REYNA

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EVANDER GABRIEL is kissing me!

Not figuratively. Literally!

And the worst part?

I think he knows exactly who I am.

~~~

A few minutes ago…

The dormitory hallway buzzed with the sound of gossip, hushed yet loud enough to make my blood boil over with anger.

Two girls were huddled in a corner.

The shorter one whispered, “I heard Varna tried to seduce one of the professors to get him to boost her grades… but he rejected her, and that’s why she dropped out.”

The other girl burst into a ripple of cruel giggles.

I froze mid-step. My grip on my dorm key tightened until the metal edges dug into my palm, creating marks.

My hands shook. My heart squeezed into my ribs.

They didn’t know her. Not the real her.

Not the girl who stayed up all night watching Gilmore Girls, the girl who loved paal cake to death.

And now they had reduced her to a filthy rumor?

By the time I reached my door, my chest burned with fury. I just wanted to get inside, slam it shut, and scream into my pillow.

But the key just wouldn’t fit.

I shoved it again. And again. But each time, it scraped uselessly against the lock.

Then, out of nowhere, a deep, gravelly voice came from behind me:

“Funny…” he said, “…I’ve heard things about you.”

I spun around.

Evander Gabriel stood there, hands in his hoodie pockets, hood shadowing that stupidly magnetic face.

My pulse jumped.

Did he know?

“Th… things?” My voice cracked. “What things?”

He gave me a lopsided smile, the kind that said he was holding cards I couldn't see.

“I won’t tell,” he murmured as he shook his hood off. “But on top of that, you’re trying to break in now, sweetie.”

The word “sweetie” landed in my stomach. Badly.

“What do you want?” I asked in a voice so steely, it could have ripped his charming face right off.

He grinned. “Aside from trying to get into my room…” His eyes skimmed over me, shameless. “…maybe your number.”

My stomach twisted with disgust.

If he knew my real reason for being here and was still flirting, then he was trying to play me.

And if he didn’t… then he was still the same snake who thrived on power games and using women.

For a flicker of a second, I saw Varna again, brown eyes sparkling, feet propped on the cafeteria chair, laughing so hard she snorted.

I blinked, and the image went away.

Evander's words registered fully in my head.

“Wait, you said your room?”

“Yes love.”

“Don’t call me that.” I hissed, turned around, and tried to open the door, but it still wouldn't budge.

Suddenly, I felt warmth and big hands on mine. Evander's.

“Baby,” he said, “...if you want us to move to the bedroom, I have the keys.”

I snatched my hands away like his touch was a match that had burned to the tip.

A chuckle left his lips. Throaty and attractive, but for the monster he is.

He slipped a key into the lock and opened it in one clean turn.

“This is 32, my room. That,” he said, pointing across the hall, “is 23, your room.”

My eyes widened, realizing my mistake and worse, my fate.

A groan rose in my chest, eventually coming out as a mutter. “Great. They gave me the room directly across from you, of all people.”

His smile dropped and his eyes narrowed. “You knew me before.”

It wasn't a question. It was a statement that made my eyes go wide and my heart double over in my chest.

Shit. Slip up.

As quickly as I could, I cleared my throat, calmed my breathing, and looked him in the eye.

“Your reputation precedes you, Evander Gabriel,” I said calmly.

His mouth curved into an amused smile. “And so does your beauty, Reyna Davidson.”

I narrowed my eyes, filing away his tone, his posture, and the way his gaze lingered like he was mapping me.

Fine. If he wanted to play, I’d make him think he was winning.

I stepped closer, tilted my head, and lowered my voice like a twenty-first-century Marilyn Monroe.

“Don’t you think it’s too early in the season to be asking around about a girl, Captain?”

His eyes sharpened, studying me the way a wolf sizes up whether the prey will run or bite back.

I let my wavy ginger hair fall over my shoulders, close enough for him to smell the faint trace of my perfume.

My looks are the one good thing I got from my parents. My mother's amber eyes that shine almost golden in the sun. My father's ginger hair with a blonde streak in the front. And both their freckles, dusting my nose and cheeks.

I’ll be damned if I don't use all these to milk Evander Gabriel in.

Inch by inch, I leaned in to him, our breaths mingling, our noses almost touching.

Letting him think something sweet was coming. Letting him relax, let down his guard, and lean in, his ice-blue eyes dilating in anticipation.

Just when he tilted his head, about to go in for the kill, I pulled back with a calm sigh. “Not every girl wants to kiss you, Evander.”

He smirked, like I’d set him up for his own punchline. “Oh, but deep down, you know you do.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not my type.”

Immediately those words left my lips, I knew I’d hit him in the guts.

For a split second, something dark flickered in his eyes. My words were a bruise to his ego.

I smiled internally.

But just as fast, he masked it under a smug grin.

“I am everybody’s type.”

As I was about to reply, a singsong, female voice called from around the corner: “Evander…?”

A girl my age appeared wearing very revealing clothes.

Immediately he saw her, Evander's hand grabbed my waist and his body closed the space between us.

His lips were on mine, before I could react.

~~~

Now.

I gasp, stumbling back into the wall as his lips press firmly into mine.

His scent—clean, expensive, masculine—crashes into me. His mouth moves, slowly but with deliberacy, not romance. Like this too, is a move on his chessboard.

No. I can’t let this happen.

But then his arms slip fully around my waist, pulling me in, deepening the kiss. Heat licks at my skin.

Reyna! What are you doing?!

He pauses, just enough for his lips to brush mine as he murmurs huskily, “You’re a good liar, Reyna. But not better than me.”

My eyes go wide. The words hit harder than the kiss.

Then, without giving me space to breathe, he claims my mouth again.

My brain screams at me to shove him away.

But my body betrays me, cataloguing the warmth, the press, the rhythm—

And I have no idea if I have already botched my plans before they even began.