Anna Vale was speed-walking through the English department hallway, hugging a stack of essays to her chest like they were fragile treasure. She was already running late, and Professor Alden was not known for his patience.
She turned the corner. And crashed straight into someone. The impact knocked the essays out of her hands, papers drifting everywhere like panicked butterflies.
"I'm so sorry—" Anna dropped to her knees to gather them, mortified.
A calm, controlled voice answered, "No harm done."
She looked up. The man in front of her didn't look like he belonged in a university hallway at all. Tall. Sharp and Expensive suite. A face carved with too much precision and eyes the color of cold steel. He studied her with a stillness that made her heartbeat trip over itself.
He crouched and picked up a few of her papers. "You were in quite a hurry."
"I have a submission," she said quickly, taking the essays back. "I wasn't watching where I was going."
A small hint of a smile tugged at his mouth—not warm, but observant. "Clearly."
Before Anna could ask who he was, Professor Alden stepped out of his office.
"Ah, Mr. Drake," he said, looking pleasantly surprised. "Good to see you back on campus. I hope you weren't greeted too violently."
Anna blinked. "Mr. Drake?"
Professor Alden continued, "Anna, this is Vincent Drake. One of our most distinguished former students."
And just like that, everything clicked. Vincent Drake—the CEO. The billionaire. The man whose name lived on business magazines and TED Talks. The one every Harvard professor seemed strangely proud of.
Anna's eye's flickered. Vincent stood, hands in his pockets now, effortlessly composed. His gaze returned to her, more focused this time.
"So," he said quietly, "Anna Vale." He said her name like he was memorising it.
Anna tried to smile, tried to pretend she hadn't just body-checked a billionaire in a hallway.
"Nice to meet you," she managed.
Vincent's eyes didn't leave hers. "Likewise," he said. "Quite an introduction."
The hallway seemed to shrink around Anna as she clutched her stack of essays tighter. Her heartbeat raced. Vincent Drake was still standing there, tall, composed, and impossibly focused, like he was analyzing her in ways no one else could.
Professor Alden cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Mr. Drake, I'm glad you could make it. I assume you remember where my office is?" he said, sounding proud, as if he'd personally crafted this moment.
"Of course," Vincent replied smoothly, his low voice barely audible, but it made Anna's pulse hitch.
Turning to her, Alden continued, "Anna, you can submit your essays after my meeting with Mr. Drake. Take a seat in the lounge for now."
Anna nodded, barely able to process the instructions. Her thoughts were scattered.
Alden gestured toward his office. "Mr. Drake, come in. We'll talk." Vincent nodded once.
But before following Alden inside, he looked back at Anna. "I'll finish this conversation later." Then he walked into the office, leaving Anna standing in the hallway like someone had unplugged her brain.
Fifteen minutes later, the office door opened again. Vincent stepped out first, his expression polished back into CEO-neutral. No trace of the softer flicker she'd glimpsed earlier.
Alden followed. "Anna, your submission."
She handed him the essays. Vincent stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, watching her with that same unreadable steadiness — calculating, curious, almost like he was trying to file her in the correct category. When she finished speaking to Alden, she turned to go.
Vincent's voice cut through the hall. "Miss Vale." She turned. He approached, his steps confident but unhurried.
"You're an English major," he said quietly.
"Yes," she replied, blinking.
His eyes flicked to the crumpled edges of her manuscripts. "You take it seriously."
Not a question but an observation.
"I try," she said, her voice soft. "It's what I want to do long-term."
"You write," he said, nodding toward her essays. "Professor Alden mentioned it."
Anna blinked. "Uh—yes."
"What kind of writing?" he asked.
"Fiction," she answered. "Novels, maybe. I'm still figuring it out."
Vincent's eyes didn't waver. "If you weren't capable, Professor Alden wouldn't have mentioned your name." Anna's stomach fluttered. That wasn't just a compliment. It was precise, almost clinical acknowledgment of her potential.
He shifted slightly, hands in his coat pockets. "Sit. You look tense."
"I—I'm fine," she stammered.
"You're trembling," he said flatly. Her cheeks warmed. "Maybe a little."
"Relax," he said, his tone softening just a touch. "I don't bite."
The irony of a billionaire telling her to relax wasn't lost on her. Anna hesitated, then sank into the nearest chair, still clutching the edges of her essays. Vincent leaned casually against the wall, one foot crossed in front of the other, observing her with that unnervingly calm precision.
"You're not what I expected from one of Alden's protégés," he said finally, the faintest curve of a smile tugging at his lips.
Anna blinked. "Is that… good?"
"Potentially," he said, as if that answered everything and nothing at all.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward—it was charged. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, and she realized how little space she wanted between them, even though she had no idea why.
Alden's voice interrupted from inside the office. "Vincent, I'll see you in the boardroom in a few hours. We have a tight schedule."
Vincent straightened and gave her one last glance. "Don't go far," he said softly.
Anna's stomach fluttered at the command—soft, deliberate, and completely devoid of politeness. She nodded mutely, unsure how to respond.
Once Vincent disappeared into the office, she allowed herself to exhale. Her hands still trembled slightly as she placed her essays on the table in front of her, smoothing the edges with care.
She thought she could finally relax, but the calm was deceptive. The hallway felt emptier, quieter, yet somehow Vincent's presence lingered in her mind. She couldn't explain why one glance had made her heart speed up, why the idea of him walking away seemed… impossible.
She picked up her phone and tried to scroll aimlessly through emails, but her thoughts kept circling back to him.
Footsteps echoed down the hall. She looked up reflexively. Vincent was back, this time standing a few feet away, hands still tucked in his coat pockets, leaning slightly against the doorway.
"I promised I'd finish our conversation," he said, his voice low, even.
Anna swallowed. "Oh… right."
He moved closer, carefully closing the gap between them, yet maintaining a professional distance. "Tell me—why fiction?" he asked. "Why novels?"
She blinked, taken aback by the sudden depth of his question. "Because… I like creating worlds," she said slowly, choosing her words. "I like exploring people, possibilities… things that don't exist yet but could."
Vincent tilted his head, eyes never leaving hers. "And you think you're good at it?"
"I… I'm trying to be," she admitted, cheeks warming. "I don't know if I am, really."
A brief pause. He seemed to weigh something carefully. "Potential isn't just talent," he said finally. "It's discipline, a focus, a persistence. You have all of that, whether you realize it or not."
Anna's chest tightened. His words carried authority, but also… validation. That rare mix that left her feeling exposed yet grounded at the same time. "You see a lot," she murmured, almost before thinking.
"I notice," he corrected softly. "And I remember."
She swallowed again. "Why… why are you so interested in me?"
Vincent let out the faintest of sighs, as if her question was both expected and inconvenient. "Interest isn't the right word," he said finally. "Let's call it… curiosity. You're different from the usual student I encounter. You think, you create, you push boundaries. That… matters."
Anna felt a shiver run down her spine. The attention, the precision of his words—it was thrilling and terrifying all at once.
"Relax," he said suddenly, breaking the tension. His tone was lighter this time, almost teasing. "Or at least try to. You look like you're about to explode."
"I—I'm not," she said quickly, though her pulse betrayed her.
"Clearly," he said, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips again.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the hallway shrinking around them, the world outside fading. Neither moved, neither spoke, yet the silence said more than words ever could.
Finally, Vincent straightened fully. "I have a meeting," he said, though there was no hurry in his steps. "But I'll see you soon."
Anna nodded mutely, though inside she felt the weight of the promise, the certainty behind it, and the sudden, irrational pull to see him again.
He turned and walked toward the office, leaving her alone.
Alone—but not empty.
Her hands still trembled as she clutched her essays. Something had shifted, something unspoken had passed between them. And deep down, she knew this wasn't the last time she would see Vincent Drake in a hallway at Harvard—or anywhere else.
Here's a clean, direct continuation — keeping Anna sharp, self-aware, and absolutely not stupid. Still tense, still charged, still Wattpad-coded.
Anna gathered her things more calmly this time, grounding herself with a steady breath. She wasn't about to let a powerful man—no matter how dangerously composed—turn her into someone who didn't know how to function.
She stood, smoothed her sweater, and straightened her posture.
If Vincent Drake noticed her trembling before, he wouldn't now.
She headed toward the exit of the English department, her steps steady. The moment felt surreal, but she forced herself to stay present. She had class, deadlines, a life. She wasn't going to orbit around a CEO with a too-intense stare.
But even as she walked, her mind replayed every second of the encounter in crisp detail.
His gaze, his questions. The way he said I'll see you soon like it wasn't up for debate.
She pushed open the doors to the courtyard, letting the sharp breeze cool her flushed skin. The campus buzzed around her—students chatting, professors hurrying, bicycles rattling on the path. Normal life resumed instantly.
"Good! This is how the life of a student suppose to be" She exclaimed.
Before she could take more than a few steps, her phone buzzed. She glanced down.
A text from Professor Alden.
Alden:Anna, please make sure to attend the keynote evening lecture. Mr. Drake is speaking. I want you there.
Anna blinked.Of course the universe—or Alden—would not cut the thread cleanly.
She typed back quickly: Anna:Yes, Professor. I'll be there.
She locked her phone, jaw tight with a mix of nerves and irritation. She wasn't stupid; she could read between lines. Alden was pushing something. A connection? An opportunity? A test? She didn't know.
But she knew this: she wanted control of her story, not to be swept up in someone else's.
She made her way to her next class, head down but mind sharp. If Vincent Drake wanted a conversation later, she'd meet him without shaking hands or scattered thoughts.
She'd be composed, clear and focused.
By the time the evening lecture rolled around, the auditorium was buzzing with students and faculty. Cameras, lights, murmurs—everyone knew who the guest speaker was. Anna took a seat halfway up the center row—good view, not too obvious.
She pulled out her notebook—not because she was nervous, but because she always took notes during important talks. Vincent Drake was relevant, brilliant, and controversial in the business world. Beyond whatever bizarre tension existed between them, he was genuinely worth studying.
The lights dimmed. Conversations softened.
A spotlight switched on. And Vincent Drake stepped onto the stage. He looked different here—more controlled, more powerful, like this environment belonged to him. His suit was darker than earlier, his expression unreadable as he scanned the room.
He didn't look for her. Not immediately. But halfway through his introduction, his gaze swept the audience—and caught hers. Just for a second, a little flicker. He didn't smile. He didn't break rhythm. He just saw her and continued speaking like nothing happened.
If her pulse jumped, at least no one else noticed.
His keynote was smooth, precise, and impossibly charismatic. He talked about innovation, discipline, creative problem-solving—the stuff that filled business textbooks but sounded different coming from him. He spoke with a certainty that demanded attention.
Anna wrote, even while her mind replayed the moment their eyes met. When he ended the lecture, the applause was thunderous. Students rushed for photos and autographs. Professors approached with practiced admiration. Anna remained in her seat. Not hiding just observing. He finished shaking hands, exchanged a few words with Alden, and stepped away from the crowd.
Then—purposefully—he walked up the aisle.
Straight toward her. Her heart kicked once, hard, but she kept her expression calm. He stopped at her row, hands in his pockets, the faint angled tilt of his head returning.
"Miss Vale." His voice was low, but she didn't shrink.
She met his gaze, steady. "Mr. Drake."
They held eye contact, charged but controlled. "You listened," he said, nodding at her notebook.
"I always listen," she replied. "Especially when the speaker has something worth saying."
That earned the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. He stepped closer—not invading, just narrowing the space with intent. "Good. Because I'm not done saying things to you yet."
Anna inhaled slowly. "What exactly does that mean?"
"It means," he said, leaning just a fraction forward, "that our conversation isn't finished."
Anna closed her notebook with calm hands. "Then ask your next question."
His eyes held hers—steady, curious, unsettlingly focused.
"Coffee," he said. "Tomorrow. After your morning class."
Not a question rather a statement. Her lips parted—slightly, not in shock, but in consideration.
She wasn't stupid. She wasn't starstruck. She wasn't about to hand her schedule to a billionaire stranger just because he had a compelling voice.
So she answered clearly, firmly: "I'll decide by tomorrow."
That made him pause. Just a little. Then something flickered—approval, maybe.
"Good," Vincent murmured. "I prefer people who think."
He stepped back, giving her space again, though his gaze lingered a moment longer.
"Tomorrow, then," he said. Not a command this time but an invitation.
He walked away. Anna exhaled, steady and grounded. Not overwhelmed. Just aware…
…that whatever this was, it had officially begun.