The school auditorium was almost empty, the echoes of laughter and applause fading into a hollow stillness. Sunlight streamed through the tall, dusty windows, painting slanted golden lines on the polished wooden floor. The scent of old books and floor polish clung stubbornly to the air.
Dianne sat in the back row, her pen poised above her notebook. Her fingers had stopped moving five minutes ago, but she didn't close it. She told herself she was just reviewing her notes from the debate, but that was a lie. She was waiting.
The man in the black suit hadn't left.
He stood on the stage, deep in conversation with the principal. From this distance, she could see the way the fabric of his suit caught the light — sharp, tailored to perfection. He was the sort of man who looked like he belonged in glass towers and boardrooms, not in a public school auditorium. His tall, lean frame radiated control, the kind that didn't need to be announced.
Dianne found herself studying him with a strange curiosity. His dark hair was neatly swept back, his posture straight, his presence heavy. There was no warmth in his face — but not the coldness of a man without feelings. No, his was the calculated cool of someone who could smile but chose not to unless there was a reason.
Then his gaze lifted.
It moved across the empty rows slowly, methodically — until it found her.
She froze. It wasn't the kind of glance people exchanged by accident. It was steady. Intense. It made her feel as though her skin had become see-through and every thought in her head had been laid bare.
Her heart gave a small, traitorous thud.
She dropped her gaze instantly, forcing herself to look at her notebook. Her pen scratched a meaningless line across the paper.
Footsteps echoed. Slow. Deliberate. They grew louder until they stopped right beside her row.
"Miss Dianne, isn't it?"
She looked up.
Up close, Adrian Wolfes was even more… everything. The clean cut of his jaw. The way his eyes seemed darker here, almost like they absorbed light. The faint scent of cedarwood and something deeper — a scent that spoke of wealth and distance from the kind of world she knew.
"Yes," she replied, her voice steady though she felt like her pulse was in her throat.
He regarded her for a moment, as if weighing something in his mind. "I heard you during the debate earlier. Confident. Composed. You don't let your words get away from you."
Dianne tilted her head, unsure if he meant it as praise or a challenge. "I try my best."
A faint, unreadable curve touched his lips. "Most people your age aren't half as… aware."
She didn't know what to say to that.
"You remind me of someone I once knew," he added, eyes narrowing slightly, as if the thought bothered him.
"And is that… good?" she asked, holding his gaze now.
"That depends," he said softly. "Do you plan to work for me someday?"
Her breath caught. "What makes you think I'd ever want to?"
His faint smirk deepened, but there was no amusement in his eyes. "Because, Miss Dianne, some people aren't given a choice."
Before she could demand what he meant, the principal's voice rang out, calling his name.
Adrian's gaze lingered on her, and for a moment, it felt as if the room had narrowed down to just them. Then he stepped back, turning with deliberate slowness before walking away.
Dianne sat frozen, her pen still hovering above her notebook. She wasn't sure what unsettled her more — his words, his stare… or the strange, dangerous feeling that this wasn't the last time he'd speak to her.
It felt like the beginning of something. Something she couldn't name yet.
And something she might not survive