The Queen of Oz

Chapter 1: From Beakers to Barbarians

The digital timer on the biochemistry lab counter hit 04:12 AM when Dorothy finally sealed the last Petri dish. Her eyes burned behind her safety goggles, and the messy bun atop her head held two pencils and a spare pipette. She had been immersed in protein sequencing for 36 hours—the only place where the silence was absolute and her ex-boyfriend’s betrayal couldn't reach her.

When she finally crossed the Cresthaven University campus under the pale 8:00 AM sun, the salt air from the coast was the last thing she expected to be ruined by a domestic apocalypse.

The yellow "Biohazard: Restricted Area" tape stretched across her dorm room door like a death sentence.

"Black mold, Dorothy," the proctor said, eyes glued to her tablet. "The plumbing in 302 burst while you were... wherever it is you hide. The whole building is going under heavy sanitation."

"My things?" Dorothy asked, her voice cracking.

"In sealed bags in storage. As for you... the other girls have already figured it out. Hotels, relatives, a few snagged last-minute spots in female Greek houses."

"And me?"

The proctor hesitated, finally looking at Dorothy. "You’re on the swim team, right? The university has a reciprocity agreement with the athletic houses. But the sororities are overflowing with refugees from this building. There’s only one spot left. And, well... the other six girls who saw the place preferred to drop the semester."

She handed over a crumpled slip of paper: Sigma Delta Fraternity.

"The ogre mansion?" Dorothy felt the onset of a migraine. "I won't last two days there. That place is a factory for testosterone and bad music."

"It’s that or a park bench, honey. Choose fast; the line is long."

Two hours later, Dorothy was dragging her rolling suitcase—the only one untainted by mold—across the manicured lawn of Sigma Delta. The sun beat down on the pool, where two guys were tossing a wet frisbee while a speaker blared generic trap music.

Ugh, what a nightmare, Dorothy thought, adjusting her thin-rimmed glasses—more for charm than necessity—and pulling her grey hoodie sleeves down to hide her hands. I just want a shower, a coffee, and a three-day coma.

"Whoa! Look what the wind blew in from the library!" A broad-shouldered freshman with a red Solo cup blocked her path. "Hey, gorgeous, lost and found is in the back. But if you want, I can help you 'find' yourself in my room."

He reached for her shoulder. Dorothy stopped, her eyes cold behind the lenses. "If you touch me, I will anatomically explain the pain of a shoulder dislocation. With a practical demonstration."

The guy laughed, calling out to his friends. "Look at that, the nerd has claws!"

"Back off, Miller."

The voice came from the top of the stairs. The music seemed to drop in volume by pure instinct.

Four figures emerged from the shadows of the porch, looking as if they’d been carved from marble and protein powder. In the center was Leo. He was shirtless, wearing only black sweatpants, and the scar on his right shoulder—a trophy from a winning football season—seemed to glint in the sun.

He descended the steps, his gaze locked on Dorothy. He wasn't smiling. Leo had that aura of someone who didn't ask for respect; he simply received it. He stopped just inches from Dorothy, the heat radiating from his body hitting her like an open oven.

"She’s the new resident on the third floor," Leo announced to the entire lawn. The silence was immediate. "She’s under my responsibility. Anyone who crosses her answers to me personally. Miller, take her bags. Now."

"I've got it," said a voice from behind Leo. It was Noah, the computer whiz and rowing prodigy. He wiped his hands on a rag as he came down. "Latest gen laptop? Dedicated GPU? I like the setup, Dorothy. If the Wi-Fi acts up, I’m your guy."

"I swim with her," Jace chimed in, sliding next to Dorothy with a smile that was pure danger. He smelled like chlorine and desire. "Though I’ve never seen this grandma hoodie at practice. What else are you hiding under there, 'Little Fish'?"

"I’m hiding a right hook if you don’t get out of my personal space," Dorothy grumbled, unimpressed.

"Take it easy, Jace. She’s exhausted," Liam said, approaching with a glass of water and a sympathetic look. He was the tallest, but his movements were gentle. "The third floor is the quietest part of the house, Dorothy. Let’s head up. I’ll show you where the herb garden is if you want tea later."

Dorothy sighed, defeated by the forced hospitality. "Just show me the room. And please tell me the bathroom has a lock."

Leo gave a half-smirk—the first sign of expression she’d seen. "It does. But there are ten men in this house and only one bathroom on your floor. You’re going to have to learn how to negotiate shower time, Dorothy."

He turned, heading up the stairs with the confidence of a king. Dorothy followed, staring at Leo’s broad back and thinking that, compared to this madhouse, the black mold in her old room seemed like a much safer alternative for her heart... and her virginity.