Cora tried her best to ignore the unsettling sensation prickling the back of her neck as Professor Graves cast another peculiar smile in her direction. There was something off about him, something in the way his lips curled, stretching just a little too wide, as if he knew something she didn't.
"Is it just me, or does this guy's smile look like he's plotting our untimely deaths?" Amelia muttered, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.
Cora exhaled slowly. "You're not the only one."
Despite the gnawing discomfort, she forced herself to focus on the lecture. But it was hard—especially when she felt the professor's gaze flickering back to her every so often, like he was watching her, studying her.
The moment the lesson ended, Cora wasted no time slipping out with Amelia before Professor Graves could so much as glance in her direction.
They barely made it a few steps down the hallway when Amelia suddenly frowned, her eyes locking onto a familiar figure. Leonard stood at the end of the corridor with Maximilian and Damien, his sharp profile as unreadable as ever. A strange feeling tugged at Amelia's mind—like déjà vu, as if she had met him yesterday. But that couldn't be possible… right?
Before she could dwell on the thought, a deep, confident voice cut through the air.
"Hello, babe."
Cora's entire body stiffened.
Damien.
The way he called her that so shamelessly made heat rush to her face. And, as if he were perfectly aware of the effect he had on her, he smirked, closing the distance between them with smooth, unhurried strides.
The students around them stopped and stared, already accustomed to the strange dynamic between them, yet still entertained by the way the infamous Damien Ravenscroft always seemed to claim Cora as his own.
Before she could react, Damien pulled her into a possessive hug, his warmth wrapping around her like an inescapable trap.
"Must you show off like this in front of everyone?" Cora whispered, cheeks burning.
Damien leaned down, his breath brushing against the shell of her ear. "Of course," he murmured, smug amusement dripping from every syllable. "How else will they know you're mine?"
Cora rolled her eyes, but her heart betrayed her, hammering against her ribs.
"I want to show you something."
The way he said it sent a shiver down her spine.
Before she could protest, Damien's fingers laced through hers, guiding her away. Amelia—who had been grinning like a proud best friend—watched them go, momentarily forgetting her self-imposed mission to assess whether Damien deserved Cora.
Damien led her toward the west wing of the school—a place explicitly marked as off-limits.
Cora hesitated at the threshold, glancing over her shoulder. "Damien… this place was literally banned when they gave us the rules. Are you sure we won't get into trouble?"
He didn't even slow down. "That would be the case if we were caught," he mused, eyes gleaming with mischief. "But since we won't, there's no problem."
Cora bit her lip, unease settling in her stomach.
The building before them was nothing short of extravagant. Though it had the aged elegance of a forgotten palace, its grandeur hadn't faded. The intricate carvings, the towering archways—it felt like something from another era, whispering secrets through the cracks of its abandoned halls.
"For an old place, it sure looks lavish," Cora murmured, trailing her fingers over the cold, dust-covered railing.
Damien shot her a knowing look. "Looks can be deceiving, little bird."
They stepped further inside, and the air changed. It thickened, grew heavier, as if the walls themselves were watching. The deeper they ventured, the more ominous it became. The hallways stretched in eerie silence, the kind that made footsteps sound louder than they should.
"I-I think we should turn back," Cora whispered. She wasn't one to believe in ghost stories, but Oscar Island University hadn't banned this place for no reason.
Damien, of course, only chuckled.
His fingers brushed against an old wooden door before pushing it open. The room inside was filled with portraits—ancient and untouched by time. Their eyes, painted with meticulous detail, seemed to follow her every move.
A particular portrait caught her attention. A woman, dressed in regal elegance, her features strikingly familiar.
Cora stepped closer.
"Where have I seen her before?" she murmured, reaching out.
Her fingers brushed against the frame, but the instant she touched it, something sharp sliced into her skin.
A sharp hiss left her lips as blood welled up, a crimson drop rolling down her palm.
Damien was in front of her in an instant.
"How come you're hurt?" His voice, usually laced with arrogance, softened as he took her hand.
Before she could reply, he lifted it to his lips and—without hesitation—dragged his tongue over the wound.
Cora's breath hitched.
His eyes locked onto hers, the action deliberate, slow, and entirely too intimate. Her skin burned where his tongue traced, and heat crawled up her neck.
Damien smirked.
"Your blood is quite… precious," he murmured, his voice low and smooth, like silk laced with poison. "A rare taste. I wouldn't let a single drop fall without giving it the significance it deserves."
His words curled around her like smoke, dark and intoxicating.
For a split second, his irises gleamed a deep, unnatural crimson, his fangs lengthening—before it was gone, vanishing as if it had never happened.
Unbeknownst to them, the blood that had dripped onto the portrait glowed faintly before being absorbed into nothingness.
A shadow slithered through the empty hallway, unseen, unheard. And then—just as quickly—it was gone.
Far from the west wing, a lavish yacht docked at the island.
A man in a pristine black suit stepped onto the shore, his posture rigid as he stretched out a hand.
A blonde girl took it, stepping down with effortless grace. Her sunglasses shielded her eyes, but the air around her screamed wealth, power, and trouble.
Roseline.
The only daughter of one of the most powerful ministers in the country.
Meanwhile, Amelia still couldn't shake the strange feeling lingering in her chest. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Leonard's retreating figure.
"Why do I have the feeling that we met yesterday?"
Leonard halted. His head turned slightly, his cold gaze meeting hers with unmasked disinterest.
"And why," he drawled, "would I meet you?"
Amelia scowled.
Undeterred, she marched after him. "So you're saying we didn't?"
Leonard let out a sigh—one of pure irritation. "Stop following me."
His glare was icy, rooting her in place.
Maximilian, who had been watching silently, threw Leonard a glance before following after him.
Amelia scoffed.
"That uncooked, cold iceberg! The nerve to talk to me like that!" She huffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Does he even know who I am?"
She turned, only to find students secretly recording her little outburst. The moment she caught them, they scurried away like frightened mice.
Maximilian chuckled under his breath. "You could've gone easier on her. That was harsh."
Leonard didn't even bother replying.
At the administration office, the dean eyed Roseline with mild wariness.
"I didn't expect you to come after missing the first two weeks," the dean admitted.
Roseline barely spared her a glance. "I had a last-minute change of mind. Decided this was more… interesting than homeschooling."
Her eyes flickered to the university's looming buildings.
The ominous aura, the secrets, the darkness lurking beneath its surface.
Yes, this was exactly the kind of place she wanted to be.
The dean sighed. "Since your arrival was unannounced, you'll need to wait a while before we arrange a room. The dorms are full."
Roseline smiled, but it was anything but sweet.
"I'm sure you'll manage."