Alex's POV
Music poured through my earphones, muffling the outside world as I strode across campus. It was my second class of the day, and as usual, I was running a little late. Not that it mattered much—professors didn't bother to call me out anymore. I was the kind of student people avoided. My reputation preceded me: aloof, arrogant, and unapproachable. I preferred it that way. It kept people from asking questions or prying into parts of my life I didn't want to talk about.
The track playing was one of my favorites—loud enough to drown out the incessant chatter of students buzzing around like flies. I was so immersed in my music that I didn't notice someone darting in my path until it was too late.
The collision jolted me out of my bubble. I yanked out one earphone and turned to bark at whoever had been careless enough to run into me, but the words caught in my throat.
She was… stunning.
For a moment, I just stared. She barely reached my shoulder—petite but perfectly balanced, with a tiny waist and delicate curves that were impossible not to notice. Her midnight-black hair gleamed in the sunlight, cascading down her back in soft waves that looked almost too perfect to be real. Those eyes—bright blue like the clearest sky—pinned me in place, and for a moment, I forgot how to speak. She had her father's eyes, I realized, though I didn't know why that thought crossed my mind. Her features were soft yet striking, with an effortless beauty that didn't seem aware of its own power.
She stammered out an apology, her voice light but flustered.
"What the hell?" I snapped, regaining my composure. "Are you blind? Watch where you're going."
Her cheeks flushed, and for a moment, she looked so embarrassed that I almost felt bad. Almost.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't looking—"
"You think 'sorry' is enough?" I cut her off. "Next time, keep your eyes open."
Without giving her a chance to respond, I turned and walked away, my jaw clenched. I didn't dare look back, though I could still feel her gaze on me. Something about her had thrown me off balance, and I hated it.
As I strode into the classroom, I shook my head to clear it. She was just another careless freshman. Why did I care?
By the time my last class was over, I was ready to get the hell off campus. The day had been long, and my mood hadn't improved. I shoved my books into my backpack and headed for the parking lot, eager to escape the noise of the school.
Then I saw her.
She was standing near a pink Porsche, laughing with another girl who was taller and seemed to be talking a mile a minute. Her laugh reached me even from a distance, light and carefree. It was nothing like the flustered tone I'd heard earlier.
I slowed my pace, watching as she tilted her head back, her hair catching the golden rays of the setting sun. It was like a scene from a movie—effortless, unintentional, and entirely captivating.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Shaking my head, I slipped on my sunglasses and headed to my car. My black BMW stood out in the lot, polished to perfection. I slid into the driver's seat, but my eyes lingered on her for a second longer before I forced myself to look away.
I revved the engine and pulled out of the parking space, my thoughts annoyingly fixated on the girl I'd run into this morning.
"Get a grip, Alex," I muttered under my breath.
But even as I drove away, her image stayed with me—those blue eyes, her small stature, and the way her cheeks flushed when she apologized.
I hated how intrigued I was.
Alex Blackwood wasn't the kind of man who got caught up in thoughts of girls, or anyone for that matter. At 23, I had perfected the art of keeping people at a distance. My life had shaped me into someone cold, someone guarded. Losing my parents in that accident had done more than just shatter my world—it had closed me off to any possibility of vulnerability.
People thought I was arrogant because I came from wealth, but it wasn't just that. Money had given me freedom, sure, but it had also come with expectations. I was supposed to step into my parents' shoes and run their company, even though every board meeting and business lecture was a reminder of what I'd lost.
I wore my indifference like armor. It protected me from questions, from pity, and from attachments I couldn't afford to have. Relationships were messy, and I had no interest in cleaning up after someone else's feelings.
But this girl… there was something different about her.
As I turned onto the main road, my grip on the steering wheel tightened. I couldn't stop replaying the scene in my head—the way she'd looked up at me, wide-eyed and flustered, as if she'd been caught doing something wrong. I could still hear her laugh from earlier, light and genuine.
It was infuriating.
No one got under my skin like this.