Tara Reyes had never felt so small in her entire life.
Northgate University's front gates looked less like an entrance to a campus and more like the set of a royal wedding. Marble pillars. Iron-cast letters. Security guards who probably earned more than her mother's yearly salary.
She adjusted the strap of her thrift-store backpack and muttered, "It's just a school, not heaven."
Her reflection in the polished glass doors disagreed. She looked like a terrified extra in a movie where everyone else had stylists.
Inside, the lobby gleamed. Students breezed past with designer luggage and iced coffee cups. Someone's laugh echoed, carefree, expensive. Tara clutched the acceptance packet in her hand until the paper crinkled.
Room 314, Northgate Hall. That was her destination. She'd memorized it like scripture.
The elevator smelled faintly of vanilla and arrogance. Tara squeezed herself between two girls debating Prada versus Dior. They didn't even glance at her.
By the time she reached the third floor, her palms were slick with sweat. The hallway stretched ahead, neat and modern, lined with identical white doors. "314," she whispered, scanning each number until she found it.
The door was open.
Music drifted out, a slow R&B beat, lazy and confident. The scent of espresso mixed with expensive cologne.
She knocked lightly. "Hello? Is anyone"
"Yeah, come in." The voice was deep, careless, and absolutely not expecting her.
Tara stepped inside and froze.
The room looked like a tech-store exploded in it. Multiple monitors, wireless speakers, a sleek coffee machine, piles of designer hoodies. A leather duffel bag that probably cost more than her entire tuition sat on the floor.
And on the bed, reclined like he owned gravity, was a guy.
Tall. Tanned. Messy golden-brown hair. The kind of face magazines used for watch ads. He was scrolling on his phone, earbuds in, wearing a gray hoodie with KINGSLEY ESTATES printed across the chest.
He looked up when he realized she wasn't housekeeping.
His expression shifted from confusion → irritation → disbelief.
"You're kidding."
Tara frowned. "Excuse me?"
He sat up slowly, removing one earbud. "You're in the wrong room."
"No, I'm not." She raised the paper in her hand. "314, Northgate Hall. Tara Reyes."
He blinked. "Okay, two things. One, this is my room. Two, how the hell did they assign a girl to live with me?"
Her stomach dropped. "You're my roommate?"
He stared at her like she'd just announced she was his tax auditor. "That's impossible."
Tara dragged her suitcase across the carpet and planted it near the door. "Look, there's obviously a glitch. I'll go to housing tomorrow. For tonight, I just need somewhere to sleep."
"Not here."
She turned sharply. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He stood up, and even standing casually, he looked like trouble. "This is my space. My privacy. My"
"Your ego?" she cut in.
He blinked. Then smirked. "You've got jokes. Cute."
Tara's hands curled into fists. Don't lose it. Scholarships are revoked for assault.
She inhaled through her nose. "Listen, Mr. Attitude, I didn't choose this. I'm not thrilled either. But unless you have a spare dorm somewhere"
"I do, actually. Three of them. Penthouses." He said it so casually it hurt.
"Of course you do." She rolled her eyes. "Then go sleep there."
He grinned. "And leave my room to a stranger? No, thanks."
Tara's pulse hammered. "Fine. Then we share. Temporarily."
He crossed his arms. "You think I'm sharing a dorm with a random girl?"
She glared right back. "You think I want to share with some overgrown rich boy who thinks courtesy is optional?"
For a moment, silence. Then his lips twitched. "You're bold. What's your name again?"
"Tara."
"Right. Tara the Bold. Got it."
He turned, grabbed a coffee mug from his desk, and poured himself a drink. "Since you're staying, temporarily, don't touch my stuff."
"I wasn't planning to."
"And don't mess with the thermostat. I like the room cold."
"I like the room livable."
"Well, it's my thermostat."
She exhaled sharply. "You're unbelievable."
He lifted his cup in mock toast. "Thank you."
Ten minutes later, Tara was trying to make her bed in the corner furthest from him. She could feel his gaze flick toward her occasionally, assessing, amused, condescending. She ignored it.
Until he said, "So what's your major? Charity work?"
She froze mid-sheet-tuck. "What?"
"Scholarship students usually pick something noble. Social work, education, saving the world and all that."
She turned slowly. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough," he said, sipping his coffee. "You're here on a scholarship. Which means you're smart, hardworking, and perpetually broke."
Her jaw clenched. "And you're here because your dad donated a building."
"Two buildings," he corrected.
Something inside her snapped. "Do you ever listen to yourself talk?"
He grinned. "Occasionally. I sound great."
That was it. Tara grabbed her travel mug from her suitcase, poured in the last of the lukewarm coffee she'd carried since the airport, and took a steadying sip.
She needed caffeine to survive this man.
But fate or karma had other plans.
He brushed past her, heading for his side of the room, and her elbow bumped the cup. The brown liquid flew in slow motion — straight across his hoodie.
"Oh my God!" she gasped.
He stared down at himself, disbelief turning into irritation. "Did you just"
"It was an accident!"
"You ruined my hoodie!"
"It's a hoodie, not the Mona Lisa!"
"It's limited edition!"
Tara grabbed a tissue and tried blotting, which somehow made it worse. He stepped back, glaring. "Don't touch it. You've done enough."
"Fine!" she snapped. "I'll pay for your stupid hoodie."
He laughed, short and cruel. "With what? Your scholarship funds?"
Her chest tightened. "You're an ass."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "And you're in my room."
They stared at each other tension thick enough to choke on.
Finally, Tara snatched her pillow, marched to the couch by the window, and threw it down. "I'll sleep here."
"Good," he said, grabbing a new hoodie from his closet. "Try not to spill anything else."
As he disappeared into the bathroom, Tara let out a long, shaky breath. Welcome to Northgate, Tara. You've officially met Satan.
Hours later, the room was dark except for the glow of city lights through the blinds. Tara lay awake, every muscle tense, listening to the faint hum of his computer and the soft rhythm of his breathing across the room.
She couldn't believe this was her life.
She'd worked her entire existence to get here, top grades, sleepless nights, endless applications only to end up sharing a dorm with the son of the university's owner.
Because of course he was.
Liam Kingsley. She'd overheard someone in the hallway mention him earlier Northgate's golden boy, heir to Kingsley Enterprises, rumored to have his own wing in the administration building.
She turned her face into the pillow and groaned quietly. "Perfect."
Across the room, his voice came, calm and lazy: "Talking to yourself already?"
Tara froze. "You're awake?"
"I don't sleep before three."
"Of course you don't."
A pause. Then, unexpectedly, he said, "You snore?"
"What no!"
"Good. That would've been a deal-breaker."
She bit back a retort. "Deal-breaker for what? You planning to date your roommate?"
He chuckled softly. "You wish, scholarship girl."
Tara clenched her fists under the blanket.
She'd survive this. She had to. Scholarships weren't forever, but dignity was.
Still, as she stared at the ceiling, one thought refused to leave her mind:
How do you coexist with someone you already want to strangle?
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the blinds. Tara stretched, bleary-eyed, and reached for her phone.
A notification blinked on her screen, University Housing Update: Room Change Request Approved.
Relief flooded her. She grinned. "Finally."
But when she turned her head, Liam was leaning against the doorframe, freshly showered, towel draped around his neck, smirk firmly in place.
"Bad news, scholarship girl," he said. "The housing office just called me too."
Tara frowned. "And?"
"They said the glitch's been fixed." He tossed her an envelope. "We're officially registered as permanent roommates."
She stared, frozen.
He winked. "Guess you're stuck with me."