The note in my hands crumpled slightly as my fingers tightened.
"Trust no one. Especially not him."
Who the hell was him?
My mind raced, flipping through every face I had seen today.
Mikhail?
Blake?
The creepy green-eyed guy from the archives?
Or someone else?
Maybe someone I hadn't even met yet?
Damn it. Nothing can ever be simple, can it?
---
Next Morning — 6:00 AM
The sharp, shrill buzz of my alarm yanked me out of uneasy sleep.
I groaned into my pillow.
One thing about being in a criminal university full of assassins, hackers, and mafia heirs?
They took physical training very, very seriously.
And by physical training, I mean death-by-workout.
Today's punishment was a 5-mile run at sunrise.
Because why not add muscle cramps to my already spiraling life?
---
Dragging myself out of bed, I threw on my uniform —
Black joggers, loose black hoodie, black cap.
Looking like a whole emo gremlin. Perfect.
I tucked the stolen file deep inside my mattress (again) and sprinted out the door, barely making it to the track in time.
The stadium lights blinded me for a second.
Then I spotted them.
The other first-years.
All standing in straight, deadly lines.
Waiting.
Silent.
Like soldiers.
God, I really am in a den of psychos.
---
"Oi! Pretty Boy!"
A voice hollered.
I turned.
Blake, of course.
Leaning lazily against the fence.
Wearing tight black joggers and a sleeveless top that did horrifying things to his arms.
He winked when he caught me staring.
I looked away, cheeks burning.
---
"Alright, ladies," barked our instructor —
A grizzled ex-mercenary whose idea of 'warm-up' was running with bricks in your backpack.
"First three finishers get double dessert today. Last three..."
His smile turned evil.
"...get double combat training with me."
The collective shudder that ran through the boys was visible.
---
The whistle blew.
We ran.
---
Mid-race
I was dying.
Actually dying.
My legs were screaming.
My lungs felt like they were filled with acid.
How was everyone else running like freaking wolves??
I risked a glance sideways.
Big mistake.
Because—
CRASH.
Someone slammed into me from behind, sending us both tumbling to the ground.
---
I groaned, dazed.
When I looked up—
My nose was nearly touching another nose.
A very handsome nose.
Attached to a very handsome face.
Golden brown hair.
Warm honey-colored eyes.
Soft, laughing mouth.
Axel.
One of the official MLs.
The "golden retriever" tech genius.
Who was currently lying on top of me.
Smiling like he hadn't just broken several of my ribs.
---
"S-Sorry!" Axel gasped, scrambling off me.
"I was trying to pass and you zigzagged and—oh no, your face!"
"What about my face?!" I yelped.
He cupped my cheeks like a concerned mom.
"It's too pretty to get scratched up! I'll carry you!"
"Carry—WHAT—NO—!"
Before I could stop him, Axel scooped me up bridal style —
In full view of everyone.
---
The entire field froze.
Jaws dropped.
Someone even dropped their water bottle.
In a school full of testosterone-fueled criminals...
...getting picked up like a Disney princess???
Was social suicide.
---
"Put me down!" I hissed, flailing.
"But your ankle!" Axel protested.
"I'm fine!"
He finally let me go — I landed awkwardly on my feet.
Everyone still stared.
Including Blake, standing at the finish line with his arms crossed, looking murderously amused.
---
I dusted myself off, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.
"Back to running!" the instructor bellowed.
Grateful for the distraction, I took off again, faster this time — fueled by pure humiliation.
---
After the run — 7:30 AM
Dragging my dead body back toward the dorms, I just wanted a shower and eternal sleep.
Unfortunately, fate had other plans.
Because when I shoved open the door to what I thought was my dorm room...
I walked straight into a half-naked guy.
Towel slung low on his hips.
Water dripping from his dark hair.
Sharp abs on full display.
---
It took me a full three seconds to realize—
This was not my room.
And this was definitely not my roommate.
---
The guy turned lazily, revealing piercing silver eyes.
A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.
"Lost, pretty boy?"
I squeaked.
Like a literal mouse.
Spun around.
Bolted.
---
Wrong door. Wrong life. Goodbye.
---
End of Chapter 8.
---