Day six dawned heavy, both in sky and spirit. A dense gray cloud cover hung low over the campus, casting long shadows across the walkways and lawn. But the real weight pressing down on Mia wasn't the weather—it was the ticking clock. Monday loomed like a guillotine. The Inter-University Business Case Competition, the apex of Kris Windsor's empire, was less than twenty-four hours away. And just beyond that, waiting in the wings, was the drama showcase—the event Mia had poured her heart into.
It was all coming to a head. Deadlines. Expectations. Tension simmering beneath every look and every interaction.
Even Kris, usually the epitome of cool control, showed signs of strain. His usually crisp texts had become blunt, devoid of his usual teasing flair. The one that buzzed on Mia's phone that morning was no exception:
Kris: "Princess. Auditorium. 20 minutes. Today you're my logistical anchor. Walkthrough. A/V checks. Judge packet assembly. All hands on deck."
Mia rolled over in bed and groaned into her pillow.
"All hands on deck" in Kris-speak meant her hands. Her time. Her patience. But for once, she didn't protest. The tone in his message was different—sharper, clipped. This wasn't about power plays or pranks. This was the final stretch of something he cared about. She could feel it in every word.
When Mia arrived at the university's massive main auditorium, it was already buzzing with activity. Volunteers scurried up and down aisles, wheeling in supplies, adjusting lighting rigs, and stacking water bottles behind the judges' table. The massive projector screen flickered with test slides, glitching occasionally like it, too, felt the pressure.
At the center of it all was Kris.
His black hoodie was pulled low over his brow, sleeves rolled, clipboard in hand. He moved through the space like a general surveying a battlefield—eyes sharp, words quick. His voice rang out across the room in low commands:
"Move that table six inches left—no, six, not four. This has to be symmetrical."
"Who's handling the international delegates? I need name tags alphabetized and color-coded—status?"
"We're testing microphones in twelve minutes. Tell the A/V team to be ready with all six channels."
It was the most intense Mia had ever seen him. He wasn't snapping or yelling—he didn't need to. People moved when he spoke. He had that kind of presence.
He barely looked up when she approached, simply handed her a heavy, overstuffed folder. "You're on packet duty. Judge kits. There are one hundred and forty-three total—each must include the printed rubric, finalist bios, event schedules, venue evacuation maps, and two feedback forms. No errors. They'll be used to score the final round."
Mia opened the folder. It was a logistical labyrinth. "You're kidding. This is... actually terrifying."
Kris gave her the faintest ghost of a smile. "Now you understand why I didn't sleep last night."
And for once, Mia saw past the smirk and sarcasm. His eyes were rimmed with exhaustion, the usual Windsor arrogance dimmed by sheer mental fatigue. He wasn't just running a competition—he was holding a hundred invisible threads together, and if even one snapped, it could unravel everything.
She didn't argue. Just nodded and got to work.
For the next three hours, Mia was a machine. She set up camp in the back of the auditorium, creating a mini assembly line on a long folding table. Her fingers flew through page stacks, sorting, hole-punching, binding with perfectly measured precision. Kris came by once or twice to check progress, nodding silently, tossing her a bottle of water without saying a word. At one point, their hands brushed as she reached for the stapler, and they both flinched. Neither mentioned it.
Then came the A/V check.
The lights dimmed as the team transitioned to the tech side of things. Mia found herself in the booth alongside Kris, watching him coordinate the team below through a headset like a conductor guiding an orchestra.
"Projector, screen two—test slide, go... Good. Now audio channel one. Mia, read the script into mic three, please."
She blinked. "You want me to read it?"
Kris glanced at her, something like amusement returning to his eyes. "Yes. You've got a clearer voice than most of my team. Plus, it's fun watching you pretend to be professional."
She rolled her eyes, but complied. "Welcome, distinguished guests and panelists, to the 42nd Annual Inter-University Case Competition..."
Her voice echoed across the empty auditorium. For a moment, it felt surreal—standing in front of a thousand empty chairs, speaking into silence. Her stomach twisted slightly.
Tomorrow, this place would be full. Judges. Deans. Rival schools. High expectations.
Kris watched her with an unreadable expression. "You sounded good," he said quietly when she finished. "Confident. Clear."
Mia looked at him, caught off guard by the sincerity. "Thanks."
They stood in silence for a moment, the hum of the projector the only sound.
"Why does this matter so much to you?" she asked finally, unable to stop herself. "You act like it's just another trophy, another line on your resume... but it's more than that, isn't it?"
He didn't answer immediately. Then, quietly: "Because this is the only thing I've built that's mine. Not inherited. Not handed down. Just me. Every piece."
And just like that, she saw the vulnerability he so carefully hid.
"Then let's make sure it's perfect," she said, gently.
Their eyes met.
And for the first time, it didn't feel like a competition between them. It felt like a partnership.