Page 1 of His To Unravel (His & Hers Duet #1)

ONE

nathaniel

The lecture hall comes to life with the buzz of returning students—old friendships rekindled, tentative nods exchanged, strangers brought together once more.

I stand near the back, watching as they filter in, choosing their seats with mindless predictability. My focus, however, is fixed on one entrance, waiting, measuring each moment until I see her.

She steps through the door, her movements unhurried and unnoticed by those who don’t know how to look.

But I do.

I have tuned my attention to her—the way she moves like a whisper through the room. She’s light on her feet, almost ethereal. Her presence is delicate yet strangely profound, as if she carries an entire world within her that no one else has discovered.

She doesn’t defer to the unspoken rules that govern Halford’s halls, where names and backgrounds outweigh intellect, where connections are currency.

She’s indifferent to all of it—a rare truth in their perfectly orchestrated masquerade.

And that’s exactly what drew me to Olivia Bennett from the beginning.

Months.

I’ve watched her for months now, from a distance, learning the rhythm of her days, the rituals she assumes go unnoticed. I know where she spends her mornings, the hidden corners of campus she claims as her own, far from the posturing and those who thrive on being seen.

Olivia is soft, unassuming.

There’s an innocence about her—in the way she brushes her auburn hair behind her ear, the loose waves tumbling over her shoulder in a cascade of copper and gold under the lights.

Her green eyes, deep and clear, scan the room, but they never linger.

She doesn’t register the glances cast her way, untouched by the weight of attention. Even mine.

She takes a seat closer to the front, oblivious to me watching her from the back.

She’s not classically beautiful, not the striking sort that turns heads in an instant.

No, Olivia draws you in like a slow-burning ember, igniting something deeper with her understated elegance, her quiet confidence.

She is a persistent presence in the corners of your mind, lingering until you can’t shake her free.

It’s maddening, this pull I feel.

She pulls her laptop from her bag with the same calm precision I’ve come to expect from her.

She’s so beautifully unburdened. There’s no rush in her movements, no need to impress or perform.

But what fascinates me more is how she seems so sure of herself, how she moves through the world as if untouched by others’ expectations.

Yet I know everyone can be touched. Everyone has a point where they can be bent, broken, shaped.

Our paths have yet to cross directly, but the anticipation of it hangs in the air like an oncoming storm.

Her detachment blinds her to the shadow that’s been trailing her every step. Her schedule, her routines, her solitude—they’ve all become threads in the web I’ve been spinning since before this semester began .

Today marks the start, the first real step. I’ve orchestrated every detail of this day to lay the foundation of something far more intricate. Something inevitable.

Olivia Bennett may not know it yet, but she’s already secured her place in my world.

Professor Jones strides to the front of the lecture hall, his voice cutting through the hum of quiet chatter, pulling the attention of the room to the slides projected on the screen.

He’s just as predictable, and his opening remarks are as uninspired as the students who nod along, half-listening. But today, I find myself almost grateful for the monotony—his class is nothing but a stage for what’s about to unfold, another piece of the design I’ve so meticulously set in place.

Jones announces the semester’s project—a paired assignment, a new market entry proposal.

To the others, it’s a challenge, an opportunity for distinction. For me, it’s a calculated means to draw her into my world.

The instructor drones on, detailing the parameters, the importance of a sound entry strategy, risk assessments, and projections. Olivia’s expression is focused, jotting down every detail.

“Pairings will be posted at the front,” Jones announces, his tone dismissive, and the room shifts, chairs scraping against the floor as students rise to crowd the list.

I remain seated, content to watch Olivia as she stands, glancing toward the board with no visible reaction a casual observer would notice.

Yet even from here, I can see the faint tension around her eyes, a tell she likely doesn’t know she has—a small sign that she’s sizing up the task, readying herself.

She steps forward, her gaze brushing over the names, until her eyes finally land on hers—right next to mine.

A flicker of surprise crosses her face, so brief it’s almost imperceptible, but it’s there. That surprise would become shock if she knew how much of her life is about to be in tandem with mine in the coming weeks.

I take my time, making my way to the front only after most of the others have returned to their seats. Olivia’s still by the list, no doubt mulling over what it will be like to work with someone like me—perhaps she sees me as an easy advantage, or maybe an obstacle.

She’ll learn soon enough.

“Looks like we’ll be working together,” I announce as I approach, my voice low, a hint of amusement coloring my tone.

She turns, and when her eyes meet mine, I feel the thrill ripple through me—the power in something as simple as eye contact.

Her expression is guarded, polite. “Yes, it seems so.”

“You don’t seem particularly enthused,” I reply, with a teasing edge, just enough to give her pause.

She tilts her head, jade eyes measuring. “It’s a challenging project. I hope you’re prepared for it.”

Her gaze narrows just slightly, her fingers curling around the bottom of her sweater in a way that betrays her discomfort. But she holds her composure, shifting her attention back to the board as if she can brush me off like another passing student.

I almost smile, the corner of my mouth twitching in acknowledgment. It’s almost endearing, this belief that she can keep herself unaffected.

But before I can respond, Professor Jones clears his throat, calling the class to order. I simply offer Olivia a nod before returning to my seat. I’ll let her hold onto that illusion…for now.

Eventually, the class draws to a close and the lecture hall begins to empty, students filing out in clusters, absorbed in their own conversations and distractions. Olivia lingers by the door, scrolling through her phone, perhaps planning her next steps for the day.

“Olivia,” I call softly, just enough to catch her attention without intruding as I make my way over to her .

She glances up, surprised. There’s a polite but impersonal edge to her expression, the guarded exterior I’ve come to expect. She plays into my design, unaware that I know her patterns as well as she knows them herself.

“Hi, Nathaniel.” Her voice is calm, civil, and I can sense the careful restraint in her gaze, as though she’s already bracing for some transactional exchange.

She underestimates me.

“Thought we could set a time to start working on the project,” I say, keeping my tone light, almost aloof, though the undertone is anything but. “Strategic management, decision-making models, market analysis…they’re all rather broad concepts. We’ll need to sharpen our focus.”

She nods, brow furrowed as she considers. “Agreed. It’ll be easier once we decide on a market.”

I watch her as she speaks, noting the way she stands—her posture almost defiant, yet somehow softened by her natural grace. Everything about her speaks of a quiet resilience, a restrained intensity that intrigues me more than anyone else I’ve encountered at Halford.

“Do you have any initial ideas?” she asks, her tone purely professional. Her gaze flickers to me, aventurine eyes sharp, focused, as if testing to see if I’ll meet her expectations.

I allow a small smile, keeping my reply measured, controlled. “I do. But I’d rather hear your perspective first. There’s value in starting from where we both stand.”

She tilts her head, a slight, surprised smile forming at the edge of her lips. That flicker of approval now that I’ve presented myself as an equal, rather than an authority, is precisely what I wanted—an invitation that she doesn’t even realize she’s giving.

Her voice softens as she speaks, her tone more engaged, and I can sense her slipping into the discussion without her usual armor. “I was thinking…maybe something to do with emerging tech ma rkets? There’s a lot of potential, and the unpredictability makes it challenging to analyze.”

“Interesting,” I pause, letting my gaze linger on her. “There’s a certain…art, I suppose, to predicting outcomes in a field that changes so quickly.”

She nods, pleased, and I can see her relax just slightly, her stance less guarded. I revel in it—how unaware she is of the way I’ve thoughtfully positioned myself, carefully steering her thoughts, her comfort, her sense of control.

I keep the conversation moving, letting her talk, occasionally interjecting with calculated insights that align with her ideas and will allow her to feel seen, understood.

She doesn’t know it yet, but this is all part of a larger game—an intricate structure that I’m building, one layer at a time, with her at the center.

“It sounds like we’re on the same page,” I say finally, giving her a look that suggests camaraderie, a shared vision. She offers a polite smile, disarmed.

There’s satisfaction in the simplicity of it.

With this seemingly innocuous exchange, I’ve already begun to weave myself into her thoughts, inching closer to the core.

I let the silence settle, watching her as she gathers her things, preparing to leave, her expression a mix of determination and deep introspection.

“See you soon, Olivia,” I say, letting my voice drop to a low, knowing murmur. I catch the shift in her expression, and then she nods, offering a quick goodbye before slipping out of the room.

I watch her go, a thrill rippling through me. She has no clue of what she’s set in motion, no concept of the forces shaping her every move.

But she will.