If there's one thing I've learned, it's that life doesn't warn you before it flips upside down. One minute you're sipping overpriced coffee in California; the next, you're dragging two suitcases across the campus of the University of Melbourne, wondering what crime you committed in a past life to deserve this punishment.
"Fresh start," my dad had called it.
"Exile," I corrected.
He thought sending me across the world would... what exactly? Give me independence? Toughen me up? Joke's on him—I don't bend for anyone.
The Australian sun was merciless, the kind that made my black jeans feel like a bad decision. Students bustled around, some friendly, some whispering behind their hands. I ignored them. I wasn't here to make friends or play nice.
And, of course, he had to make it clear that money talks. Instead of shoving me into campus hostels like everyone else, he bought me a luxury apartment just a few blocks away. Fully furnished, panoramic view, the kind of place that screamed "I could buy the whole city if I wanted to." Subtle, Dad. Really subtle.
Dragging my bags into the apartment, I collapsed on the bed and muttered, "Welcome to hell, Kaylee. Population: you."
Classes started the next day. By mid-morning, I was already regretting my "new start." The lecture hall buzzed with chatter. I grabbed a seat at the back and pulled out my notebook. That's when the room shifted. Literally shifted.
Silence spread like wildfire. Heads turned. Some people straightened in their chairs; others lowered their eyes, as if praying not to be noticed.
And then I saw them.
Four.
They didn't just walk in—they commanded the space. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark eyes scanning the room like predators assessing prey. Their strides were slow, deliberate, the kind of walk that said we don't rush for anyone.
The strange part? They looked the same. Exactly the same. Sharp jawlines, sculpted faces, and smirks that could either ruin you or kill you. My brain scrambled to process it—were my eyes playing tricks, or had I just stumbled into a cloning experiment gone wrong?
The girls in the front row practically melted, while the guys shifted uncomfortably. Nobody breathed until the four of them sat together in the middle row, perfectly aligned like soldiers.
I leaned toward the girl next to me. "Uh... did the Matrix glitch, or am I seeing quadruple?"
Her eyes widened. "Shh! Don't talk about them."
"Why not?" I pressed.
She swallowed hard. "Because... they don't like attention."
I raised a brow. "Well, too bad. Walking in like that is practically screaming for attention."
The girl looked horrified, grabbed her pen, and pretended to take notes. Interesting.
As the professor droned on, I couldn't help sneaking glances at them. From this distance, I couldn't tell who was who. Every time one of them tilted his head or tapped his pen, another mirrored the same movement seconds later, like a private language only they understood. It was unnerving.
At one point, one of them—maybe the one on the left—turned his head slightly. His eyes locked with mine. Just a second. Just enough to make my chest tighten. Then he smirked and looked away, as if he'd caught me spying and found it amusing.
Cocky bastard.
I tore my gaze back to my notebook, scribbling nonsense just to look busy. I don't care who they are, I told myself. I'm not here to worship campus royalty.
But deep down, I already knew this: Melbourne wasn't going to be boring.
And somehow, those four identical strangers—the ones everyone feared but nobody dared to name—were about to become the center of my new life.
My Knightmare had just begun.