"You're not supposed to be here."
The voice was deep. Controlled. Dangerous.
It came from the shadows behind her—low enough to whisper, sharp enough to pierce.
Calla Hart froze.
Her hand was still on the doorknob of Room C in Blackstone University's oldest building—the one she wasn't even sure students were allowed in. She'd only come here because the library map was too confusing and her phone had no signal.
Of course, she thought. I get lost on my first week. Classic Calla.
She turned slowly.
And that's when she saw him.
Leaning against the opposite wall like he had all the time in the world. One hand in his pocket. The other holding a cigarette he hadn't lit. His dark, fitted shirt hugged a body sculpted like sin itself. Sharp cheekbones, a jaw that looked carved from stone, and cold, steel-gray eyes that locked onto hers like crosshairs.
Alessio Romano.
She knew the name. Everyone at Blackstone knew the name.
Rumors followed him like shadows.
They said he didn't just own the biggest penthouse off-campus—he owned half the people in it.
They said his family was untouchable. His enemies disappeared.
And they said, most of all, to never get in his way.
Calla had hoped those were just stories.
Now, staring into his eyes, she wasn't so sure.
"I—I was just looking for the library," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "The map said—"
He pushed off the wall and began walking toward her, slow and smooth, like a lion circling prey.
"Do I look like a bookshelf to you?" he asked, raising a brow.
Calla's back hit the doorframe. She hadn't realized she'd been stepping backward until then. Her fingers gripped her phone inside her jacket pocket, though she knew it wouldn't do her any good.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
Then she heard it.
Voices.
Coming from inside the room behind her.
Men. Speaking in low, harsh tones. A table being hit. A bag being unzipped. The distinct metallic clink of a gun.
Her blood ran cold.
She wasn't supposed to hear that. She wasn't supposed to be here.
"I didn't see anything," she said quickly. "I swear. I didn't mean to—I'll leave right now—"
"You opened the door."
His voice was softer now. But it didn't feel gentle. It felt… final.
"You already saw too much."
He took one more step toward her. Close enough that she could smell the faint spice of his cologne, see the tension in his jaw.
Calla held her breath.
"What are you going to do?" she whispered.
He leaned in, his mouth dangerously close to her ear.
His voice was like velvet laced with a blade.
"That depends on what kind of girl you are."
---
Silence fell.
The voices behind the door grew quieter. Someone had noticed. Someone was coming.
Alessio's eyes flicked toward the hallway, then back to her.
"You have three seconds to decide, scholarship girl," he said, eyes narrowing.
"Decide what?" Calla whispered.
He reached out and grabbed her wrist—not hard, but firm—and pulled her away from the door just as it opened behind them.
A large man in a black coat stepped out, his eyes darting to Calla immediately.
Alessio smirked.
"She's with me," he said coldly. "Problem?"
The man froze. His eyes dropped to the wrist Alessio still held, and after a tense pause, he gave a nod and disappeared back inside.
Calla barely breathed until the door slammed shut again.
Alessio didn't let go.
"You just entered a world you don't belong to," he murmured, finally releasing her.
She stumbled back, confused, scared, and furious all at once.
"I didn't ask to be in your world," she snapped, straightening her backpack. "I was just trying to find the damn library!"
He chuckled, a dangerous sound. "Then consider this your first lesson."
She glared at him. "Lesson in what?"
He stepped forward again, his eyes dropping to her lips before rising slowly back to hers.
"Survival."
---
She stormed away down the hall, not daring to look back.
But if she had… she would've seen him still watching her.
Smirking. Curious.
And she would've heard what he whispered to himself.
"Interesting."