I woke up the next morning still clutching that damn notebook. The words "You owe me new clothes" were practically burned into my brain. Who even does that? Who writes flirty threats in someone's notebook and just strolls away like it's no big deal?
I groaned, rolling out of bed and dragging myself to the mirror. My hair was doing some weird half-bird's-nest, half-tornado thing, and I had a vague recollection of falling asleep mid-rant about him. Damien Vercetti. The campus ice king with the smoldering gaze and a face so perfect it probably broke a few hearts just by existing.
As I shuffled to the kitchen, my phone buzzed again. Levi. Of course.
Levi: "Still alive? Or did Mr. Tall, Dark, and Terrifying finish you off?"
I rolled my eyes, typing back.
Me: "Barely. He's got a death glare that could kill small animals."
Levi: "Hot."
I tossed my phone on the counter and made myself some coffee, mentally preparing for the circus that was about to be my day. Because I knew, knew, I wasn't getting through this without another run-in with Damien. And honestly? My over-caffeinated brain wasn't entirely against it.
I arrived on campus feeling slightly more human, only to have my peace shattered the moment I stepped foot inside. The whispering started immediately.
"Is that her? The one who spilled coffee on him?"
"Did you see the way he looked at her?"
"They say she's got guts. Or a death wish."
I shot a glare at the nearest group of gossiping freshmen, who quickly scattered like cockroaches under a spotlight. Yeah, that's what I thought.
As I made my way to the library, determined to hide from the world for the next hour, I felt that familiar prickling sensation at the back of my neck. Someone was watching me. I glanced around and of course there he was, leaning against a bookshelf, looking like he stepped out of a mafia-themed photoshoot.
Damien caught my eye and smirked, sending a jolt of electricity straight through my spine. Great. He was enjoying this way too much.
I tried to ignore him, focusing on finding a quiet corner to study, but he wasn't having it. He followed me, his footsteps annoyingly silent, until I finally stopped and turned to face him.
"Can I help you?" I asked, trying to sound as unimpressed as possible.
Damien's smirk widened. "You still owe me, Faith."
"For what? An accidental coffee spill? Get over it." I crossed my arms, attempting to look more confident than I felt.
"Oh, I'm over the coffee," he said, leaning in slightly. His voice dropped to a husky whisper that sent a shiver down my spine. "But I'm not over you owing me."
I blinked, completely caught off guard. "Excuse me?"
He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "You're intriguing. And I always collect what I'm owed."
"Well, I'm fresh out of 'sorry' cards, so you're out of luck." I turned on my heel, hoping to escape before he could throw me any more of those intense stares.
But Damien wasn't done. "Faith," he called, and I paused, reluctantly looking back. His eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, the playful smirk was gone, replaced by something darker, more serious. "You can run, but I always get what I want."
The way he said it sent a thrill of fear and excitement through me. What did he even want? And why was I kind of hoping it involved me?
Shaking my head, I forced myself to keep walking. "Good luck with that," I muttered under my breath, heading straight for the nearest exit. My heart was racing, and my thoughts were a tangled mess of confusion, frustration, and... something else. Something dangerous.
By the time I got home that evening, I was still buzzing from our encounter. Damien Vercetti was like a storm unpredictable, intense, and utterly captivating. And I was the idiot standing in the rain without an umbrella.
I flopped onto my bed, pulling out my phone to distract myself. But before I could even open Instagram, a text popped up from an unknown number.
Unknown: "You owe me more than just new clothes now. Let's start with dinner."
I stared at the screen, my heart doing a weird flip-flop thing. There was no mistaking who it was.
Me: "How did you get my number?"
Damien: "I have my ways. So, dinner?"
I hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. But then again, wasn't that what made it so tempting?
Me: "Fine. But only if you promise not to stare at me like I'm your next victim."
Damien: "No promises, sweetheart. See you at 7."
I dropped my phone onto the bed, heart pounding. What had I just gotten myself into?
Whatever it was, I had a feeling life was about to get a whole lot spicier. And, honestly? I was ready for it.