The moment his eyes met mine, the entire lecture hall seemed to pause, like the world had forgotten to breathe. Even the dull hum of the projector, the scratch of pens on paper, and the low murmur of students faded into the background.
It couldn't have lasted more than a second, maybe two. But in that short stretch of time, I felt the weight of a hundred stares drilling into me, burning through my skin. The four brothers—whoever the hell they were—didn't glance at anyone else. Everyone else might as well have been furniture. Yet one of them had looked at me.
And smirked.
My pen hovered uselessly over my notebook. Notes scrawled themselves into incomprehensible lines as my mind scrambled to process the moment. The whispers began almost instantly, like wildfire licking across dry grass.
"Did you see that?"
"He actually looked at her—"
"No way. The Knights don't notice anyone!"
Knights? The word lodged itself in my brain like a splinter. Something about it felt important, terrifying, and… ridiculously compelling.
By the time class ended, the lecture hall had emptied into a tide of curiosity. People stole glances at me as though I'd done something forbidden. I shoved my books into my bag, trying to act indifferent, trying to look normal. But I could feel it—the scrutiny, the envy, the hostility simmering under polite smiles. Storms don't always announce themselves. Sometimes, they hit with a flash, and the kind of trouble I was walking into? It didn't take long to manifest.
⸻
I barely got two steps into the hallway when they appeared.
Four of them.
Tall, impossibly glamorous, dressed like they'd stepped straight off a high-fashion runway. Hair perfectly styled, faces so sharp it could cut glass, and postures that screamed control and dominance. They moved as one unit, subtle synchrony that made me shiver. Predators. I'd seen predators on documentaries. I'd never thought I'd stand in a hallway and feel like prey.
"The K-Girls," someone whispered behind me.
Lovely. Even the mean-girl squad had fan nicknames. How original.
The one in front—a blonde with glossy curls and a scowl that could launch a thousand insults—blocked my path, folding her arms like she was the final boss in some awful game.
"Word travels fast here, sweetheart," she said.
I arched a brow, letting my bag slide lazily over my shoulder. "Congratulations. Do you want a medal for gossip speed?"
Her eyes narrowed, ice daggers sharpened by annoyance. "Don't play dumb. We saw the way he looked at you."
I tilted my head, pretending innocence, even though my pulse was thrumming like a drumline. "Who?" I asked. "You'll have to be specific. I've had a lot of admirers today."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. A few giggles escaped. I smiled sweetly. Too sweet. Deliberately sweet.
The blonde's jaw clenched, her polished nails digging into her arms. One of her friends, a redhead with claws-for-nails and a glare like molten lava, stepped forward. "Listen, new girl. The Knights don't belong to anyone. But if they did, it sure as hell wouldn't be you."
I crossed my arms, smirking. "Funny. I didn't know men were up for adoption. Do you girls take turns feeding them, or…?"
Laughter bubbled from the crowd like a spring finally bursting. The redhead's face turned scarlet.
Another girl, tall and dark-haired, sneered. "You don't know what you're getting into. The Knights don't like people in their space. If you're smart, you'll stay invisible."
"Invisible isn't really my style," I replied, letting a hint of sharpness lace my tone. "But thanks for the unsolicited fashion advice."
The fourth, petite and sharp-eyed, leaned in close, baring her teeth in a false smile. "You'll regret this. Everyone who gets near them does."
I tilted my head again, lowering my voice so the crowd had to lean in. "Oh, trust me. The only thing I regret is wasting my time on this little girl-band audition. What are you called again—Spice Girls Rejects?"
The hallway erupted. Laughter. Gasps. A few muttered "oh, shit"s.
The K-Girls froze, their perfect armor cracking under the weight of humiliation.
"Watch yourself," the blonde spat, voice trembling as if the words themselves had betrayed her.
I offered a small, controlled smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I always do."
Then I walked away. Deliberate. Unapologetic. Leaving them fuming, their perfect world momentarily dented.
⸻
As I turned the corner, I felt it again—that same heavy, suffocating stare. The prickle ran down my spine, the kind that tells you you're being measured, assessed, weighed like a rare gem.
And then I saw them.
The Knights.
All four. Leaning casually against the far wall, the distance only amplifying the danger in their presence. Identical faces, impossible symmetry, unreadable expressions—but one smirk flickered. A corner of amusement, maybe approval, maybe disdain. I couldn't tell. I didn't want to.
My stomach fluttered. My chest hammered. I straightened my shoulders, adjusting the bag on my shoulder as if that would shield me from the storm of their scrutiny.
They didn't move. They didn't speak. But the air between us was alive, charged with tension that made every hair on my arms stand on end. It was intoxicating, terrifying, thrilling.
I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. Every instinct screamed at me to run, hide, crawl into the nearest classroom and lock the door. Yet another part—a far braver, far more reckless part—urged me forward. To walk past them. To see. To challenge.
So I did.
Step after deliberate step, heels clicking against the polished tiles, I passed each one without flinching. My gaze stayed forward, lips pressed in a thin line, mind racing faster than my pulse. I was small. They were giants. But maybe, just maybe, size didn't matter in the war of wills.
The smirk lingered in my mind long after I'd passed.
And my heart? It hadn't just raced—it had surrendered, just a little, to the impossible magnetism of four strangers with identical faces and the kind of power you didn't ask about.
Melbourne wasn't going to be boring.
Not by a long shot.
Because for the first time since I arrived, I had the sinking suspicion that maybe—just maybe—I'd stumbled into a fight I couldn't win.