Afternoon, 2:30 PM – Portland State University, Stella's Classroom
The classroom buzzed with the low hum of students scribbling notes and flipping textbook pages. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the desks. Stella sat near the back, her chin propped on her hand, staring blankly at her notebook. Her usual spark was dim, her starry eyes clouded with thoughts of the previous night. The red mark on her cheek, though faint, still stung under her fingertips when she brushed it absentmindedly.
The professor, a wiry man with a penchant for dramatic lectures, paced at the front, his voice rising and falling as he dissected a poem. He paused mid-sentence, his eyes landing on Stella. Her silence was louder than the chatter of the room. He adjusted his glasses and leaned forward, his tone teasing but warm.
"Hey, Stella, why are you so quiet today?" he called out, drawing a few curious glances from her classmates. "I'm feeling bored up here, you know. You're usually my spark—interact with me! When you're silent, this class feels like a graveyard."
A ripple of laughter spread through the room. Stella blinked, snapped out of her reverie, and flashed a small, sheepish smile. She didn't say a word, just tilted her head slightly, her lips curving in a way that was more polite than genuine. The professor raised an eyebrow but let it slide, diving back into his lecture with a theatrical sigh.
As the class ended and students shuffled out, Stella lingered, gathering her books slowly. Before she could slip away, her best friends—Ashely, Nancy, Rayan, and Abel—swarmed her desk like a pack of concerned detectives. The five of them had been inseparable since freshman year, their bond forged through late-night study sessions, shared secrets, and Stella's infamous pranks.
"Stella, what's up with you?" Nancy asked, her brows knitting together as she leaned in. "You've been zoned out all day. And what's this?" She pointed at the faint red mark on Stella's cheek, her voice softening with worry.
"Did your aunt hit you?" Rayan cut in, his tone sharp with indignation. He crossed his arms, his protective streak flaring. "That woman's been nothing but trouble."
Stella touched her cheek, her fingers lingering on the mark. She hesitated, then let out a soft laugh, her eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and unease. "No, no, it wasn't Auntie. You guys won't believe this, but… yesterday night, a guy came into my room. A handsome guy. Like, drop-dead gorgeous. He's the one who slapped me. That's where this mark came from."
The group froze, jaws dropping in unison. For a split second, they stared at her, processing the absurdity of her words. Then, as if on cue, they erupted into laughter, clutching their sides and shaking their heads.
"Stella, stop it!" Abel wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "You're killing me with this one."
Ashely, still giggling, pointed a finger at her. "Oh, come on! This is classic Stella. Last night, this girl called me, pretending she was about to end it all—saying she was done with life, the whole drama. I almost fell for it! And now this? A mysterious handsome guy breaking into your room? Nice try, prankster."
Stella's smile faltered, her cheeks flushing. "I'm serious, you guys! I'm not making this up! He climbed onto my balcony, came in, and—" She gestured wildly, reenacting the moment. "He grabbed my drink, slapped me, and told me to go ahead and die if I wanted. Then he just… left. He had these piercing blue eyes, long lashes, sharp nose—everything. I thought it was a dream at first, but this mark? It's real."
Her friends exchanged skeptical glances, their laughter bubbling up again. Nancy patted her shoulder, grinning. "Stella, we love you, but your prankster rep is too strong. A hot guy breaking in to slap you? Sounds like something you'd cook up to mess with us."
"I'm not pranking!" Stella insisted, her voice rising with frustration. But the more she protested, the harder they laughed, their teasing relentless. Ashely slung an arm around her, pulling her into a playful hug.
"Alright, alright, keep your fantasy boyfriend," Ashely said, smirking. "Just don't call me at 2 AM with another fake suicide prank, okay?"
Stella sighed, giving up. She let herself laugh along, her heart still racing with the truth no one believed. As they wandered out of the classroom, chatting and joking, her mind drifted back to those blue eyes, the sting of his hand, and the chilling realization that he'd been real. Too real.
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Afternoon, 3:00 PM – Tonight Enterprises, Aidan's Office
Inside the sleek, glass-walled cabin of Tonight Enterprises, Aidan sat behind his imposing desk, his sharp blue eyes scanning a stack of documents. The office hummed with quiet efficiency, the faint clatter of keyboards drifting in from the open-plan floor outside. His light brown hair was slightly tousled, a sign of the long hours he'd already put in. Despite the pressure, his presence radiated control, every move deliberate.
Druive Ashwood, his trusted assistant, knocked lightly and stepped in, a tablet in hand. His expression was serious, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by focus. "Aidan, about yesterday's call tracking—the new company dealership. Did you get anything useful from it?"
Aidan leaned back in his chair, a faint, calculating smile playing on his lips. "As I expected, they're trying to pull us down. It's a move orchestrated by our prime enemy—Valor."
Druive's eyes narrowed. "Valor himself? Or someone else?"
Aidan's smile tightened, his voice dropping to a low, steely edge. "Not Valor directly. His father."
Nethaan Richard, Aidan's cousin, who'd been quietly reviewing files in the corner, looked up, surprised. "Valor's father? You're sure?"
"Positive," Aidan said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. He stood, pacing to the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the city skyline. "They're playing a long game, but I'm not here for chess. We're ending this now."
He turned sharply, his gaze locking onto Druive. "Stop all dealings with that dealer. Freeze everything—immediately."
Druive nodded, already tapping commands into his tablet. "On it, boss."
Nethaan raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. "You're cutting them off completely? That's a bold move."
Aidan returned to his desk, his smile now a razor's edge. "Bold? No. It's necessary. Valor thinks he can outmaneuver me, but he's about to learn who he's dealing with."
He sat down, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk, his mind already three steps ahead. "Valor…" he murmured, the name laced with both challenge and disdain.
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To be continued…