Silent Stars, Loud Hearts

Chapter One: The Wrong Desk

Callum Reed believed in small joys -- warm coffee, pressed flowers in his books, and finding the quietest seat in the lecture hall before anyone else arrived. It made him feel like he belonged, even in a world built for the rich and ruthless.

𝑉𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑡 𝑈𝑛𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑦 wasn't exactly friendly to scholarship students. Especially not to Omegas who kept their head down and their voices soft.

So when Callum pushed open the door to 𝐏𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡 204 twenty minutes early and found someone already sitting in his favorite back-row corner seat, he faltered.

The man didn't move.

He was dressed in black from hoodie to boots, slouched like royalty with no throne, and had the kind of energy that sucked the sound out of the room.

𝐑𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞.

Callum recognized him immediately -- everyone did. The Vale family practically 𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑒𝑑 the east wing of campus. Rhett didn't talk. Didn't party. Didn't date. People whispered about bodyguards and backgrounds checks and things disappeared when he got bored of them.

Rumors called him 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐦𝐚.

Callum had hoped never to be within twenty feet of him.

Yet here he was.

Still, the professor's seating chart was posted, and his name -- 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐦 𝐑𝐞𝐞𝐝 -- was clearly marked right next to 𝐑𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞.

𝑂ℎ 𝑛𝑜.

Callum took a breath and approached carefully, like one might approach a wild animal.

"Um...hi," he offered, standing awkwardly beside the desk. " Sorry. I think we're partners for the semester project."

Rhett didn't look up.

Callum glanced around -- empty classroom, silence heavy. "So, um, I'm Callum. Nice to meet you?"

Still no answer.

Callum fidgeted with the strap of his satchel. " I ----- I can sit somewhere else if you'd rather not ---"

A voice cut through the air like cold steel.

"Sit down."

Callum blinked.

Not rude. Not warm. Just an order. Flat and final.

He obeyed.

The next few minutes passed in awkward silence. Callum scribbled his schedule in the margin of his planner. Rhett stared straight ahead like the desk was a battlefield. Not a word. Not a glance.

Callum tried not to fidget.

When the professor entered and began the introduction to the semester's group psychological profiles project, Callum peeked sideways.

Rhett was still unreadable.

But his hand moved --- pulling out a notebook, black as his hoodie, and flipping it open with calm precision.

Callum looked away.

Later that day, when Callum finally opened his own notebook in the library, a small piece of folded paper fluttered out.

No name. Just three words:

| 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞.

His hands went cold.

He looked around. No one was watching. No sign of where it had come from.

But the handwriting?

Sharp. Clean. Controlled.