Valentine
The psychology lecture hall at Imperial University looked like it belonged more in a Bond film than a college campus—sleek tiered seating, crystal pendant lights dripping from the ceiling, and floor-to-ceiling windows that poured sunlight onto polished obsidian floors. A shrine to intellect, or more accurately, to power disguised as intellect.
Keira took the seat next to me, perfectly poised in her grey cashmere blazer, nails manicured in a shade of blood red. A few students glanced at her with hushed curiosity. They didn't know who she was—not yet. But they would. You don't get to be the mafia princess of The Outfit and remain a mystery for long.
She leaned toward me, whispering, "One of these kids has a tail. Black coat. Been pretending to check the windows for ten minutes."
I didn't even blink. "Friend of yours?"
"Family insurance," she replied, casual as sin.
Before I could reply, the door creaked open behind us and a wave of dark energy swept through the hall. I didn't need to look. I felt him before I saw him.
Aiden Ashbourne.
He entered like he owned the air, with three others trailing behind him, each more absurdly attractive than the last. The room shifted, not physically, but in that subtle way that happens when predators enter a space entire of prey.
"That's the Royal," Keira murmured, nodding toward the sharp-featured blonde in a navy suit—Prince Lucian of Denmark. "The one with the lazy smirk and a five-thousand-dollar watch is an Oberoi. Arjun Oberoi. His father's the richest businessman and brother of India's Prime Minister."
"And the last one?" I asked.
"Killian Voss. Family runs half the European tech market. Likes guns, coding, and kissing women in parking lots, in that order."
They didn't sit with the rest of us. Of course not. They took the seats on the mezzanine like they were the judges in some twisted Roman coliseum. And at the center of it all—Aiden.
He didn't look at me at first.
But I felt it coming.
And then—
His eyes slid to mine, slow and deliberate.
"Valentine," he said, in that dark velvet voice that coiled around your name like smoke. "I expected you to be late."
"And I expected you to be gone," I replied coolly.
He tilted his head. "Didn't think I'd miss our first psychology lecture. Seems poetic, doesn't it? All this talk of minds and damage. How very... relevant."
The professor cleared her throat, forcing the class to start, but not before Aiden shot me one final look and mouthed something across the room.
"Sweetheart."
I narrowed my eyes. "Don't call me that."
He smirked. "Then earn a new name."
The class droned on, but I couldn't focus. Words blurred together: trauma, repression, identity development. They all felt too familiar.
Flashback.
A charred room. A doll melted at the edges. Smoke curling through a crack in the ceiling. Screams—mine, maybe? I don't remember. Just fire and the firm grip of Eden pulling me out. I remember looking back and seeing someone else. A boy. Eyes like the storm. Was it—
"Val?"
Keira's voice snapped me back.
Aiden was gone. But not before he'd left a folded note on my desk. I opened it with shaking hands.
"Let's see how many layers you have before you break. Sweetheart."
I crushed the paper in my palm.
Game on, Ashbourne.