Moving to a new city was supposed to feel like an adventure. A fresh start. Instead, I was wandering a narrow back lane with cold fries in one hand and Google Maps lying to me in the other.
I had considered sticking to the main road—safe, predictable—but where's the adventure in that? My chaotic brain craved shortcuts, the kind that made me feel "independent" and "different." Of course, "different" often meant terrifying.
I'd developed a habit of picking these offbeat paths. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn't. Tonight? Clearly, it didn't.
Blame it on my sense of direction—or total lack thereof. I'd photographed every street corner, memorized neon signs, even marked "helpful" shortcuts on Google Maps. Yet here I was, hopelessly lost.
Then I heard it: the sharp thwack of fists, a grunt, a curse.
Normal people turn away from alleys at night. Me? I step right in.
Three guys were surrounding one boy. And they weren't doing well. The lone fighter moved with terrifying precision. Every punch counted. No wild swings. No wasted energy. One thug hit the wall and slid down; another spat blood onto the pavement.
He wasn't just strong. He owned the alley.
Adrian Kane.
I didn't know his name yet, but his presence made the night feel smaller, colder. Dangerous. Controlled. Feared. Even the surviving thugs hesitated, whispering nervously, glancing at him like he could erase them with a thought.
Then one of them noticed me at the alley's mouth. His finger shot out."She's with him!"
My heart skipped. Run? Stay? Scream? My brain screamed run! But another part of me—the part that refuses to be helpless—took over.
"My eyes widened. Excuse me? I'm with my fries, thank you very much."
Another thug, bleeding but upright, grabbed a broken bottle. His grin was wild."Let's see how he likes it when his girl bleeds."
"Whoa, time out!" I backed up, almost tripping over a loose brick. The bottle grazed my shoulder, leaving a shallow sting.
"Not his girl. Not anyone's girl. Just lost!"
I scanned the alley desperately: fire escape ladder, crates stacked in a corner, a narrow gap between dumpsters. Options. Any option.
I clenched my teeth and swung my bag—but misjudged slightly. It hit the thug's jaw; notebooks exploded across the ground. My legs wobbled; I nearly fell, heart hammering. I stumbled backward, muttering, "Okay, maybe not that elegant…" Then I caught myself.
The alley froze. Adrian's dark eyes snapped to me. That flicker—interest, irritation, maybe amusement—made my stomach flip.
Then he moved. Slow, steady, terrifying. He knocked the last thug to the ground with brutal precision. Not a punch wasted. Not a hint of mercy. The surviving boys scrambled, whispering fearfully; some even murmured his name under their breath.
He stepped toward me. Not angry. Not rushing. Just…controlled menace.
"You're not scared?" he asked, voice low and calm.
"Oh, I'm scared," I admitted, chest heaving. "But helpless? Not my style."
His gaze lingered, unreadable. A flicker of curiosity—maybe amusement."Interesting," he said.
He didn't guide me. He didn't offer an escort. He just watched, testing whether I could survive my own chaos.
I exhaled. "Okay… time to get myself home without dying."
I stared at the graffiti fox and remembered the corner with the broken lamppost. Left there, then right at the green dumpster…maybe I'd make it home before my fries got cold.
Google Maps recalculated every two seconds. I waved my phone like a magic wand, muttering sarcastic encouragements. "You got this, Carter… probably."
I walked two blocks and realized I had passed the same cracked streetlight twice. Fantastic. I retraced my steps, muttering under my breath, cursing dead-end alleys and sidewalk cracks. I tripped over a loose brick, nearly face-planted, and cursed again.
"Okay, deep breaths," I told myself. "One more block. One more. You can do this without dying. Probably."
Finally, the warm glow of my apartment windows appeared. I leaned against the doorframe, fries slightly squished, heart still hammering—but alive, independent, and very much myself.
Next Morning
The alarm was supposed to wake me at seven. It didn't. My chaotic night of wandering, fighting, and self-navigation had caught up to me.
I bolted upright at 8:10 a.m., heart racing. Breakfast? Skipped. Outfit? Half-chosen. Bag thrown over my shoulder. Hair… let's not talk about it. I sprinted out the door.
Industrial Systems Cohort E at Westwood University was exactly as male-dominated as the rumor said. Thirty students, twenty-nine boys—and the one who made my heart skip a beat was already seated in the back row, arms crossed, dark eyes like last night's alley shadow.
I hesitated at the doorway, trying to steady my racing thoughts. You can do this. Just walk in. Pretend it's normal.
The professor called the roll."Lucas Carter?""Here.""Amelia Martinez?""Present.""Nia…"
I slipped into a seat, panting slightly, cheeks flushed. Adrian's gaze found me immediately. Recognition flickered in those dark eyes. Last night. The alley. That fight.
Low enough for only me to hear, he murmured:"Late, Carter?"
My stomach dropped. My heart thumped so hard it felt like it might break free. Every nerve screamed that nothing about today would be normal again.
The class faded into the background. I wasn't in Westwood University anymore—I was back in the alley, facing danger I hadn't asked for. Only this time, the fight wasn't physical. It was social. Psychological. I didn't know the rules, and neither did I know if he was a friend or a threat.
Then he smirked—just a flicker—but it was enough to make my knees weak and my mind race.
Whatever this was going to be, one terrifying truth settled deep in my chest: I couldn't avoid him. Not today. Not ever.