I always thought college would be loud in the way dramas are loud—
new friends, new dorm, new classes, new chaos.
I didn’t think the chaos would involve blood on the floor of a basement nightclub, a shattered champagne bottle, and the most dangerous man in this city pulling me behind him like I was something… breakable.
But then again, nothing about that night went the way I thought it would.
The music was a living creature—heavy, pulsing, breathing against my ribs as I followed my roommate Amber down the steps into Vault. Neon lights slashed across sweaty bodies, the floor vibrating with bass. People danced like they were trying to forget they existed.
I didn’t come here to dance.
Or drink.
Or… anything.
I only came because Amber begged me.
And because I was weak to her stupid, sparkly eyeshadow and the way she always said, “Come on, Lia. You need to live a little.”
If I had known what kind of “living” she meant, I would’ve locked myself in my dorm and swallowed the key.
“Lia!” Amber yelled over the music. “I just need to talk to someone real quick!”
“Who—?”
But she was already gone, swallowed by the crowd.
Classic.
I hovered at the edge of the dance floor, hugging my bag close, wishing I could become invisible.
Unfortunately, life doesn’t work like that.
Because ten minutes later, Amber’s “someone” turned out to be two guys built like steroid-fueled refrigerators, and they stormed over to me with murder in their eyes.
“You her friend?” one of them growled, grabbing my arm.
I froze, breath caught in my throat. “Wh—what? Amber? She just—she said she’d be right back—”
“She ran with our money. So she pays, or her little friend here pays.”
My stomach dropped into the soles of my shoes.
Amber, what the hell did you do?
“I think you’re mistaken,” I stammered. “I don’t even know what—”
The second guy squeezed my wrist harder. “You’ll come with us.”
No.
No no no. My lungs tightened.
I shouldn’t have come. I should’ve listened to the part of me that hates crowds, hates noise, hates danger. The part of me that’s spent years avoiding anything that even smelled risky.
“I—I’m not going anywhere with you,” I tried, but my voice was barely sound.
The first guy reached for me again—
And then everything froze.
Because someone else’s hand wrapped around my shoulder.
Large. Cold. Steady.
A voice spoke behind me, low enough to be calm, sharp enough to cut bone.
“Let her go.”
The men stiffened instantly.
I turned.
And met a pair of eyes I had only heard about in rumors whispered around campus like cautionary tales.
Riven Hale.
The underground champion. The heir to a family that ran half the city’s back-alley businesses. The guy everyone said would kill you with his bare hands if you breathed wrong around him.
He looked nothing like the legend.
He looked worse.
Tall, broad enough to block out the club lights, dressed in black that clung to a body carved by fights no normal man would survive. His jaw was bruised. His knuckles split. His shirt darkened on one side where blood seeped through.
But it wasn’t his injuries that made it hard to breathe.
It was his eyes.
Dark. Focused. Fixed on me like I was the only stable point in a collapsing world.
A shiver ran down my spine.
The bigger thug swallowed. “Riven. Didn’t know she was yours—”
“She’s not,” he said.
And somehow, my heart skipped at that single, sharp word.
Not yours.
Not yet?
“But she will not leave with you,” he continued. “Let go.”
“Man, we don’t want trouble—”
“You already have trouble.”
Riven stepped forward, and they backed up like someone had pulled their strings.
“This isn’t over,” one hissed, but it sounded weak.
Riven didn’t even look at them again.
He looked at me.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
His voice was gravel wrapped in silk—dangerous, rough, yet gentle in a way that felt impossible coming from him.
“I… no. I’m fine.”
I wasn’t. My pulse was racing so hard it hurt.
“Good.”
He turned away like he was going to leave, and panic pinched my chest.
“Wait!” I said, reaching out before I knew what I was doing. My fingers brushed his sleeve—warm, solid, real. “Why… why did you help me?”
Riven stopped.
Slowly—too slowly—he looked over his shoulder.
Something flickered in his eyes. Something I couldn’t name.
“Because,” he said, voice low, “you shouldn’t be touched by anything that hurts.”
My breath caught.
That wasn’t normal.
That wasn’t casual.
That was the kind of thing someone would say if—
If they knew me.
Or watched me.
Or—
I swallowed. “We—we’ve never met.”
A muscle in his jaw flexed. “If you say so.”
He turned again, weaving through the crowd with a slight limp.
And I stood there, shaken down to my bones.
Because he was right.
We hadn’t met.
So how the hell did he look at me like he’d known me forever?