The late morning sun lit up the courtyard outside NYU's Stern School of Business as students hurried past one another, their chatter blending with the occasional honk of a car from the nearby street. Lana stood in front of her lecture hall, clutching a travel mug of coffee and the printed campus map she'd already folded and refolded five times.
Her first official business class.
Principles of Global Strategy.
The name alone sounded heavy enough to flatten her.
"Okay," she whispered to herself, taking a deep breath. "You've got this. You survived a rooftop party, a near panic attack, and a man who made your heart forget how to beat. You can handle one class."
The lecture hall was already buzzing when she entered. Rows of stadium seats curved upward, filled with students in every variation of NYU merch and overpriced casualwear. Lana scanned the room—and froze when she spotted a familiar face.
Mason.
He waved from a row halfway up, patting the seat beside him. She blinked, surprised, before making her way up with careful steps.
"You're in this class?" she asked, sliding into the seat.
Mason smirked. "Unlike some people, I actually belong here."
Lana rolled her eyes. "Funny. I do belong here."
"Sure you do," he teased. "A freshman jumping straight into a 300-level course? That's bold. This class is no joke."
She lifted her chin. "I got approval for it."
"I'm impressed," Mason admitted, nudging her arm. "Guess we'll see if you can keep up."
Before she could come up with a snappy comeback, the professor walked in—a tall woman with sharp glasses and the kind of voice that demanded attention. The room quieted instantly.
"Welcome to Global Strategy," she began. "This class will challenge your assumptions, test your logic, and hopefully expand your idea of what it means to be a global thinker."
As the lecture began, Lana did her best to focus, taking notes even though half the terms sounded like a different language. Every now and then, Mason leaned over to whisper something sarcastic under his breath, and she'd have to bite back a laugh.
By the end of the hour, her head was spinning, but it felt good—like she was really here. Like her new life had started.
After class, Mason led the way to a nearby café just off campus, a cozy spot with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and the scent of roasted coffee beans thick in the air. They ordered sandwiches and iced lattes before settling into a small booth by the window.
"So," Mason said, stirring his drink. "What do you think? Was class everything you dreamed of?"
Lana let out a soft groan. "I feel like my brain ran a marathon. Half the things she said sounded made up."
Mason smirked. "Yeah, Professor Calloway doesn't ease you into it. But you did good."
"Thanks," she said, taking a bite of her sandwich.
They chatted about class, about campus life, about random things they'd talked about online but never in person. It felt comfortable, like they'd been doing this for years instead of hours.
Then, just as she took a sip of her coffee, Mason leaned back in his chair and casually said—
"So… about last Friday night."
Lana nearly choked. She coughed into her sleeve, eyes widening. "What about it?"
Mason raised an eyebrow. "You disappeared. Then I found you in my dad's arms."
Her stomach dropped. "It wasn't like that."
"Wasn't it?" Mason's voice was light, but his gaze was sharp, searching.
Lana set her cup down, suddenly feeling too warm. "I wasn't feeling well. I left the party to get air, and things got a little… overwhelming. Your dad just happened to be there."
Mason studied her for a moment before exhaling and shaking his head. "I don't get him."
Lana hesitated. "What do you mean?"
Mason drummed his fingers against the table. "He's not the kind of guy who just gets involved in other people's problems. He minds his own business. So why'd he help you?"
Lana swallowed. "I don't know. Maybe he's not as distant as you think."
Mason scoffed. "You don't know him like I do."
A thought struck Lana then, something she hadn't considered before. "Wait… what was he even doing there? At the party?"
Mason shrugged. "He wasn't at the party. He was in the building for a business dinner."
Lana frowned. "A business dinner? In some random Brooklyn loft?"
Mason smirked. "You think my dad only does business in glass offices? He owns half the city. A lot of deals happen in private spaces."
Lana processed that, her mind replaying the events of the night. How Dylan had just happened to be there. How he had stepped in like it was second nature.
"Still," she murmured. "It's weird timing."
Mason gave her a long look. "Yeah. It is."
The conversation drifted to lighter topics, but the tension remained.
Even as they left the café, even as they walked back toward campus, Lana couldn't shake the feeling that Mason was watching her a little too closely.
And she couldn't stop thinking about Dylan.
About the way he caught her. About the way his hands felt on her skin.
No matter how much she tried to push it away, there was no denying it now.
Something was happening.
And she didn't know how to stop it.