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ADRIAN

FOURTEEN YEARS, THREE-HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FOUR DAYS, AND SIX HOURS PRIOR—BUT REALLY, WHO’S COUNTING?

T he first time I saw her, it was nothing more than a hair flip. A blur of dark locks brushing by me. Bouncing and swaying across her back, the motion drawing my gaze downward so that I couldn’t help but stare at the checkered pattern that accentuated the curve of her perfect ass.

I shouldn’t have looked. Textbooks were my focus. Not miniskirts. Proving that the bastard blood that ran through my veins wasn’t worth less because I was pushed out of a cunt a few shades darker than the one that gave life to my half-brother. Not proving that the fucker was right.

Tate Edward Prescott III. A name that sounded as pretentious as the man behind it.

My big brother was born with a stick up his ass and a silver spoon shoved into his mouth.

He knew it and took every opportunity to make sure I wouldn’t forget that my mother was the help or that his had owned the keys to the kingdom.

Made me smarter, though. I had to work for everything that was handed to me.

Orchestrate and manipulate. Never let my guard down.

Move the pieces across the board so that they benefited me.

While he could stand there like the incompetent prick that he was.

Hoping there were enough pawns between him and whatever new challenge was tossed his way.

But mine was the long game. I was a patient man. I could wait. And watch. And commiserate. Until it was the perfect time to strike.

Then check-fucking-mate, big brother. Check-fucking-mate.

Everything was going according to plan too.

Following the path I’d carefully laid out.

Everything until her. The girl with the hair darker than my cold, dead heart.

And eyes that I couldn’t see but could definitely feel.

Glancing my way before pretending like I didn’t exist, just like all the rest of them.

And for the first time in my life, it irritated me to feel unseen. To blend in so well I didn’t stand out.

She would see me. I’d make sure of that. Even if I wasn’t sure why I suddenly gave a fuck.

I rolled up the sleeves on my white dress shirt.

Clean, crisp, without a speck of dirt. Because appearances were everything.

At least that’s what Prescott liked to remind me—I refused to give that old fat fuck the benefit of being called my father.

Which he probably appreciated. What he didn’t appreciate, or tolerate, was the way I spit his name like a curse.

Earned more than a few backhands before I realized it was in my best interests to keep my disdain for the man to myself.

I stalked forward, watching as the dark-haired girl pushed her way through the library doors, the sway of her wide hips begging me to follow her.

My black leather Velascas sprung off the concrete steps without me realizing I was moving.

Hypnotized by the floral scent that clung to the air long after she’d turned the corner down the first stack of books.

Expensive shoes did more than just look nice.

They were quiet. Another lesson I’d learned over the years.

Which meant she couldn’t hear me but I could see all of her.

I didn’t believe in love at first sight. I didn’t believe in anything I couldn’t study and dissect… Quickly dismissing the increased heart rate, dilation of pupils, and elevated body temperature as simple physiological reactions. Attraction. To one of the few women to catch my eye in a long time.

I watched her bend over to scoot the little stepstool forward before climbing on top and reaching for a book on the highest shelf.

Her gaze swept in my direction, almost as if she could feel me standing there.

Of course she couldn’t. I made certain I remained hidden.

When she stepped down again, the same book cradled in her palm like it was the most precious thing in the world, one side of her mouth tipped up into a smirk as she brushed away a sheen of dust that seemed to dance around her before disappearing again.

But it wasn’t until the light from a nearby window illuminated her face that I realized how truly fucked I was. Because this girl had my heart stuttering in my chest. An indiscernible cardiac event that had no other explanation besides the curious creature in front of me.

I continued to watch her, waiting for the rhythm of my pounding chest to even out and normalize.

It took longer than I cared to admit. Then I blinked my eyes and she was gone.

Almost like she’d never been there in the first place.

Like I had dreamed up the whole thing during some sort of delusional state.

Of course I hadn’t.

The name staring back at me on the screen in the registrar’s office a few hours later told me the girl was as real as the sweat trickling down my face after breaking in through the unlocked window in the janitor’s closet.

Marisela Cruz, a transfer student. The daughter of some diplomat or politician or something. Not that it mattered what her old man did, just that her family was out of my league. And yet, that didn’t make her any less mine.

In fact, a sick part of me liked the idea of someone so above me being forced to look up at me when I finally got her on her knees…