After overhearing Felix's hushed phone call, the image of his stressed face haunted me more than his usual arrogant smirk. "She." Who was she, and why was Felix so worried about her "finding out"? My quiet coffee break had turned into an unexpected dive into Felix Alaric Thorne's secret life, and honestly, I couldn't stop thinking about it.
My first thought was a girlfriend. Some high-society girl, probably equally as demanding and well-connected as his father. Maybe he was cheating, or maybe he was trying to hide a problem from her, something that could jeopardize their perfect rich-kid relationship. It fit his 'arrogant jerk' persona to be tangled in some messy romantic drama.
But then, the mention of "the old man pushing too hard" and "this isn't some petty scandal" echoed in my mind. That didn't sound like a typical romantic spat. It sounded like business. Like family. Could "she" be a sister? A mother, perhaps, who was ill or had a secret he was desperately trying to keep from her? The idea of Felix protecting someone, especially with such a grim, strained tone, was unsettlingly... humanizing. It chipped away at the perfectly crafted image of the untouchable jerk.
I also considered a darker possibility: someone he was trying to control. Someone he wanted to keep quiet or hidden. That thought brought back the prickle of unease I often felt around him. After all, I'd seen his intimidating side firsthand. But even then, there was that hint of desperation in his voice, not just cold calculation.
The "she" was a puzzle piece that didn't fit. It made him more complex, less of a one-dimensional antagonist. And frankly, it made me even more curious about Felix Alaric Thorne, which was a dangerous development for my otherwise quiet college life.
My internal debate about Felix's mysterious "she" was temporarily put on hold by the sheer chaos of the first badminton club meeting. The court felt smaller than it looked, and my usual precision seemed to evaporate under the pressure of trying to impress Cal, and avoid Felix.
"Alright, newbies, listen up!" The coach, a perpetually cheerful woman named Coach Miller, clapped her hands. "Today's just about getting a feel for the court. Pick a partner, do some drills!"
My eyes immediately scanned for Cal, but he was already across the court, chatting with some of the older members. Which, of course, left only one option. Felix was leaning against the net, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. His eyes met mine, a challenging glint there. Great.
"Looks like we're stuck together, Elisa," he drawled, pushing off the net. "Try not to hit me this time."
I rolled my eyes. "Funny. You're quite the comedian, Felix."
We started hitting the shuttlecock back and forth. Or rather, I was trying to. My serves were weak, my returns were wild, and I swear the shuttlecock had a personal vendetta against my racket. Felix, meanwhile, moved with effortless grace, his shots powerful and precise, making my clumsy attempts look even worse. He wasn't even breaking a sweat.
"Are you even trying?" he finally scoffed after I missed an easy return that bounced off the net. "It's not that hard, Elisa."
My cheeks burned. "It is when you're making me nervous!" I snapped, my frustration bubbling over. "And you don't exactly inspire confidence!"
He stopped, lowering his racket. His eyes narrowed. "Maybe if you stopped overthinking it and just played, you wouldn't be so bad." He stepped closer, surprisingly. "Hold your grip like this." He reached out, taking my hand that held the racket. His fingers were long and surprisingly gentle as he adjusted my grip, his thumb brushing against mine. A jolt went through me, an unexpected awareness of his proximity. He smelled faintly of something clean and sharp, like cool air after a storm.
"Keep your elbow bent," he continued, his voice softer, less mocking. "Follow through. And stop staring at the net like it's going to eat you." He released my hand, stepping back. "Try again."
I did. And to my surprise, the next shot was smoother, cleaner, soaring over the net. I actually smiled. "Hey! That was –"
"Beginner's luck," he cut in, but there was no real malice in his tone. Just a subtle hint of that familiar arrogance. "Now, again."
We continued the drills, and while I was still far from perfect, his unexpected, albeit blunt, coaching made a difference. It was another crack in the "arrogant jerk" facade, revealing a glimpse of someone who was surprisingly skilled and, perhaps, even willing to help.
Lisa and Leo's Growing Connection
While I was flailing on the badminton court, Lisa was thriving. Over the next few weeks, her interest in Leo became a full-blown mission, and to my surprise, Leo was actually responding.
I'd catch them in the cafeteria, Leo no longer just indifferent but actively listening, sometimes even offering a quiet comment or a small, almost imperceptible smile. Lisa, with her infectious energy, seemed to be chipping away at his cool exterior. One afternoon, I saw them leaving the library together, Leo carrying a stack of books for her, something I never would have imagined him doing. Lisa was practically glowing.
"He's actually really sweet, Elisa," she gushed one evening when we were studying in our dorm room. "And so smart! He knows everything about... well, everything!"
"He's still pretty quiet, though," I teased, flipping a page in my textbook.
"That's part of his charm!" she insisted, her eyes sparkling. "He doesn't waste words. And when he does talk, it's always something thoughtful." She paused, a dreamy look on her face. "He even remembered I mentioned liking that obscure band and sent me a playlist."
It was clear that Leo, the 'indifferent' one, was far more complex than his initial quiet demeanor suggested. And Lisa, with her persistent warmth and genuine interest, was definitely bringing out a side of him that few people saw. It was cute, if a little frustrating to watch her navigate his stoicism. But it was also heartwarming to see her happy.
Introducing a New Character: Professor Anya Sharma
My literature class, 'Introduction to Literature,' was about to get a lot more interesting. Professor Davies had been fine, but a week into the semester, an email announced a new co-lecturer would be joining the course: Professor Anya Sharma.
She strode into the lecture hall the next day, a whirlwind of vibrant energy. Professor Sharma was in her late thirties, with a sharp, intelligent gaze, a shock of dark, curly hair, and a fashion sense that was more art gallery than academia. She wore a deep purple blazer over a patterned silk blouse, and carried a well-worn leather satchel instead of a generic briefcase.
"Good morning, everyone!" she announced, her voice clear and resonant, completely filling the large hall without needing to shout. "Professor Davies is a wonderful scholar, but sometimes, literature needs a bit of a shake-up, wouldn't you agree?" A few nervous chuckles rippled through the room. "My approach is less about dissecting paragraphs and more about understanding the story behind the story. The human element. The secrets." Her eyes seemed to twinkle as she said "secrets," and I felt an immediate pull towards her. She wasn't just teaching a class; she was inviting us into a conspiracy.
She paced the front of the lecture hall, radiating an infectious passion. "Literature is not just about words on a page. It's about life, about power, about the unspoken truths of society. And sometimes," she paused, her gaze sweeping across the students, "it's about the very real people who wield that power, or try to hide those truths."
I found myself leaning forward, utterly captivated. Professor Sharma seemed to operate on a different frequency than most of the faculty. She was sharp, insightful, and possessed a captivating intensity that promised to make her class anything but boring. Something told me she might become more than just a literature professor; she felt like someone who saw things others missed, and that could be very interesting indeed.
Felix's pov
The sports complex was a zoo. Banners for every ridiculous club imaginable hung everywhere, and the noise was a constant, irritating hum. I hated these things. All that forced cheer and manufactured enthusiasm. I was only here because Caleb insisted. "Team bonding," he'd said. More like an excuse for him to be annoyingly sociable.
I leaned against the badminton net, idly twirling a racket. It was a good sport, precise, required focus. Unlike most of the mindless activities going on around us. Caleb was, predictably, in his element, chatting up anyone who looked his way. Leo, as usual, was mostly a silent observer, though I noticed him perk up slightly whenever Lisa, Elisa's bubbly friend, was near. Honestly, those two were a walking rom-com cliché.
Then I saw Elisa. She was being practically dragged by Lisa towards the basketball table, looking overwhelmed. She was wearing some casual college attire, nothing flashy, just… normal. She still carried that quiet, almost nervous energy, a stark contrast to the performative enthusiasm of everyone else here.
"Hey, guys!" Caleb's voice boomed, interrupting my internal commentary. "Signing up for clubs?"
Lisa, all smiles, announced, "Yep! Basketball for me! And Elisa's doing badminton." She gave Elisa a not-so-subtle nudge.
My eyes flickered to Elisa. Badminton. Of course. "Still avoiding anything that requires actual effort, I see." It was an automatic jab, a reflex. She was clumsy, easily flustered. What could she possibly do with a racket?
She glared back. "It requires a lot of effort, actually. Precision. Agility." Her cheeks were a little flushed, but her eyes held a defiant spark. She wasn't rolling over. Good.
"Right," I muttered, "and not just avoiding a car with your face." The image of her frantic face after hitting my car still stuck in my head.
Caleb, ever the peacemaker, laughed it off. "Oh, Felix, stop! Badminton's great! You'll fit right in, Elisa."
I watched her force a smile, her gaze still flicking to me. She was clearly uncomfortable, but she didn't back down. That was something. Most people, especially girls in this environment, would try to charmingly agree, to make themselves more palatable. Not Elisa. She was just… herself. Awkward, a little defiant, and completely unpretentious. In a sea of carefully constructed personas, she was refreshingly, almost annoyingly, genuine. It was a bizarre contrast, and one I found myself, despite my best efforts, increasingly noticing.