Gloria
Luca used to toss my books in the fire until my library was nothing but a collection of ash.
"You'd never matter outside the pages."
I ran my fingers along the spines of the towering shelves, letting my fingertips brush over titles, inhaling the familiar smell of old paper and polished leather.
For me, Evil had a name, and it was Luca Moretti who burned the stories I loved, telling me I was too weak and too irrelevant to leave a mark. I pressed my palm to a spine, grateful in a way I had never thought I could feel.
Mr. Valevsky had given me this. A library. Every inch of it. A kingdom of stories that Luca could never touch.
Word, though it felt real.
I wandered between the shelves, brushing my hands along books I'd only dreamed of owning. My gaze fell on a collection of leather-bound volumes, their gold lettering gleaming under the soft chandeliers.
And then I felt eyes on me. I stiffened and glanced up as my breath caught. My professor had been watching me the whole time.
Heat pooled in my cheeks. I cleared my throat while trying to seem indifferent.
"I—uh... thank you," I said softly. Though the confusion was audible in my voice. I thanked him for what? For gifting me a library that didn't even belong to him?
It's the gesture that matters, I guess.
He leaned casually against a shelf across from me, arms folded. "You're welcome," he replied, voice low.
I swallowed and finally decided to ask the question that had been burning in my chest. Perhaps I won't even get a chance to probe him again.
"Do... do I know you? Or... do you know my family?" My voice cracked.
"Yes," he said simply. His eyes were unreadable because the stained glasses shone the sunlight on his face, shadowing his eyes. A single strand of hair fell on his left eyes, his head tilted.
God, he was ethereal.
I blinked, caught off guard. "You know Mikhail Valevsky?"
My mother's frantic words about our family spun in my mind. My father's past of being Mikhail Valevsky's right hand.
A flicker passed over his face like tension, but he didn't back down. "Mikhail is my father."
I leaned against a nearby shelf, letting my weight settle. We studied each other in silence, his dark gaze sharp and unyielding.
My mine nervous but intrigued. My pulse quickened. "Then, why does my family seem to oppose me being close to you? Not directly, but..." I hesitated, thinking of my mother appearing so suddenly during the gunfire, my father and Nico whispering, and the sharp edge of their concern.
His brow furrowed faintly. "They're trying to protect you," he said vaguely. That sounded like a warning.
I was about to ask about the stranger beside my father, the one who had caused so much chaos and for whom I had unleashed my anger at Mr. Valevsky. I believed it was not my fault, as a thousand different thoughts were running through my mind at the time, but the way my father and he had reacted made me feel once again like someone who was meant to know nothing.
I opened my mouth to speak but he suddenly stepped closer. The distance between us was curling into inches as he walked towards me, the sound of his boots clicking in the quiet library.
When he came close enough, his hands slid into his pockets, towering over me. My stomach twisted with guilt for finding my teacher so irretrievably attractive.
I gulped.
"About that test," he said, eyes fixed on mine. "You got a 94 on it."
Confused, I stammered out an answer. "Oh, that's great."
He nodded, a small, approving motion, then reached forward and lightly tapped my nose. "This library is yours now. You can do whatever you want with it."
I raised my eyebrows and chuckled. "I appreciate the gesture, but how can you gift me something that isn't even yours?"
I regretted my question the moment it left my lips. He merely smiled—a small, knowing curve, as if I had asked the most foolish thing in the world.
And then he turned, slipping past the shelves with effortless grace.
I couldn't tear my eyes away. The light caught the angles of his jaw, the way his shirt hugged him. He walked with such calm authority as if the library belonged to his father.
Even as he disappeared from view, the memory of his presence lingered, filling the library with a heat that made my chest tighten. Hands clutched lightly at the edge of a shelf, my pulse thrumming in my ears.
He was infuriatingly handsome, effortlessly charming, and impossibly dangerous all at once. And I was certain—terribly certain—that there was something deeply wrong with me for feeling my stomach twist every time he moved.
He left me standing in silence, the library suddenly vast and quiet, and I realized just how confusing, magnetic, and utterly mysterious he truly was.
***
The ride back was silent. Our parents took the other car, leaving Nico and me alone in ours, but even with just us, the air felt stiff. Their voices, their tight expressions as we left, stayed in my mind.
I was so damn sure it was not be my family was worried about. Not entirely. It was the stranger who had spoken to my father, whose shadow clung to them all
When we reached home, I escaped to my room, relieved to shut the door on the silence. I unclasped my necklace, letting the cool chain slip through my fingers before tucking it into its velvet box. My phone buzzed on the bed.
Nina.
NINA: Glo. Don't you dare sleep before telling me what happened in that library.
I smirked, sinking onto the mattress and hugging a pillow against me. I contemplated for a while if I should share the magic of the library with Nina.
ME: Nothing happened.
NINA: Don't lie. Something always happens. Spill.
I chewed my lip, thinking of how close he'd stood, the way his eyes had lingered and the slow tap on my nose. God.
I typed slowly.
ME: He gifted me the Belmont Library.
Her reply came instantly.
NINA: WHAT. Does that belong to him?
I chuckled.
ME: Of Course, not. It's the gesture, I guess.
Nina: I am losing my mind. WHAT ELSE HAPPENED?
I could visualise her thumping her feet on the bed.
ME: That's all.
Nina: That's not "all." That's insane. That's like him claiming you. Glo, you're living my dream romance
Heat crept up my neck. Claiming. God, she made it sound like one of her ridiculous daydreams.
I was about to reply when my door creaked open.
My heart jumped. I quickly locked the phone and slid it face down onto the pillow beside me.
Nico walked in. It wasn't that I was afraid of my brother. It was just too weird for him to know about his sister's weird interactions with her teacher.
"You're still awake," he said lightly.
"Couldn't sleep yet," I muttered, fussing with the blanket on my lap.
Sonne by Rammstein
He leaned against my desk, arms folded, eyes scanning me like he was deciding whether to speak. The silence hummed, then he said quietly, "You shouldn't have gone with him."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
He tapped his finger on the table as if I were under interrogation. "He held your hand and dragged you away from Dad. I clearly saw that."
I sighed loudly. "Well then, perhaps, you also saw how I screamed at Mr. Valevsky."
Nico visibly tensed at the nickname as my eyes lingered on his unusual reaction. He bit the inside of his cheeks. "I hope you realise that he is a lot more than just your teacher."He paused and leaned closer, his eyes bloodshot. "He is in the mafia, Gloria."
The sudden revelation washed over me like steamed water. My eyes widened, and my ears started ringing. "H-Huh?"
He cut me off with a firm voice, no patience in it. "Didn't you see him? The way he moves, how everyone reacts? He's not just a teacher, Gloria. He's a threat."
I recalled the memory of his figure walking towards me as people cleared his path, the frantic and fearful eyes as he moved.
He gulped and continued, "Belmont house and everything this city touches belongs to him. He is our enemy without the title." His voice boomed in my room as I flinched.
His eyes softened. "He's Mikhail Valevsky's son, and in his eyes, my father is a murderer. He'll settle the score no matter the cost."
I felt my cheeks wet, but I was unable to process the shock of his words. It felt as if someone was clutching my throat with an iron grip.
He stood up as his eyes locked on mine, sharp as a knife. "Stay out of his orbit, Gloria. He burns everything he touches."
Author: I feel like I really enjoy putting the music here for readers to feel what I felt while writing this.