Clara didn't bother lying on her bed properly… she sprawled across it like a lounging cat, one arm thrown over her head, her phone pressed to her ear while she absentmindedly twirled a strand of wavy golden hair around her finger. The late afternoon sun spilled through her blinds in hazy gold stripes, kissing her fair skin with light.
"Okay, so what are your plans for Saturday? I've been craving sushi." Emily's high pitched voice rang through the phone. "There's a place downtown that prepares your meal at the table."
"Sorry can't, I have a date." Clara nonchalantly answered.
"Thanks for telling me jerk. A date with who, Marcus? I thought you dumped him?" Emily sounded as relaxed and lazy as Clara looked.
Clara rolled her eyes even though Emily couldn't see it. "No. Definitely not Marcus."
"With who then?"
Clara hesitated—then answered with exaggerated casualness, "Some guy from my coding class. Cyra."
"Cyra…" Emily repeated thoughtfully. "That's a unique name. Where have I heard that before? Cyra what?"
Clara fiddled with her hair some more. "Uh. Blackthorne, I think it was."
Silence, like a dropped glass just before it shatters.
"…Clara." Emily's voice came back hushed. "Cyra Blackthorne?"
Clara frowned. "Yes? Why, you know him?"
There was another pause, quieter than the first. Clara could nearly hear the spin of Emily's thoughts through the phone.
"Clara… are you sure he said Blackthorne as in—the Blackthornes?"
Clara shifted, propping herself on her elbow. "Yes. Why are you being so dramatic? You're freaking me out."
"You should be!" Emily whispered, "if he's that Blackthorne… he's super wealthy. And he's not just rich. He's… dynasty-rich."
Clara scoffed, tossing her hair back. "You know money means nothing to me, Em. You're literally the richest person I know. We've played hide and seek in your mansion thousands of times growing up. Your servant knows me by name. I'm desensitized."
"First of all, Memo is a paid employee ok, do not disrespect him. Second of all that's millionaire rich," Emily said softly. "He's a billionaire…. There's a difference.
He could buy my mansion and turn into a golf course if he wanted."
"…Okay?" Clara said, too breezy. "So what? He has a stupid castle and a yacht somewhere? Congratulations to him."
"You don't understand," Emily murmured. "Blackthorne wealth isn't… loud. They don't flaunt it. No press, no personal profiles, barely any public appearances. They own half the east coast and nobody even sees them. You don't get that kind of power by being… accessible."
Clara blinked. Emily sounded like she just found out her friend had accidentally agreed to have dinner with a king. She swallowed, forcing the smugness back on like a jeweled cloak.
"Whatever. Money doesn't impress me. Men don't impress me. If anything, I'm the upgrade."
Emily gave the gentlest hum. "Just… be careful? Like physically and emotionally careful."
"I don't get emotional," Clara said flatly.
"Right," Emily said, amused. "You're an unbreakable titanium robot with zero human weakness."
"Exactly." Clara flopped back into the pillows.
"Ok, well text me your location in case he kidnaps you. I get joint custody over your ghost if you die."
"You are so dramatic."
Emily's voice softened. "So where is he taking you?"
Clara paused. He didn't mention what he was planning now that she thought about it. She pictured tripping through some lowkey underground hipster bar, her strappy stilettos stepping over spilled bear and piss and she winced.
"I have no idea. What does someone even wear on a date with an undercover billionaire?"
She rose from the bed and padded toward her closet. She reached down and pulled out the sleek black combat boots she kept for nights where the world might need kicking.
Emily, still on the line, sighed dreamily.
"You're going to wear the battle boots, aren't you?"
"Maybe I like to be prepared," Clara said defensively.
"For war?"
"For men."
Emily snorted. "Same thing."
They exchanged goodbyes, and Clara hung up. The room fell into silence.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
The next morning, campus was washed in cool sunlight — the kind that made architecture look sharper and shadows longer.
With earbuds in, coffee in hand, and her loose wavy hair bouncing with each step, Clara took her time crossing the quad and moved with unconcerned grace… never hurrying.
She cut along the edge of the engineering hall with her head bowed toward a text she was reading when she collided with a thump into a figure leaning against the stone column near the doors.
"Oops, I'm sorry! I wasn't—" she started automatically, lifting her eyes… her whole body stiffened.
Black hair. Unreadable dark eyes. Lazily amused half-smile like he'd been waiting for her.
Cyra.
Of course.
It would be him.
Her polite expression dropped so fast it was practically audible.
"You." The single word was more of a groan than a greeting.
He didn't push off the wall right away — he just watched her, hands in his pockets, looking like sin in a perfectly cut black coat and that infuriating calmness she already hated.
"You're welcome," he said.
"For what?" she snapped.
"For starting your morning with something worth looking at." He flashed his teeth in a wicked smile.
Her jaw tightened.
He smirked wider at the split-second break in her armor.
Clara inhaled sharply and rolled her eyes skyward like she might speak directly to whatever god had cursed her with his existence.
"Wow. And here I thought ego inflation of that size would require helium."
"It doesn't," he replied smoothly. "Just accuracy."
She blinked once — slow — the kind of blink a predator gives when debating whether to kill or walk away.
"I wasn't looking at you," she said crisply.
He tilted his head. "You weren't looking at all where you were going. You ran right into me. You should be more careful of your surroundings or people might think you're an airhead."
Heat flared at the base of her throat. She tightened her hold on her coffee.
"Try leaning somewhere that isn't in people's path next time."
He finally pushed off the wall with lazy grace — slow and controlled, like gravity cooperated with him instead of the other way around.
"I'll keep that in mind," he murmured, stepping just close enough for her to catch the warm scent of maple leaves.
"Since you apparently make a habit of walking straight at what you want, I assume you did that on purpose. There's better ways of getting my attention, you know."
Her pulse spiked.
She masked it with a scoff. "You're delusional."
He watched her attempt to hold the upper hand, and it amused him.
"Tell yourself that tomorrow," he said softly.
Her brows pulled together. "Tomorrow?"
He dipped his head just slightly, voice lowering to something silk and knowing.
"Our date."
He said it like it was inevitable. Like gravity and she was simply in orbit.
She hated how her stomach tightened.
"I haven't forgotten," she muttered.
"Oh," he said, pleased, "I know."
Arrogant.
Arrogant and composed and unreadably in the quietest, most polished way.
Before she could snap back, he added, almost in passing: "Wear whatever you can run in. You strike me as someone who needs to control the exit."
She froze — just a flicker — because how the hell did he know about her 'war boots'?
His mouth tipped into a softer, darker smile. Not kind. Not teasing.
Knowing.
"I'll be at the fountain in the plaza downtown at noon. I know I'll see you there princess."
He stepped past her, leaving her standing there with a stunned pulse and a coffee she suddenly couldn't taste.
Clara stared forward, swallowing once.The breeze tugged her blonde waves over her shoulder like punctuation.
She exhaled, slow.
"I hate him," she muttered to herself.