, and he didn't give a single hint that he was looking at the most embarrassing document in North America.
Slowly, I worked up the courage to look up.
My gaze traveled up a black suit, past a freshly pressed white collar, and landed straight on Damon Vance’s face.
My brain completely froze. Oh, perfect. Out of two thousand students on this campus, I had to tackle the human equivalent of a scary boss. If this school was a workplace.
Damon was staring down at me. His eyes dragged over my face, taking in my messy hair, my wide, terrified eyes, and my flushed cheeks. There was a faint, subtle beat of stillness in his expression, like he was looking at a face he vaguely recognized from a distant memory, but couldn't quite place. He didn't look mad. He just looked faintly thoughtful, like trying to remember where he'd seen a specific face before.
I gave him a pathetic, strained smile that felt more like a facial twitch. "Hi. Sorry. I'm going."
I had mastered the art of pitiful enough to be invisible.
Damon didn't answer. He simply bent down with fluid, effortless movement, picked up my journal, and closed it with a soft snap.
He held it out to me.
"Here," he said calmly, his voice smooth and totally lacking of any special interest.
"Thank you," I murmured, taking it back and shoving it straight into the deepest pocket of my bag.
Damon didn't linger. He didn't ask my name, he didn't ask if I was okay, and he certainly didn't act like meeting me was the highlight of his morning. He simply turned, his long strides carrying him down the hallway as if I were nothing more than a minor speedbump on his way to a meeting.
I sat there on the cold floor, holding one green highlighter, watching his retreating back while exhaling the longest breath of my life.
Well. That could have been worse.
Little did I know, the worst hadn't even begun.
Don’t forget to add to library for daily updates!
