First strike

The lecture hall buzzed with restless energy as students crammed into the seats, clutching coffee cups and thick binders. Above them, a gleaming banner stretched across the wall: Welcome to the Chancellor’s Challenge.

Aiden Hart sat near the back, slouched in his chair, arms crossed tightly. His dark hoodie and battered sneakers made him look out of place among the crisp blazers and polished shoes, but he didn’t care.

Let them underestimate him.

The Chancellor’s Scholarship wasn’t just money — it was a door. A direct line to a future he couldn’t afford otherwise. Losing wasn’t an option.

He tapped a pen idly against his folder, gaze skimming the room — and then the front doors swung open.

Eliza Wren walked in like she owned the place.

Blonde hair tucked neatly into a braid, boots clicking against the marble floor, a navy blazer hugging her frame. She was all sharp lines and colder smiles, moving through the crowd like a knife through silk.

Their eyes locked.

Brief. Electric.

Aiden’s lips curved into a slow, mocking smirk.

Game on.

The first debate started fast. Judges lined the front row, their expressions unreadable. Eliza was called up second.

She spoke with a precision that sliced through the room, every word deliberate, polished, devastating.

Aiden leaned forward slightly despite himself, grudgingly impressed.

When his turn came, he shoved his hands into his pockets and strode to the podium, casual and dangerous. No notes. Just heat, conviction, and a voice thathat demanded attention.

If Eliza was a scalpel, Aiden was a lit match tossed into dry grass.

The audience buzzed when he finished. Even the professors exchanged quiet looks.

As he returned to his seat, he caught Eliza watching him.

No smile. Just that steady, evaluating stare.

Outside, the late afternoon sun slanted across the cobblestone paths. Students streamed out of the building, some already dissecting the debate.

Aiden slung his backpack over one shoulder and headed for the quad. He didn’t expect her to follow.

“You have an interesting approach," Eliza said, matching his stride easily.

Aiden glanced sideways. "Interesting," he repeated, amused. "Not good?"

She smiled, razor-sharp.

"I suppose even blunt instruments can be effective, if you swing them hard enough."

Aiden laughed under his breath. "Careful, Wren. Compliments like that might make me like you."

"You don’t have to like me," she said lightly. "You just have to lose."

He stopped walking, turning to face her fully. Close enough that he could see the faint sprinkle of freckles across her nose, the steely glint in her eyes.

"I don’t plan on losing," he said, voice low.

Eliza tilted her head slightly, studying him like he was a puzzle she intended to solve.

"Good," she said. "I like a challenge."

Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked away, leaving him staring after her, a reluctant grin tugging at his mouth.

For the first time since arriving at this university, Aiden wasn’t just playing to win.

He was playing against her.

And he had never wanted something more.

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