Calla walked into her first philosophy class at 8:00 a.m. sharp, hoping to keep a low profile.
She hadn't slept all night.
Not after what happened in the hallway.
Not after him.
She kept seeing his eyes—the way they pinned her in place. The calm, cold confidence in his voice when he'd said "You already saw too much."
Was he serious? Was he joking?
Her gut said no. The worst part? He'd covered for her. Protected her. Then looked at her like she was something he didn't quite understand—but wanted to.
Calla pushed the thought out of her head and scanned the classroom for an empty seat.
Front row? No thanks.
Back corner? Perfect.
She slid into the chair, pulled out her notebook, and kept her eyes down. No eye contact. No attention.
But fate?
It wasn't on her side.
The door opened behind her. Heavy footsteps. Confident. Unhurried.
A chair screeched as someone sat down—right beside her.
She didn't look up. She didn't have to.
She could feel it.
That sharp, suffocating presence. Like danger had its own gravity and had chosen to sit in Room 207.
Alessio Romano.
"You're early," he said smoothly, like they were old friends.
Calla didn't reply.
"I didn't take you for a morning person," he added. "Or a philosophy type. You don't strike me as the 'thinking' kind."
Now she looked up—furious. "Excuse me?"
He smirked. Hooked.
"There you are," he said quietly. "I was starting to think you'd pretend last night never happened."
"That's exactly what I'm trying to do," she snapped under her breath. "And if you care about people not seeing you with a nobody like me, I suggest you move."
His smile dropped a little.
Calla blinked.
Had she just… stunned the mafia prince?
But then he leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're not a nobody, Calla Hart. Not anymore."
Her blood froze.
He knew her name.
She hadn't told him. She hadn't said anything last night. So how—
The professor walked in, cutting the tension.
Alessio leaned back in his seat like nothing had happened, but Calla could feel his gaze on her for the next 55 minutes. Every time she turned a page, he noticed. Every time she bit her pen, he smirked. Every time her hand trembled just slightly, he locked it in his memory.
She couldn't take it.
The second the bell rang, she bolted up and shoved her things into her bag.
But Alessio was already standing, already waiting.
"You're following me," she said, keeping her voice low.
He raised an eyebrow. "You sat next to me, remember?"
She glared. "It's a college. We share classes. That doesn't mean anything."
He stepped in close, lowering his voice until only she could hear it.
"It means everything."
---
She shoved past him and hurried down the hallway. Her heart was thudding, not just from fear, but from something else she didn't want to name.
Confusion.
Attraction.
Curiosity.
She wanted to get away. To go home, hide, reset.
But when she turned the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks.
Her dorm door was open.
Wide open.
And inside—her things were scattered across the floor. Her drawers pulled out. Her laptop missing.
Someone had been there.
Someone had searched her room.
And on her bed, laid out like a silent message, was a single black rose.
With a note attached.
"Stay away from Alessio Romano. Or disappear like the last girl."