Chapter 1 THE VIXEN
Veronica’s POV)
The lecture hall falls silent the moment I kick the door open.
Good.
Let them fear me.
Let them move out of my way.
I don’t apologize for being late. I don’t apologize for anything. Apologizing is for people who still believe the world cares about them. I learned a long time ago, the day my father walked out, that nobody stays, nobody protects you, and nobody gives you anything unless you fight for it.
So I fight.
With my eyes.
With my tongue.
With my presence.
A boy blocks my path, hugging his bag like a shield.
“Move,” I tell him.
He moves.
They always do.
I walk to the back row, my heels echoing in a hall suddenly too quiet. I drop my bag on the seat beside me, loud, intentional. Claiming space is what I do best.
Everyone looks terrified.
Perfect.
Except… one person.
The moment I feel his eyes on me, my skin tingles in irritation, or something dangerously close to curiosity.
I look down.
And there he is.
Damian Knight.
Fifth row to the back. Near the window. Tall enough that it’s impossible not to notice him. Tanned-skinned, carved jawline, broad shoulders, calm expression. Handsome in that quiet, deadly way that makes girls forget their names.
But that’s not what bothers me.
It’s the way he’s looking at me.
Not scared.
Not impressed.
Not disgusted.
Just… watching.
Like he’s trying to read me.
Like he already knows something.
I tilt my chin, meeting his eyes full-on. “Don’t look at me like that,” I snap. “I bite.”
His lips curl lazily. “Good. I don’t scare easily.”
The audacity.
The actual audacity.
People around us whisper, shocked. No one talks back to me. No one challenges me. No one looks directly into my eyes unless they’re waiting for their death sentence.
But Damian does.
And he doesn’t look away.
My pulse kicks annoyingly. I pretend not to feel it.
I turn my face away and flip open my notebook, trying to pay attention as the lecturer enters… but my thoughts won’t stay still.
Why is he still looking at me?
Who does he think he is?
Yet a tiny, traitorous voice in my head whispers: He’s not like the others. He’s not scared of you.
Great.
Another thing to be irritated about.
I clench my pen, trying to drown out the memory of a different stare, my father’s back as he walked out the door without looking at me once.
Stop thinking about that.
Focus.
But Damian shifts in his seat, and my eyes snap back to him before I can stop myself.
He’s still watching.
Studying.
Calculating.
What does he want?
The lecturer’s voice fades into background noise. I lean back, forcing myself to ignore him, proving to myself that no guy can shake me,
“Veronica.”
My name.
Spoken in a voice that sends chills down my spine.
I turn sharply.
Damian is staring straight at me.
Calm.
Confident.
Certain.
And that’s when the bottom drops out of my stomach.
Because I realize,
I never told him my name.
My throat goes dry.
How does he know who I am?
Why does he look like he’s known me longer than five minutes?
Why does something about this feel like a warning?
Before I can speak, he gives me the smallest, slowest smirk…
Like he’s been waiting for me to figure it out.
