All she could see was him — Llewellyn. He appeared at once in a maroon suit, and a black one, the image flickering before her eyes like a broken film reel. His figure loomed, impossibly tall, unnervingly calm, his gaze locking onto hers with a weight that made her chest tighten. Slowly, he moved toward her, every step deliberate, exuding an aura of danger that made the air itself feel thick. At his side, bulldogs prowled, their eyes glinting as if they had already marked her as prey.
Diane's heart pounded violently. Her breath caught in her throat. Panic surged, and she bolted, screaming, "Help me!" She ran blindly, as though the world had vanished around her, until she found herself cornered, the street empty, echoing only with her frantic breaths.
Relief washed over her — fleeting, fragile… until she turned.
He was there. Llewellyn. Right in front of her.
Her heart stuttered, her vision blurred, and then the world snapped.
She woke up with a jolt, face pressed forward in her bed, heart hammering. Clara's amused eyes stared at her.
"Hey! You've gone completely psycho," Clara said, early morning teasing in her voice.
"Let me be," Diane groaned, rubbing at her tangled hair.
"Oh, what a pity," Clara said, rising. But her words lingered, sharp and commanding: "Be fast and come cook for us."
Diane surveyed her room like she expected to see Llewellyn and his dogs there. Slowly, reluctantly, she rose and caught her reflection in the mirror: hair wild like a bird's nest, pale face, night clothes clinging.
"Diane… how did you get into this mess?" she whispered to herself, voice barely audible.
Dragging her feet with heavy reluctance, she wandered through the house, wiping her eyes with one hand, murmuring incoherently. In the kitchen, she stared at the simmering pot, the steam rising like ghostly whispers, her mind elsewhere — still trapped in the dream's shadow.
"Hey, hope you didn't forget how I taught you to plead for mercy from Llewellyn," Clara's voice broke the silence, light but daring, as she perched on the kitchen counter, legs swinging carelessly. Diane nodded weakly. Last night, Clara had instructed her to kneel before Llewellyn, beg for mercy after his slap, and remain on her knees until he softened.
"You'll have to do it," Clara had said. "Maybe you don't care, but at least cut us some slack. Don't put us in danger."
Now, heading to the institute, Diane's heart raced genuinely. This wasn't just fear for herself — it was fear of what Llewellyn represented. Clara's half-truths about him gnawed at her, but deeper than that, there was something she couldn't deny: the butterflies that rose when she imagined him, the pull she couldn't resist.
She descended the stairs carefully, each step a small battle against her nerves. Hand on the doorknob, she froze as Clara's cunning voice cut through her thoughts:
"Go already, you vermin! You're interrupting my movie!"
Diane grunted and opened the door, Clara's laughter trailing behind her:
"Don't forget to apologize!" Clara's voice followed her down the path, but Diane was already gone.
***
Llewellyn and Rick sat in their usual spot — the highest point of the institute. Today was the start of practicals, and the institute buzzed with students, all striving to excel, hoping to catch the attention of Skypowers Company. From above, Llewellyn and Rick could see everything and everyone, yet they remained silent.
Their rooftop vigil today was quieter than usual. Normally, if one of them was troubled, the other would notice — today, both were equally lost. Llewellyn glanced at Rick. His friend's face appeared calm, but the eyes told a different story. Rick stared down at his cup, as if searching for answers in the swirling liquid, but finding none.
Llewellyn, observing him, knew exactly what weighed him down.
"She broke up with you," he asked softly, his eyes still on his own cup of coffee.
Rick didn't respond. His calm expression remained, masking the storm inside. Beneath that composed exterior, he was shattered in ways no one could immediately see.
"I think it's for the best," Llewellyn added. He couldn't help thinking that, given the threats Rick's girlfriend had made over the past months, perhaps it was a relief. Still, he knew Rick had loved her more than he could have imagined.
"Shut up," Rick muttered, groaning and touching his head.
Llewellyn turned to him, smiling. "Rascal, I was just trying to comfort you… or cheer you up, somehow."
"You're the last person I want knowing about my breakup," Rick said, half-scolding, half-grumbling.
"Well, I guess I'm the first," Llewellyn teased.
"No… you're the second," Rick corrected, voice low.
"Second? Then… who was first?" Llewellyn asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Maa," Rick admitted quietly.
Llewellyn stayed silent for a moment, then suddenly stretched his arms wide. Rick blinked, furrowing his brows.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm giving you a hug," Llewellyn said, voice calm but playful, arms still open wide.
"Bro, eww! Gross, no!" Rick recoiled jokingly.
Llewellyn lowered his arms, both of them laughing.
"Thanks, bro," Rick said quietly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Llewellyn said nothing, only smiled in return. Some things were better left unsaid. Rick was complicated — too complicated for words to fix everything. Sometimes staying silent was kinder.
What did you do in the hotel yesterday?" Rick asked Llewellyn, his eyes fixed on him. He already had an idea of why Llewellyn had stayed behind.
"Don't question me about what I did in the hotel," Llewellyn said defensively.
Rick sighed heavily, facing forward. "You know… casualties follow your choices, Llewellyn."
"Ugh, HHH, seriously, enough with the casualties already," Llewellyn groaned.
"Your father, your sisters — they were expecting you at home, bro, but you made the wrong choices," Rick said.
"Okay, kill me," Llewellyn joked.
"But truth be told," Rick continued, "you missed a meeting with your dad, Elsa and Michelle's fashion house shoot — where you were supposed to pose as their model — and Lila's bedtime story. You missed all of that."
Though Rick was Llewellyn's best friend, he was also his trusty secretary.
"I care about my sisters," Llewellyn said, "and check my schedule. Once I'm free, I'll make it up to my two avengers." He nodded toward Elsa and Michelle. "And Lila… man, she's going to kill me."
"What about your dad?" Rick asked, already scrolling through Llewellyn's schedule on a tablet.
"I care less," Llewellyn replied simply.
"Okay… you have to host a team party right after the first lab session which is today, so tomorrow the party will hold. And your dad wants a meeting ASAP — dude, you're in for a treat," Rick reported.
Llewellyn sighed, thinking about the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. He had even forgotten about the party he was supposed to host for the technicians. Then a thought crossed his mind.
"Dude! You could go to Elsa and Michelle's fashion house shoot for me, I'll visit my father, and then hang out with Lila more," Llewellyn said, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.
"No! Your sisters hate me. They keep peeking at me whenever they like," Rick shot back. True — Elsa and Michelle were the worst combination for someone like Rick. Llewellyn retreated with a small chuckle.
Then Llewellyn's phone rang. He looked at it, saw it was one of his girlfriends, and groaned. "I really need to change my number," he muttered, putting the phone down.
"Why? There are a lot of them," Rick teased.
"Yeah, but…" Llewellyn didn't finish.
They chatted about Llewellyn's work and the latest happenings at Skypowers Corp until Rick noticed something. Llewellyn had stopped replying, his gaze fixed somewhere distant. Following his friend's eyes, Rick saw who he was looking at: Diane.
"So… you like her?" Rick teased.
"Shut up. I'm just looking at something else," Llewellyn lied, clearing his throat. He stood and started walking toward Diane.
"You are meeting her," Rick called out, smirking, one hand in his pocket.
"Idiot," Llewellyn muttered, but he didn't slow down.
Rick shook his head and walked away, still grinning.
Meanwhile, Diane adjusted the strap of her backpack and drew in a steadying breath. Today felt heavier than usual. She wore fitted black trousers with a neat blue shirt, simple but clean. Her dark hair looked darker under the sunlight.
She walked briskly, repeating Clara's warnings and the apology statement in her mind as if they were charms for protection.
Her steps faltered when she saw the building ahead. She stopped. She had never noticed it before, a massive structure with panels of glass and gleaming tech inside, humming faintly with energy. Awe widened her eyes.
"Hey."
The voice startled her. She turned and saw him. Llewellyn. He dressed casually today, yet every thread seemed to speak of wealth; even in casual clothes, he looked impossibly rich. For a moment, she was stunned by his presence. But she quickly dropped her gaze, refusing to meet his eyes.
His heart sank. He noticed her avoidance, and sadness swept through him like a tide.
"It's this way," he murmured quietly, leading her toward their assigned place.
She followed, though her eyes kept drifting, wide and unguarded, at the many marvels surrounding them. Inside the building, chaos reigned. Some pairs of students argued loudly, fighting for space. Others already had blueprints spread across tables, tools clattering as they began their projects. The entire hall pulsed with ambition.
Llewellyn led her to the place they would be working, called "space." Diane's eyes widened even further at the sight; she had to turn again to take it all in, momentarily forgetting her fears. But Llewellyn just sat, watching her as if, by observing her, he could understand the strange feelings rising within him. His eyes scanned her quietly, moving up and down, taking her in.
His demeanor radiated arrogance and pride. He folded his arms across his chest, his gaze heavy and unyielding. Diane, unaware of the weight of his stare, suddenly glanced to his side—and froze. Her heart skipped a beat, a mixture of fear and awe at how composed he remained.
She made up her mind to apologize, just as Clara had taught her. She walked slowly and quietly to Llewellyn's side. Just apologize. You can do this, she told herself. She cleared her throat in a low tone, swallowing hard. "I'm so…"
Her words died in her mouth as Llewellyn interrupted.
"You don't have a boyfriend, right?" he asked.
Diane jumped slightly, startled, and felt a flush of embarrassment. "Umm… ye… yes," she whispered, lowering her gaze. She felt like she was dancing to his tune, willing to do whatever it took to stay safe from whatever fate awaited her.
"Is that why you act that way toward me? Or around everyone?" Llewellyn's words carried a sincerity that struck Diane. These were the bitter thoughts he had formed after reading her profile in his house, and it had hurt him deeply.
Diane's eyes widened in surprise. What is he saying all of a sudden? she wondered.
"That's why you can hurt people with your expression and feel untouchable, just because you don't have a boyfriend," Llewellyn said, voice low, sharp, each word cutting. Ego and emotion bleeding through. The other candidates at the door froze, watching the exchange with a mix of curiosity and unease.
Diane didn't answer. His words irritated her, and she wanted nothing more than to get out of his sight. She turned toward the door, intending to leave and avoid further escalation, determined not to lose control despite Clara's warnings.
But before she could step through, a firm voice stopped her.
"Close the doors," Llewellyn commanded.
Diane froze. She was near the door, and it shut with a soft click behind her, leaving only the two of them inside.
She turned to look at him, her heart pounding, restless in her chest. Llewellyn rose with calm, daring ease, each movement deliberate. Diane's eyes tracked him nervously, her body betraying her pride with every small fidget.
He closed the distance between them, each step deliberate, commanding, and Diane felt herself shrinking under his gaze.
When he reached her side, she blurted out, "I'm sorry!" Her voice trembled, tears threatening to spill.
"I don't need your sorry for anything," he said, his eyes locked on hers. His presence pressed in on her; he was inches away, his deep voice brushing against her ear. "You were leaving when I wasn't done talking, Diane."
Her breath caught. Something in his low, intimate tone unsettled her in ways she didn't want to admit.
He moved closer, and for a moment she thought he might kiss her. ' Maybe she would not react in a way that would hurt me,' he thought. His face hovered near hers, his intent unmistakable.
Diane froze, captivated by him in a way she couldn't explain. ' Maybe it's just a player's charm,' she thought, though the truth was undeniable, she was drawn in, powerless against it.
Just as his lips were about to meet hers, he stopped.
For reasons even he couldn't fully articulate her timidness, her innocence, the way she affected him differently than anyone else, he recoiled slightly from the attempt. Diane exhaled shakily, senses dulled under the weight of his proximity.
Finally, she found her voice. "I don't think I can be your partner," she whispered, hoping to avert whatever danger or tension loomed.
"You can't," he countered.
"Why?" Her voice was barely audible.
"You signed the contract," he said simply.
Diane's mind raced, she hadn't read the contract carefully that day. Clara's warning echoed in her thoughts: "death contract." She cursed softly under her breath.
"But you have the power," she tried again, desperation creeping into her tone. "Why don't you just switch partners? Let someone else be your partner."
"No," he said, firm, final.
Diane stared at him, confusion written all over her face.
"Because I like spending time with you," he added, his voice steady, confident.
Her heart raced. Was he serious? Was this another one of his games, or had she truly captured his attention?