ADRIAN POV
The lights go out, and my first instinct is to protect her.
I reach for Scarlett in the darkness, my hand finding her arm. She's shaking. Around us, the bar erupts into chaos—confused voices, someone knocking over a table, glass breaking somewhere near the entrance.
"Stay close to me," I tell her, pulling her against the wall of our booth. Away from the panic.
"What's happening?" Her voice is steady despite the fear I can feel radiating from her.
"I don't know. But someone set this up." My mind races through the possibilities. The mysterious text. Both of us summoned here. The lights failing at the exact moment we figured it out. "This wasn't an accident."
Emergency lighting flickers on, casting everything in red. In the eerie glow, I can see Scarlett's face—those striking eyes wide with fear and something else. Determination.
"My friend Maya," she says urgently. "She's at the main bar. I need to—"
"Don't move." I tighten my grip on her arm, not roughly, but firm. "If someone planned this, they're watching. We stay together."
The red emergency lights show me the bar's layout. Most people are heading for the exits in a controlled panic. But there's a man standing perfectly still near the door, watching our corner. He's not panicking. He's not leaving.
He's waiting.
"Someone's watching us," I murmur, turning so my body blocks Scarlett from the man's view. "By the door. Don't look."
To her credit, she doesn't. Instead, she asks, "What do we do?"
Before I can answer, the hotel manager's voice booms over a speaker system. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're experiencing a temporary power issue. Please remain calm and proceed to the nearest exit. Your safety is our priority."
But I don't buy it. In fifteen years of traveling for work, staying in dozens of hotels, I've never seen a power outage hit only one room. The lobby lights are still on—I can see them through the doorway.
Just the bar went dark.
"We need to leave," Scarlett says. "Now."
She's right. But the man by the door is moving, pushing against the crowd flow, coming toward us.
"Back exit," I say, remembering the emergency door I spotted earlier. "Kitchen service entrance. Can you run in those heels?"
"Watch me."
I grab her hand—her skin is soft and warm and I shouldn't be noticing that right now—and we move. Fast. Weaving between tables and confused patrons. I hear Scarlett call out "Maya!" and spot a young woman with dark hair near the bar.
The friend sees us and immediately starts pushing through the crowd toward us.
"What the hell is happening?" Maya demands when she reaches us.
"No time. Follow us." I lead them toward the kitchen entrance, past a confused waiter and through the swinging doors.
The kitchen is chaos. Chefs yelling about losing power to their equipment. No one stops us as we head for the service exit. I push open the door, and we spill out into an alley behind the hotel.
Cold air hits my face. I scan the alley—dumpsters, delivery trucks, but no people. No one following us.
Yet.
"Who are you?" Maya demands, stepping between me and Scarlett like a guard dog. "And why did my best friend's professor just drag us through a kitchen?"
Scarlett's eyes snap to mine. "Wait. Rewind. You're a professor?"
This is not how I wanted this conversation to go. "I start teaching at Ashford University on Monday. Art History. But right now, that's the least important thing happening."
"You're her professor?" Maya's voice rises. "The mysterious text brought my best friend to meet her PROFESSOR at a bar?"
"I didn't send the text!" I pull out my phone, showing them my own message. "I got one too. From an unknown number. Telling me to come here at nine PM. That a student needed urgent advice about transferring programs."
Scarlett reads my text, her face going pale. "Someone wanted us both here."
"And then cut the lights when we figured it out," I finish.
We stand in the alley, three strangers bound together by someone's twisted plan, and I realize I haven't properly looked at Scarlett until now. In the parking lot lights, I can see her clearly. Auburn hair that catches the light like fire. Blue eyes that are too sharp, too intelligent for someone who just got ambushed. And that red dress...
Stop. She's a student. Your student. Whatever this is, she's off-limits.
But my artist's brain is already cataloging the curves of her face, the way anger and fear war in her expression. She's beautiful in a way that makes me want to draw her. Paint her. Capture whatever light lives inside her before someone snuffs it out.
"We should call the police," Maya says.
"And tell them what?" I counter. "Someone texted us to meet at a bar, then the power went out? They'll think it's a prank."
"It's not a prank." Scarlett's voice is hard. "Someone knows about me. About tonight. About—" She stops, looking at me. "What happened to you tonight? The text said I had 'the worst night.' What made you say the same thing?"
I don't want to answer. Don't want to drag my past into this mess. But those eyes demand honesty.
"My ex-fiancée is back in town," I say quietly. "Vanessa Chen. She's doing a guest exhibition at Ashford. She's also the person who destroyed my career five years ago by stealing my art and claiming it was hers. When I fought back, she painted me as the villain. Jealous ex-boyfriend trying to steal her spotlight. No one believed me."
Scarlett's face softens with understanding. "That's why you're teaching instead of showing in galleries."
"That's why I'm hiding." The admission tastes bitter. "Teaching was supposed to be my quiet life. My safe life. And now someone's dragging me into... whatever this is."
"My boyfriend cheated on me." Scarlett's voice is steady. "With my roommate. For six months. I found out tonight, two hours before someone texted me to come here. Someone who claims they 'saw what happened.'"
The pieces click together in my mind. "Someone's watching both of us. Someone who knows our pain points. Our vulnerabilities."
"Why?" Maya asks. "What's the endgame?"
Before anyone can answer, my phone buzzes. Then Scarlett's. We look at each other and pull them out simultaneously.
The same message on both screens: "Act 1 complete. You've met. Now the real fun begins. Tomorrow, Scarlett will walk into Adrian's classroom. And both of you will have to decide—do you pretend tonight never happened? Or do you acknowledge the connection you just felt? Choose wisely. I'm always watching. —Your Puppet Master"
My blood runs cold.
"They know you're my student," I whisper.
"They planned this whole thing." Scarlett's hands shake as she grips her phone. "The breakup happened hours ago. How could anyone plan this so fast?"
Unless, a dark voice whispers in my mind, the breakup wasn't an accident either.
"What if someone made your boyfriend cheat?" I voice the horrible thought. "What if someone arranged for you to find out tonight, at the exact right time to get you to that bar?"
Scarlett's face drains of color. "That's impossible. Tyler's been cheating for months—"
"Or someone's been planning this for months."
The three of us stand in the alley as the truth settles over us like ice. Someone has been orchestrating our lives. Moving us like chess pieces. Building toward this moment.
"Why us?" Scarlett whispers. "What do they want?"
My phone buzzes again. One more message: "P.S. — Adrian, look up."
I do.
On the building across the alley, projected onto the brick wall in huge letters:
"SMILE FOR THE CAMERA, PROFESSOR. YOUR SECRET IS ABOUT TO GO VIRAL."
Below the words, a photo. Me and Scarlett in the bar, moments before the lights went out. The angle makes it look intimate. Wrong. Like a professor meeting a student for something forbidden.
"No," I breathe.
The photo disappears, replaced by new words: "SEE YOU IN CLASS ON MONDAY. DON'T DISAPPOINT ME."
Then darkness.
And the sound of a camera shutter clicking somewhere in the shadows above us.