We sit at a student café in Santerra—right outside, under a light awning that barely shields us from the sun. I hold a cup of coffee that's too hot, like my thoughts, and a pastry that I, Victoria Montreux, haven't touched for five minutes now. I just hold the fork, forgetting it's there.
Giselle sits across from me. She swings her leg, scoops cream with her spoon, and smiles as if the entire world exists today just for her.
I love this moment.
After running. After lectures. After noise—just people.
Passersby.
Faces.
Stories they don't even know they're telling.
"Look," I say, nodding toward a woman walking past. "See her?"
She's about forty. Straight-backed, quick stride. Her coat is buttoned too tightly for this weather. Tired eyes. The corners of her mouth turned down, as if her face has forgotten what a smile looks like.
"She's clearly unhappy with her life," I continue. "Too much control. Too little joy."
Giselle narrows her eyes, studying the woman like a painting in a museum.
"I think she's taken on too much," she says thoughtfully. "Work, family, responsibility. Carrying everything alone. And no one ever says thank you."
I nod.
"She has children," I add. "And they disappoint her. Not on purpose, but constantly. And with her husband…" I pause. "The intimacy ended a long time ago. They live next to each other, not together."
Giselle lets out a quiet laugh.
"It's creepy how you see that."
"I just listen to what people scream in silence," I shrug.
I take a sip of coffee and, as if casually, add:
"And one more thing… I think you, Giselle, are in love with Finn."
A pause.
"Victoria!" She blushes, laughs, and throws a napkin at me. "You're impossible!"
"Then I hit the mark," I grin.
She leans closer, lowers her voice, but there's excitement in her eyes.
"And you know what?" she says. "Alex is in love with you. And Sebastian too."
She pauses.
"But you break their hearts with your icy indifference."
"They don't impress me," I answer honestly, poking at the pastry. "Too… predictable."
Giselle studies me more carefully.
"And Theo," she says more quietly, "is crazy about you. And you definitely broke his heart."
Giselle freezes.
The name hooks somewhere inside—unpleasant, but undeniable.
"He chose his own role," she says after a pause. "I never promised anyone anything."
"But you know how they look at you," I say gently. "And sometimes that's enough to destroy someone."
She looks away. Toward the street. Toward new passersby. Toward new stories.
Reading people is easy.
Not hurting them while staying yourself—that's much harder.
I lift my cup, take the last sip, and suddenly realize:
This calm is deceptive.
Too many looks.
Too many feelings.
And something tells me—
very soon, this game will stop being innocent.
**
We barely have time to finish our coffee when a shadow falls across the table.
I look up—and my heart makes a strange, sharp leap.
Theo and Sebastian.
Where do you even come from?
As if someone summons them through an internal alarm system: "Victoria nearby. Immediate arrival required."
"Hey, girls," Sebastian says.
He doesn't take his eyes off me. Not for a second. He looks at me as if I'm the only thing keeping him tethered to this day.
Theo, meanwhile, locks his gaze onto Giselle. And there is nothing light in that look. There is expectation there. Demand. Almost greed.
After the Angel Club.
After the boxing match.
After blood.
Suddenly, I feel deeply uneasy.
"What do you want?" Giselle snaps, narrowing her eyes. Her voice carries defense, not aggression.
"We're classmates," Sebastian says quickly. "And friends. Can we sit with you?"
He drills his gaze into me, as if the answer depends not on words, but on my breathing.
I nod first. Politely. Too politely.
"Sit down."
Giselle shoots me an annoyed look but stays silent.
The guys sit—and freeze.
Too quiet. Too tense. Like the air before a storm.
"I really took down that rich jerk Finn," Theo suddenly announces with pride, never taking his eyes off Giselle. "You saw it, right?"
He's waiting for approval.
Praise.
Gratitude.
Recognition.
"You broke his nose," Giselle replies coldly. "And honestly… you're acting like idiots."
"We're not idiots!" Sebastian cuts in sharply. "You're good girls. We're protecting you."
And he places his hand on mine.
For a split second, everything inside me tightens. Not from fear—but from a boundary he has just crossed without asking.
Carefully, but unmistakably, I free myself from his touch.
"Why," I ask calmly, looking Sebastian straight in the eyes, "do you think we need protecting?"
He falters. Truly. His shoulders drop, his eyes dart away.
I understand then: they're in love. In their own way. Rough. Clumsy.
But my heart doesn't take orders. And I certainly don't.
"We want you to be safe," Theo says, still staring at Giselle. "To be able to rely on us."
"But I feel good with Finn," Giselle answers firmly. "And I'm completely safe."
Theo stiffens. I see his jaw twitch.
"Maybe you've fallen for that Finn?" he asks, irritation creeping into his voice.
"Maybe I have," Giselle says calmly. "Don't try to save us."
A pause.
"You can be a friend. But nothing more."
Those words land like a blow.
I see it in Theo—how his gaze darkens, how his hands clench into fists.
And then—sudden movement.
He knocks over Giselle's cup of coffee.
Brown liquid spills across the table. Over the napkins. Over my nerves.
We jump to our feet.
I catch Theo's look—and this time, I'm genuinely afraid.
There is rage in his eyes. Not a flash. Something deeper. More dangerous.
"I'm sorry," Sebastian suddenly says. Too fast. Too frightened. "Let's go."
He grabs Theo by the sleeve, and they leave without looking back.
We remain standing there.
"What was that?.." Giselle whispers, stunned.
I exhale slowly.
"That was Theo's infatuation," I say quietly. "And it can be very dangerous."
I look at her.
"He's obsessed with you, Giselle."
"Great. Very comforting," she snorts nervously. "Some protectors…"
She looks toward the place where they disappeared.
"So how am I supposed to protect myself from him?" she laughs, but the laugh is brittle, nervous.
I meet her eyes and, for the first time, don't try to soften the truth.
"You can't," I say. "He won't back off now."
She stops smiling.
"I have a plan," I add.
And in that very second, I understand:
this story is no longer about attraction,
not about love,
not even about choice.
It's about obsession.
And it's only just beginning.