Lysa’s first class was called *Literature of Power and Legacy*.
It already sounded like it needed a punch to the face.
She slipped in ten minutes late, still damp from the rain, hoodie clinging to her shoulders. The room was painfully silent—at least until whispers started curling behind hands.
She didn’t have to guess why.
Combat boots. No makeup. Wet hair.
She wasn’t born for schools like this—and she knew it.
“Miss Morgan,” the professor said without looking up. “You’ve made an entrance.”
She mumbled an apology and scanned the room. One seat left. Two rows from the back.
And directly in front of *him*.
Samuel sat like a storm in waiting. Uniform untucked. Tattoo peeking from his open collar. Arm draped over the chair next to him like he owned it—and everything around it.
Lysa walked past him without flinching. Sat down. Opened her notebook. Pretended he didn’t exist.
Then something fluttered onto her desk.
A folded piece of paper.
She opened it slowly.
**"Keep your head down.
Pretty girls bleed easy.
—S"**
She froze.
Every hair on her neck rose like it had been touched. Her jaw tightened. She turned slightly, eyes locking with his.
He didn’t wink.
He didn’t smirk.
He just stared.
Class blurred after that. The words the professor spoke fell apart in her ears. She tapped her pen, over and over. Her thoughts were racing but made no sense.
She felt his eyes on her the entire time.
When the bell finally rang, she stood too fast. Nearly knocked her chair over.
She turned the hallway corner—and slammed right into him.
Hard chest. Warm skin. Colder smile.
“Someone’s eager,” Samuel murmured.
Lysa stepped back. “Someone’s in my face.”
He didn’t move. His gaze was sharp, unreadable. “Funny. You didn’t seem to mind earlier.”
“You think you scare me?” she asked.
“I *know* I do,” he said calmly.
For a moment, no one breathed. Then she pushed past him and kept walking. She didn’t stop until she reached her dorm.
But the tension didn’t stop with her.
On her bed was a black box. No tag. No message.
Inside: a single silk ribbon.
Deep red.
Coiled like a warning.
And beneath it, a photo.
Her.
Taken this morning.
She was walking toward class—alone.
But in the background, blurred but unmistakable, stood Samuel.
Watching.
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