Tuesday – 3:42 PM – Saint Helena Academy, Student Council Room
The first thing Vincent noticed was the smell—expensive cologne, floor polish, and the faint but unmistakable scent of power. The Student Council room looked more like a miniature courtroom than anything remotely high school–friendly. Oak-paneled walls. An intimidating long table. And at the head of it, sitting like a crown jewel in a war room, was Adriana Bogdan.
She wasn't wearing her usual black today. Instead, she wore white—button-down blouse tucked into a plaid skirt, blazer slung over the back of her chair like she owned air conditioning. Her fingers drummed lightly against the table's surface as if she were keeping time to a melody only she could hear.
Vincent hesitated in the doorway.
She looked up and said, "Don't just hover. Come in."
He did.
"Why am I here again?" he asked, dropping his backpack to the floor and sliding into the seat beside her.
"Because someone sabotaged the Student Council budget spreadsheet," she replied flatly. "And since I don't trust any of these entitled snakes with math, you're going to help me untangle it."
Vincent squinted at her. "So... I'm here to do your homework."
"No. You're here to sniff out a potential money funnel that might lead us directly to the Serpent network. Also, yes, some light math."
She turned her laptop toward him. The screen showed a jumble of coded budget categories, shell numbers, and misaligned rows.
"This is like five levels of illegal," Vincent muttered.
Adriana leaned closer. "Six, if you count the offshore transfers hidden under 'community service expenditures.'"
He blinked. "Wait—these are real transactions?"
"I told you," she said coolly, "Saint Helena's student council isn't a council. It's a soft front. Bribes, influence, laundering through 'charity' fundraisers. We're the training ground for tomorrow's white-collar criminals."
Vincent stared at her. "You say that like it's an orientation week activity."
Her lips curved. "Would you like a name tag?"
-
Student Council Room – Tensions rising.
The door creaked open again, and Tristan Hale walked in like he hadn't nearly been smoothie-shamed into another dimension the day before.
He tossed a careless nod at Adriana, completely ignored Vincent, and slid a USB drive onto the table. "Here's the event list for the charity gala."
Adriana didn't look up. "You were supposed to email it."
"Thought I'd drop by in person," he said smoothly. "To clear the air."
"No need," she replied without blinking. "The air was never your problem. Your brain was."
Vincent had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
Tristan ignored the jab and leaned across the table—just enough to invade Adriana's space, not enough to make it obvious.
Vincent sat straighter.
Tristan's voice dropped. "You shouldn't trust everyone around you, Adriana. Not in a place like this."
She tilted her head slowly, gaze sharp. "You're right. That's why I stopped trusting you last year."
It landed like a slap, even if no one moved.
Vincent could practically feel the tension radiating from Tristan's shoulders as he turned and left without another word.
Adriana waited until the door clicked shut before saying, "We'll need tighter surveillance on the gala."
"You think he's feeding intel to the Serpent?"
She nodded. "Or someone close to him is."
Vincent sighed. "How do you keep track of so many enemies?"
Her voice was quiet. "I stopped trying to count. Now I just remember who hasn't stabbed me—yet."
-
Outside the Auditorium, Under the Lights.
Later, after decoding the entire spreadsheet and mapping out a flowchart that would make the IRS blush, Vincent followed Adriana toward the auditorium where the charity gala would be hosted.
He didn't know why he followed her.
Correction—he did know. He just didn't want to admit it.
She was magnetic in the worst way. Sharp edges, cold glances, and yet somehow the only person in the school who made him feel like he wasn't pretending to exist.
"Do you ever get tired?" he asked suddenly, matching her steps.
She paused. "Of what?"
"Of being the center of gravity for everyone's fear. Of playing games with knives instead of chess pieces."
She looked at him. Really looked.
And for once, her expression wasn't armor.
"Every second," she whispered.
They stood beneath the flickering light outside the side entrance—half in shadow, half in golden glow. The school was mostly empty now, the day bleeding into quiet.
"I think I hate this place," Vincent said softly.
"I think I am this place," she replied, and for the first time, it sounded like a confession, not a boast.
Something twisted in his chest.
He reached up, maybe to touch her arm, maybe just to prove she was real—but she turned toward him at the same time, and suddenly they were too close.
Her breath hitched.
His eyes dropped to her lips.
And then—
It happened.
Not planned. Not discussed. Just a collision of fear and fire and something fragile trying to breathe between them.
Her mouth brushed his like an apology. Like a warning. Like a dare.
Vincent froze. And then melted. And then kissed her back.
It lasted three seconds.
Four, if you counted the sharp intake of breath when she pulled away.
"We shouldn't have done that," she whispered.
"Yeah," he said, still trying to remember how lungs worked. "Definitely not."
Neither moved.
The silence roared.
Then footsteps.
Fast.
Urgent.
Zara's voice rang out, breathless. "We have a problem. The mole struck again."
Adriana turned instantly, her expression flipping like a switchblade.
"What happened?" she demanded.
Zara handed her a phone. "Someone just leaked the real gala guest list to an external server. Including the names of three off-duty guards your father planted. It's bad."
Adriana swore under her breath.
Vincent cleared his throat. "What does that mean?"
Adriana's voice was calm now. Too calm. "It means the gala just became bait. And someone wants us to walk into it blind."
She looked back at him—just briefly—and something unreadable passed behind her eyes.
Then she straightened, pulled on her blazer, and walked toward the danger like she always did.
Vincent stayed frozen for a second longer, heart hammering, lips still tingling.
That kiss wasn't meant to happen.
But now that it had…
Nothing would be the same.