The morning light spilled across Ever Thorne College like liquid gold, warming the old stone walls and stretching long shadows across the cobblestone paths. The campus was alive—students hurrying between ivy-covered halls, laughter echoing from the quad, the scent of dew and coffee drifting in the air.
Down by the athletics field, Aubrey tightened her ponytail and exhaled slowly. The world around her seemed to hum with energy—the cheering voices, the soft thud of sneakers on track, the metallic glint of starting blocks lined in perfect symmetry.
"Ready?" Casey grinned beside her, bouncing on her heels like she'd swallowed a shot of pure caffeine.
"As I'll ever be." Aubrey shook out her arms. Her heartbeat was already drumming against her ribs. She'd trained for months—before sunrise, after classes, sometimes until her legs trembled—but today felt different. Today was about proving something.
The referee raised the flag. A sharp whistle cut through the air.
Aubrey launched forward.
The track blurred beneath her. Her muscles burned with clean, exhilarating fire; her breath came steady, controlled. The curve approached, and she leaned into it with precision, every stride a whisper of determination. Around her, the cheers blurred into a single, rhythmic pulse.
By the final stretch, she wasn't thinking about her rivals, her form, or even the crowd—just the finish line, blazing in the sunlight.
And then—she crossed it.
The roar hit her a moment later, washing through her like a wave. She slowed to a jog, then stopped, bending slightly as a grin broke through her exhaustion. Casey ran up seconds later, arms wide.
"You did it!" Casey shrieked, throwing her arms around her.
Aubrey laughed breathlessly. "We did it." The words caught in her throat. For once, the world felt simple—victory, sweat, and joy.
But then her gaze flicked to the bleachers.
Among the rows of cheering students stood a group that didn't quite belong—older, sharper, exuding an aura of effortless danger. And at their center stood Lucian Freeman.
Even from a distance, he drew attention like gravity itself—dark hair falling just above storm-gray eyes, a silver chain glinting against his collarbone, his posture too relaxed for someone everyone seemed to fear.
When their eyes met, Aubrey's breath hitched. For a second, she forgot where she was.
Lucian didn't smile. Didn't look away. He just watched her, gaze steady and unreadable, as if trying to decide what kind of person she was beneath the sweat and triumph.
One of the guys beside him snickered. "She's new, isn't she? Think she could handle the Freeman charm?"
Lucian's head turned slightly. "Don't." His voice was quiet but edged with something sharp.
The laughter died instantly.
Aubrey, unaware of the exchange, turned back toward Casey, cheeks flushed from both effort and the strange jolt of awareness lingering in her chest.
That evening, the Ever Thorne party hall glowed with soft amber lights and the pulse of music that made the air itself seem to vibrate. Chandeliers shimmered overhead while the old library walls—lined with worn books and carved wood—echoed with laughter.
Aubrey hadn't planned to come. But Casey had practically dragged her, insisting that "a post-victory celebration is non-negotiable."
Now, she was laughing too hard to argue, twirling on the polished floor with her sneakers squeaking against the wood.
Across the room, Lucian leaned against a pillar, half-illuminated by the light spilling from the chandelier. He looked like he didn't belong at all—and knew it. Two girls flanked him, both whispering things that made them laugh softly. Lucian didn't seem to care. His gaze flicked occasionally toward the crowd, toward the music, and finally—toward her.
Aubrey froze mid-step.
"Okay," Casey said, nudging her with a grin. "You're staring. You're definitely staring."
"I'm not—"
"You are."
"Fine." Aubrey lowered her voice. "He's just... looking. Weirdly."
Casey followed her gaze. "Oh no. That's Lucian Freeman. If he's looking at you, you might want to run. Or... not. Depending on how brave you're feeling."
Aubrey frowned. "He's that bad?"
"Depends who you ask." Casey smirked. "Half the girls call him irresistible. The other half call him trouble. He's got a history—broken rules, broken hearts, the usual."
Aubrey's chest tightened with something between curiosity and wariness. "And which half are you?"
"The observant half." Casey teased. "Now stop overthinking. Dance."
Aubrey tried. She really did. The music shifted into something slower, deeper, and before she realized it, Lucian had moved.
He crossed the floor like the crowd parted for him—steady, unhurried, the kind of presence that made others instinctively step aside. When he stopped in front of her, the air seemed to thin.
"Care to dance?" His voice carried easily despite the noise, smooth and low, like it had no business sounding that confident.
Aubrey blinked, words catching on her tongue. She felt everyone's eyes shift toward her.
"I—uh—"
Casey grinned and gave her a shove. "Go!"
Aubrey shot her a glare, then exhaled. "Sure."
Lucian's lips curved slightly, not quite a smile, more like acknowledgment. He offered his hand, and she hesitated for a heartbeat before taking it. His palm was warm—steady, not forceful—and the moment their fingers touched, something unfamiliar and electric passed between them.
The crowd around them faded as the music took over.
"You surprised me today." Lucian's tone was calm but edged with intrigue.
"How so?" Aubrey forced her focus on the rhythm instead of the way his gaze pinned her in place.
"Most people break under pressure. You didn't."
Aubrey gave a small shrug. "Pressure's kind of the point. Otherwise, winning wouldn't mean much."
Lucian's expression shifted—just a flicker of approval before his smirk returned. "Interesting answer."
"You keep saying that." A faint smile tugged at her lips.
"Maybe I like being surprised."
Their steps matched naturally, the distance between them shrinking until her heartbeat seemed to sync with the bass thrumming through the room. When the song slowed, their movements softened too. Aubrey could feel the warmth radiating off him, the calm confidence in his every motion. But behind that calm, she sensed something else—a quiet storm he kept tightly leashed.
The moment lingered just a bit too long when the music stopped.
Lucian's gaze met hers, and for the first time, it wasn't sharp or teasing—it was searching. "You're better than I expected."
"And you're not what I expected," she replied.
He chuckled softly, stepping back. "Careful. That sounds like the beginning of trouble."
Aubrey tilted her head. "Maybe I don't mind a little trouble."
For a second, his expression broke into a real smile—fleeting, genuine, gone as quickly as it came. "Then we'll see which one of us regrets it first."
As he turned away, Aubrey found herself still watching him, pulse unsteady. Casey hurried over, eyes wide.
"Did that just happen?"
Aubrey laughed, a bit breathless. "Apparently."
Lucian didn't look back, but she could feel it—some invisible thread tugging between them, something neither of them had asked for.
And as the night deepened, full of laughter and shadowed corners, Aubrey realized that today's race might not have been the only thing she'd s
tarted.
Some victories came with medals. Others came with warnings.
But this one—this felt like the beginning of both.