Chapter 4 — Blue Eyes and Bad French
As soon as I stepped inside Blackwater, I knew I didn't belong.
Marble floors, polished glass, clean white walls—yeah, this place screams rich people.
I stood there like an idiot for a second, staring at the massive interior, until Irma grabbed my wrist. "Come on, Jane. Let's go. Anatomy class. Follow me."
I blinked. "Isn't it a bit early?"
She laughed. "Girl—please. The other girls fight to get front row seats for Professor Vargas. I'm making sure I'm the first thing he sees today."
I rolled my eyes, sharper than I meant to, but Irma just grinned. "You'll see. When he walks in… it's something."
"Yeah, sure. Let's see this professor," I mumbled.
The anatomy classroom was straight out of a horror movie—or a museum. Skeletons on display, muscle diagrams everywhere, glass jars with preserved organs. There was even a human heart floating in a jar like some kind of science fiction trophy.
Irma dragged me to the front row. Of course she did. I barely sat down before more students flooded in, filling the rows behind us.
Then the bell rang. Silence dropped.
And then—he walked in.
Elias Vargas.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair. Navy-blue eyes so deep you could fall in and never find your way back. He didn't just enter the room—he owned it. Actor-level handsome. Movie villain energy.
Of course Irma was right.
But I didn't care about him. I cared about the case.
He glanced over at me, probably recognizing the one unfamiliar face, then walked casually to his desk.
"Good morning."
A chorus of "Good morning, Professor" followed—mostly from the girls. The boys stayed quiet. I was the only girl who didn't speak. Classic.
His gaze drifted back to me. "So, we have a new student joining us. That's pretty rare. Janette Marine, right?" And then—he smiled.
Internally? I fainted.
Irma quietly squealed next to me, covering her mouth like she was watching a K-drama live.
"Uh—yes," I managed. "Thanks, Professor."
He smiled again.
Why is everyone smiling at me today? Weird. Suspicious. I didn't trust smiles.
Class started. He wrote something about connective tissue on the board. Did I understand it? No. Did I pretend to take notes anyway? Absolutely.
Near the end of class, the door opened again. Another late arrival.
Black hair, but not neat like Elias's—messy, like he didn't care. Black eyes. Not brown—black. The kind of eyes that looked straight through you. He was good-looking too, in a "I don't sleep, I don't care, but somehow I still look good" way.
Some of the girls whispered greetings to him. He ignored them.
Elias glanced up. "Leo. Again. You want to explain why you're always late—especially when we live together?"
Wait. Leo? His brother?
Leo rolled his eyes. "Headache. You know, brain problems."
Then his eyes met mine. He gave me this… look. Not curious. Not suspicious. Just bored. He dropped into a seat between two girls who instantly started fawning over him.
Elias went back to lecturing, and I went back to pretending to understand anatomy.
When class finally ended, I started packing up fast—ready to escape.
But then: "Janette, could you stay a moment?"
Irma gave me a thumbs-up and whispered, "Lucky," before practically skipping out of the room.
Lucky? Sure.
More like target acquired.
I stood awkwardly by his desk. Elias sat on the edge of it, relaxed but sharp. "Didn't want to put you on the spot on your first day, but next time, could you bring me a list of what you studied in France? Helps me know how to guide you."
I forced a smile. "Of course. I'll bring it next class. Thank you, Professor."
Great. Homework. In a language I don't even speak.
Just when I thought I was free, he tilted his head. "You're from Paris?"
I blinked. "Yeah… I am."
He smiled again. "Funny. My mother's French."
What?
Jorge never said anything about that.
"You're—your mother's French?"
"Yeah." He shrugged. "Not a lot of people know. Different mothers. My brother's mom was American. Mine was from Paris."
Brain: Error 404.
"Oh… that's… amazing," I said, probably sounding like I just lost signal.
And then—the betrayal: "Oui, c'est pour ça que j'étais content quand j'ai su qu'une étudiante de Paris allait venir ici cette année. Maman est du dix-septième arrondissement. Et toi ?"
Translation: French. Full. Speed. French.
My brain completely shut down. I caught "maman", I caught "Paris", and that was it.
The rest? White noise.
Jorge—I swear—if I survive this mission, I'm going to kill you.
I was dead. Fully. Officially. Buried on day one.
He was still waiting, still smiling, like I was supposed to have an answer.
I opened my mouth—Nothing came out.
My heart was pounding in my ears.
"Alors ?" he asked gently.