And so, here they were. The cast list had barely been taped to the board for an hour when Kris decided to collect on his winnings. Mia was still fuming, pacing by the fountain, with James attempting (and failing) to offer solace.
"So," Kris's voice cut through the afternoon hum, deceptively casual as he approached them, hands in his pockets. "About that week, Brown."
Mia glared, her jaw tight. "Don't you dare start, Windsor. I just got Hermia. Let me have this."
"Oh, I'm letting you have Hermia," Kris countered, his smirk widening. "But the bet? That's all mine. And the first demand is simple. For the entire week, starting now, you are my personal assistant."
Mia scoffed, disbelief warring with anger. "Your what now? For a whole week?"
"Personal assistant," he repeated, a glint in his eye that promised delightful torment. "And your first task is to come with me to my dorm. My business club files for the Case Competition are in an absolute state, thanks to a very last-minute assignment. You're organizing them. Alphabetically. Chronologically. And by client. My energy levels are dipping after that masterful performance this morning, and I'll need everything ready for my next lecture." He pulled out his phone and tossed it to her. "And my wallet is in there. Don't even think about running off with it. I'll know." He leaned against a tree, crossing his arms, a picture of relaxed authority. "Clock's ticking, assistant."
James, trying to stifle a laugh, patted Mia's shoulder. "Better get to it, PA Brown. A bet's a bet."
Mia shot James a murderous look before spinning on her heel, muttering curses under her breath as she stomped off after Kris. This was going to be a very, very long week. And it had barely begun.
Later that evening, after hours spent meticulously categorizing Kris's surprisingly extensive and often illegible business notes for the Case Competition, Mia found herself in the drama hall for the first full cast rehearsal of A Midsummer Night's Dream. The lingering frustration from her "assistant" duties warred with the thrill of being Hermia. Kris was already there, lounging on a prop bench, flipping through his script with an infuriating ease that suggested he hadn't spent his afternoon subjecting someone to clerical torture. Their eyes met, and the air crackled with their unspoken war.
"Alright, everyone!" Ms. Dubois clapped her hands, her usual bubbly energy amplified. "Let's start with Act One, Scene One. Hermia, Lysander—your passionate declarations of love before your escape into the woods. Let's see some chemistry, shall we?"
Mia stiffened. Chemistry. With him? The man who had just made her sort through his disorganized life and was now demanding her presence on stage.
Kris pushed off the bench, an unsettlingly smooth transition into character. "Fair Hermia, O, with what power hast thou charmed me!" he began, his voice immediately dropping into Lysander's fervent tones. His eyes, usually sharp with challenge, now held an almost tender sincerity as he looked at Mia, a stark contrast to his earlier imperious demands.
Mia felt a strange pull. She knew how to act, how to immerse herself. But with Kris, it was different. His raw talent, which had so stunned her, was now focused entirely on her, demanding a reaction. She took a breath, channeling Hermia's defiance and devotion. "My love! My comfort! My soul's joy!" she replied, the words feeling surprisingly natural on her tongue, even as her mind screamed at her. This was supposed to be acting. But the way Kris was looking at her, a strange vulnerability in his usually guarded expression, made it feel... real.
They moved through the scene, their lines intertwining, their stage movements flowing with an almost unnerving fluidity. The script called for their characters to be deeply in love, to share intense glances and tender touches. Each time Kris's hand brushed hers, or his gaze held hers a moment too long, Mia felt a jolt. Part of it was professional focus, but a larger, more unsettling part was the confusing echo of their off-stage animosity. They bickered, they competed, they infuriated each other. But here, on this stage, they were a united front, two halves of a desperate, forbidden love.
During a brief pause, as Ms. Dubois gave notes to the ensemble, a new face approached Mia. He had a friendly smile and warm, intelligent eyes, a fellow drama student named Leo, cast as Demetrius. "Hey, Mia," Leo said, his voice smooth and genuinely appreciative. "Your Hermia is incredible. That intensity you bring... it's amazing. I've seen some of your art around campus too, you're really talented."
Mia, flustered by the compliment, managed a small, grateful smile. "Oh, thanks, Leo. Your Demetrius is great too."
Kris, who had been seemingly engrossed in his script just a few feet away, suddenly cleared his throat, loud enough to draw attention. He glanced at Leo, a faint, almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes before turning to Mia. "Brown," he said, his voice cool and precise, "Did you remember to cross-reference my market analysis reports with the current fiscal year's projections? I'll need that by tonight." His words, while seemingly about their earlier task, carried an underlying possessiveness, a subtle claim.
Mia bristled, annoyed by his interruption and his immediate shift back to "assistant mode." "I'm working on it, Windsor," she retorted, giving Leo an apologetic shrug.
Leo, a knowing smile playing on his lips, simply nodded. "No worries. See you around, Mia. Looking forward to rehearsing our scenes." He gave Kris a brief, polite nod before walking away.
Ms. Dubois watched, a wide smile spreading across her face. "Wonderful! Just wonderful!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands. "The passion! The connection! Mia, Kris, you two have an amazing natural chemistry. It's almost as if you were born to play these roles together!"
Mia forced a tight smile, trying not to cringe. Born to infuriate each other, she thought, glancing at Kris. He merely offered Ms. Dubois a polite, charming smile, but his eyes, when they flickered to Mia, held a familiar, triumphant sparkle. He knew. He knew that the very thing that was making their stage performance compelling was the same tension that fueled their real-life rivalry. And for now, thanks to the bet, she was trapped in his orbit, both on and off stage. This was going to be a long play. And an even longer week. Day one, and the lines were already blurring.