The school auditorium had emptied to a hushed stillness. The banners from the debate competition still hung from the walls, swaying faintly from the air circulating through the ceiling fans. Most of the students had already left, their laughter and chatter fading into the distant corridors.
Only a few people lingered—event staff packing away microphones, a janitor moving chairs, and Dianne.
She sat in the last row, her notebook still open on her lap, a pen balanced between her fingers. The ink on her last line was already dry, but she kept her eyes on the page, pretending to write.
She told herself she was reviewing her points from the debate. But the truth?
She was waiting.
Her gaze drifted again—always to the same place.
The man in the black suit hadn't left.
Adrian Wolfes stood near the stage, speaking quietly with the principal. Even in the dim auditorium light, he carried himself with an air of command. His suit was perfectly tailored—clean lines, expensive fabric, the sort of attire that spoke of power and wealth without a single word. He looked like the kind of man who was used to making decisions that changed lives.
He wasn't smiling—Dianne suspected he rarely did—but there was a magnetism in the way he stood. His presence seemed to bend the air around him.
And then, as though sensing her gaze, his head turned.
Their eyes met.
It wasn't a friendly glance—it was deliberate, intense, like a mark being placed on her without her permission. Her pulse skipped. She quickly looked back at her notebook, pretending to scribble something down.
The sound of footsteps echoed in the aisle. Slow. Unhurried.
She hadn't realised he was moving until his shadow fell across her desk.
"Miss Dianne, isn't it?"
Her head snapped up. He was closer than she'd expected—close enough for her to catch a faint scent of cedarwood and something darker, sharper.
"Yes," she said, trying to keep her voice calm.
"You spoke during the debate," he said, his voice deep but measured. "Confident. Articulate. Most students your age struggle to hold an argument without losing their focus."
"Thank you," she replied, unsure if it was a compliment or a challenge.
His mouth curved slightly. "You remind me of someone I used to know."
"Is that good or bad?" she asked, searching his face.
"That depends," he said, his gaze never leaving hers. "Do you plan to work for me someday?"
The question caught her off guard. "I… I haven't thought that far."
"You will." His tone wasn't light, wasn't teasing—it was certainty, as if the future had already been written.
For a brief moment, the silence between them thickened. She felt the weight of his gaze settle over her, a strange mix of curiosity and something else—something that made her stomach tighten.
From the stage, the principal called his name.
Adrian didn't move immediately. Instead, he studied her for a few seconds longer, his eyes as unreadable as they were unyielding, as though memorising her face.
Then he turned, walking back toward the stage, each step deliberate, each echo seeming to pull the air from the room.
Dianne let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. She stared at the page in her notebook, but her mind was no longer on her debate notes.
Why would a man like Adrian Wolfes notice her at all?
And why, in those few minutes, had it felt less like a casual conversation and more like… the opening move of something she couldn't name?
She closed her notebook slowly, the faint scent of cedarwood still lingering in her thoughts.
It didn't feel like a joke.
It felt like a promise.
And deep
down, she couldn't tell if she wanted to run from it… or toward it.