Zara Whitmore did not believe in fate.
She believed in schedules. Deadlines. Structured outcomes.
So when Professor Hale cleared his throat at the end of Literature class and said—
"This semester you'll be paired for the Advanced Narrative Project."
Zara felt nothing.
Until he added—
"Partners will remain the same for the entire term."
The class buzzed.
Zara didn't bother turning around.
She already knew.
"Whitmore. Stirling."
The room actually reacted.
A low murmur. A few whispers. Someone snickered.
Zara closed her eyes slowly.
Of course.
She turned her head.
Adrien Stirling didn't look surprised.
If anything, he looked mildly entertained.
"This is a collaborative grade," Professor Hale continued. "Fifty percent of your semester score."
Fifty.
Percent.
Zara's stomach tightened.
After class, she packed her bag with tight movements. Loren slid into the seat beside her, eyes wide.
"Zee."
"No."
"You and Adrien Stirling. For the entire semester."
"I heard him."
Loren leaned closer. "This is either the beginning of a tragic love story or the beginning of your villain era."
"It's neither."
Footsteps approached.
Zara didn't look up.
She refused to.
"You're glaring at your notebook," Adrien's calm voice said. "It didn't do anything to you."
Loren audibly inhaled.
Zara lifted her gaze slowly.
"What do you want, Stirling?"
"To discuss the project."
"Fine. Discuss."
He tilted his head slightly. "Somewhere less… crowded."
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
His eyes flicked toward Loren briefly, then back to Zara.
"I don't have time for ego battles, Whitmore."
Her jaw tightened.
"And I don't have time to carry someone who coasts on family donations."
The air shifted.
For the first time, something sharper flashed in his expression.
"You assume a lot."
"You present very little."
Loren quietly stood up. "I just remembered I have… somewhere else to be." She squeezed Zara's shoulder and fled.
Traitor.
Adrien slid into Loren's vacated seat.
Too close again.
Zara scooted an inch away.
"I don't need tutoring," he said evenly.
"I didn't offer."
"You implied."
She crossed her arms. "If this project affects my GPA, I'm not taking chances."
A muscle in his jaw moved.
"Relax. I'm not incompetent."
"Prove it."
Silence.
Then—
"What's your schedule?" he asked.
Zara blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"You clearly don't trust me. So we meet. Structured sessions. We plan the project properly."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why would you agree to that?"
His gaze held hers steadily.
"Because I don't like losing."
That.
That she understood.
"Fine," she said after a beat. "Library. Tuesdays and Thursdays. Four p.m."
"Bossy."
"Disciplined."
His mouth almost curved.
Almost.
"Deal," he said.
They stood at the same time.
And that's when she heard it.
"Adrien?"
The voice was syrupy sweet.
Zara turned.
Tall. Blonde. Perfect posture. Perfect makeup. Perfect irritation.
Madison Clarke.
Head cheerleader.
Adrien's ex — if campus whispers were to be believed.
Madison's eyes skimmed over Zara like she was lint on designer fabric.
"You're partnering with her?" Madison asked lightly.
"Yes," Adrien replied.
No explanation.
No elaboration.
Just yes.
Madison smiled — but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Be careful," she said to Zara softly. "He gets bored easily."
Zara's spine straightened.
"I don't."
Madison's smile tightened.
Adrien didn't react outwardly, but Zara noticed the subtle shift in his posture.
Tension.
Interesting.
Madison looped her arm through Adrien's without permission.
"We're still on for Friday, right?"
Adrien gently removed her hand.
"I never confirmed."
Her expression flickered — just for a second.
Embarrassment.
"Right," she said quickly. "Well. Call me."
She walked away with forced grace.
Silence lingered.
Zara picked up her bag.
"Your fan club seems intense."
"They're not my responsibility."
"Oh?"
He stepped closer — not invading, but close enough to feel intentional.
"Don't let them intimidate you, Whitmore."
She met his gaze evenly.
"I'm not intimidated."
His eyes darkened slightly.
"Good."
—
Tuesday came faster than Zara expected.
She arrived at the college library at exactly 3:55 p.m.
Adrien was already there.
Of course he was.
Sleeves rolled up. Notebook open. Focused.
It startled her.
"You're early," she said.
"You're predictable."
She sat across from him.
"Let's establish something," she began, pulling out her notes. "This is professional."
"Obviously."
"No flirting. No distractions. No unnecessary drama."
His eyebrow lifted slightly.
"You assume I flirt with everyone."
"I assume you don't try very hard."
That did it.
A faint smirk.
"There it is," he murmured.
"There what?"
"The fire."
She ignored the way her pulse reacted.
They worked.
Actually worked.
And it annoyed her more than if he'd been useless.
He challenged her ideas. Pushed back. Improved her structure.
An hour passed unnoticed.
Then—
A chair scraped loudly beside them.
Madison.
And two other cheerleaders.
"What a coincidence," Madison said sweetly, sitting far too close to Adrien. "Study date?"
"It's not a date," Zara said flatly.
Madison looked at her like she'd just spoken out of turn.
"Relax. I wasn't talking to you."
Adrien closed his notebook slowly.
"Madison."
A warning.
Subtle.
But there.
Madison's smile faltered.
"We just wanted to say hi."
Zara gathered her papers calmly.
"We're in the middle of something."
"Oh honey," Madison said softly. "Trust me. So am I."
The implication hung heavy.
Zara met her gaze coolly.
"If you're finished, we have work to do."
Madison stood abruptly.
Her friends followed.
But not before Madison leaned toward Zara.
"Don't get attached."
Zara didn't blink.
"Don't flatter yourself."
The cheerleaders left.
Silence returned.
Adrien exhaled slowly.
"You didn't have to engage."
"She started it."
A pause.
Then, quietly—
"She doesn't like competition."
Zara's eyes lifted.
"And am I competition?"
His gaze held hers longer this time.
"Yes."
Her heartbeat stumbled.
Not romantically.
Not yet.
But something had shifted.
This wasn't just an assignment anymore.
It was a challenge.
And neither of them intended to lose.
Unfortunately for Zara Whitmore—
The more time she spent across that library table from Adrien Stirling…
The less this felt like war.
And the more it felt like the beginning of something far more complicated.