I snatched the nearest pillow and hurled it at him as I heaved up onto my hands from the floor. "You're late. I'm starving."
Ethan caught the pillow like it was a feather, his lips curling up in a wry smile. He still had on his office clothes--rolled up sleeves, loosened tie, the faintest hints of exhaustion etched into those sharp features.
First of all, I told you I'd be late," he said, dropping the pillow onto the couch as he made his way to the single-seater across from me. "Second, why the hell were you babbling about not being born?
I flopped back onto the sofa, rubbing my temple. "Nothing. Just… some students causing problems." I let out a deep sigh and pulled out my silver amber cigarette pack, tapping one out and lighting it. The first drag was a relief.
Ethan studied me as he reached over and took a cigarette from my pack. "Overworked again?" I asked, eyeing the way he sank into the chair.
"Yeah. Big project," he muttered, lighting up. The flicker of the flame briefly illuminated the sharp lines of his face before he exhaled a slow stream of smoke.
I nodded, my gaze drifting toward the ceiling. "How was your first day at your so-called dream university?" he asked.
I smirked. "Good. Except for some problems."
He gave me a knowing look. "Let me guess… because you're the youngest there?"
I hesitated for a second, nodding awkwardly. "Yeah. That's it."
Hell if I was going to mention Billy. If Ethan found out, he'd hunt that idiot down without ever stopping.
I shot up from the couch, excitement bursting in my chest. "Oh! I forgot to tell you—I got a huge opportunity! I'm hosting an event!"
Ethan, still lounging lazily in the armchair, barely spared me a glance as he pulled out his lighter. "Look at you, moving up in the world already. Not bad, Ames."
I grinned, rocking forward on my heels. "Guess who the chief guest is."
He clicked his lighter closed and said flatly, "Emily Everhart."
I blinked. "Wait… what?"
I hadn't even processed how fast he answered before—
Flick.
"Ow! Ethan!" I glared, rubbing my forehead where he had just flicked me.
He smirked. "What's your brother's job?"
Right.
My brother—top of his class, genius-level perfectionist—was now the Chief Technician at Deltan Tech.Inc, the multi-million-dollar empire founded by none other than Emily Everhart. She was his boss. They had known each other since their master's program.
I cleared my throat, averting my gaze. "Yeah… I mean… I knew that."
Ethan sneered, grinning. "Of course you did. Anyway, I might've mentioned to her that my dear sister Amy Anderson is now teaching at Arora University, and she said she's looking forward to meeting you."
My eyes widened. "No way."
After all these years, I was going to finally meet her.
Emily Everhart was no name in the business world—she was the name. She had built an empire from scratch at 28, refusing to take a single cent from her billionaire father. Instead, she had scouted the best young talents, formed her own elite team, and led them straight to success.
She was bold. Fearless. Uncompromising.
And I admired every bit of her.
I was still caught in my thoughts when—
Grrrrrrrowl.
My stomach let out a loud, betraying growl.
Ethan, in the middle of lighting another cigarette, paused.
Silence.
Then—he exhaled a laugh, shaking his head as he crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. "Alright, that's my cue. I'll cook."
I groaned, slumping back into the couch. "Ugh. Stupid stomach."
As he walked toward the kitchen, he glanced back, an amused glint in his green eyes. "You know, Ames… at this rate, you're gonna need a boyfriend who's better at cooking and house chores. Someone who can actually take care of you."
I clenched the pillow in my lap, my fingers instinctively closing tighter around the fabric. Something in Ethan's words had been set off; something buried deep, something I'd forced myself to forget.
A bitter murmur escaped my lips. "I'm never going to love anyone after what happened."
Ethan, half-way to the kitchen, turned around. He let out a slow, tired sigh. "Amy… it's been seven years. You're still holding onto that?"
I clenched my jaw, staring at the floor. "That incident made me realize something, Ethan." My voice was quieter now. "We never truly love someone. Not the way we think we do."
Silence hung between us for a moment before he sighed again and turned to start cooking. I stayed on the couch, watching him.
Ethan Anderson. My older brother. A year my senior, yet somehow, he always seemed miles ahead of me.
He was my only family now.
After moving to Arora City, I stayed with him-not because I wanted to, but because I had to. I was a hopeless mess at house chores, and cooking? A complete disaster. But Ethan never complained. He just took care of everything like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And yet… despite being smart, good-looking, and insanely capable—he never had a girlfriend.
I furrowed my brow slightly, watching him move so effortlessly around the kitchen. Why is that?
My thoughts drifted. Slowly, I sank deeper into the couch, my mind wandering toward that idiot.
Billy.
A headache was already forming.
I just hope nothing crazy happens from now on…
…Hopefully.
—-----***--------
But no.
God must really have it out for me.
It was Tuesday—my second day at Aurora University—and for once, I had a reason to be in a good mood. No sophomore classes today, which meant no chance of running into that insufferable idiot.
Billy.
A peaceful, idiot-free day. What more could I ask for?
With time to spare until my first lecture, I headed toward the cafeteria, seeking my much-needed fix of coffee. The halls were quiet until suddenly a wave of students rushed past me, filling the air with excited whispers.
What's on?
I slowed my steps, catching snippets of their frantic conversations.
"Marcus is beating someone up again. In the cafeteria."
Marcus?
The name clicked immediately. Dr. Charlotte had spoken of him the day before. Fearsome, she said.
"Who's the unlucky guy this time?" another student asked breathlessly.
"The one who kissed the new professor yesterday."
I stopped.
Everything around me went into static.
Marcus. Beating up… Billy?
Wait. Wait. Wait.
That Idiot?
A breath hitched in my throat. My mind blanked for half a second before roaring back to life, a tangled mess of shock, confusion, and something I refused to name.
What the hell did that idiot do now?
And why—why—was my first instinct to hurry toward the cafeteria?
It wasn't my concern. No, absolutely not. Billy was an absolute moron, and if he got himself into trouble, well… wasn't that just karma doing its job?
And yet—
My heart thudded in my chest, a queasy sensation curling in my stomach.
Dammit. Why did I feel this?
And yet, I ran.
I didn't think. I didn't stop. My body moved before my mind could question it.
Why?
Why was I running toward the chaos? Why did my chest feel so tight? Why did my breath come out in shallow, uneven gasps—like I was terrified of what I'd find?
Concern? For him? No. That couldn't be it.
And yet, my legs didn't stop.
By the time I reached the cafeteria, the noise was deafening.
Shouting. Gasps. Laughter. The sound of something slamming against the floor.
Students crowded the room, standing on chairs, craning their necks to get a glimpse of the spectacle. The air was thick with excitement—the kind of thrill that came from watching something brutal unfold, like a pack of wild animals drawn to blood.
I pushed my way through the suffocating crowd, my pulse pounding in my ears.
And then—I saw him.
Billy.
No.
This was so much worse than I expected.
Marcus loomed above him, huge and barely contained in his anger. His dark hair stood on end, his massive frame coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. His knuckles were red, his fists curled so tightly they almost seemed chiseled from stone.
But that wasn't the only emotion there. It was rage. A deep, seething, merciless rage.
And Billy—
God.
His lip was split. His mouth was rimmed with red as blood ran from his lower lip, running down his once-free-and-fun grin. Bruises formed along his jaw, his cheekbone. His t-shirt was ruined, blood-stained.
But what was going to be the death of my stomach-dropping, breathing-catching moment -
Was the way he wasn't fighting back. He didn't block. Didn't dodge. Not even flinch. He just stood there, taking all the hits. Like he deserved it. Marcus threw another punch, slams into Billy's ribs. He staggers, his body folding slightly from the impact, but he doesn't raise a hand to stop it. Another hit. This time to the stomach.
Billy coughed, blood spattering the dirt.
And yet—no response. No thrashing. No attempt to get away. No desperate lunge for freedom.
Just a quiet, fatalistic acceptance. A shiver ran down my spine.
Why?
Why is he beating him?
Why wasn't he fighting back? Where was the wise-cracking moron who always had some smart-ass comment, the wild-eyed maniac who never seemed to take anything seriously? Why was he just taking it?
I spun to the left quickly, scanning faces in the audience—looking for him.
Celeb.
There.
He stood back in the ranks of onlookers, with fists clenched at his side, jaw clinched so taut it should have been pain. His body was all tightly coiled tenseness, controlled restraint, with the potential just one second off to leap.
But he didn't step in.
Though he was restrained.
That is,
holding himself back for some reason.
But which?
But why was everybody just standing by and watching?.