The sunlight didn't creep in, it attacked.
It slipped through the narrow gap in my curtains and landed straight on my face like it had a personal grudge. I groaned and dragged the duvet over my head, cocooning myself in the last bit of darkness I could find.
At twenty-two, I was supposed to be entering adulthood with grace. Instead, I was negotiating with sunlight.
Just one more hour.
That was all I wanted.
My phone disagreed.
It didn't ring, it vibrated violently against the wooden nightstand, rattling my stack of Advanced Finance textbooks to the floor. I flinched, reached out blindly, and almost knocked the whole thing over before grabbing it.
A group video call.
Of course.
I accepted it with a tired sigh.
"Rise and shine, Lia!"
Sarah's voice burst through the speaker like a siren. On screen, she already looked flawless, sharp winged eyeliner, perfect hair, the kind of effort that said she'd been awake for hours. Typical Fashion Marketing major behavior.
Next to her, Mia was bouncing on her bed, clutching what looked like a bottle of champagne.
At… what time even was it?
"Is the world ending?" I mumbled, my voice rough with sleep. "Because if not, I'm hanging up."
"It's Graduation Eve!" Mia squealed, nearly dropping the bottle. "Four years of suffering, crying in libraries, and pretending we understand lectures are finally over!"
"And you," Sarah added, narrowing her eyes at me, "are not spending tonight in bed with junk food."
I pushed myself up slowly, rubbing my face. "I had plans. Very important plans. Me and a pepperoni pizza."
"Cancel it."
"Rude."
"We're going to L'Élite tonight," Sarah continued, ignoring me. "I already picked your outfit."
I paused. "L'Élite?"
Even half-asleep, I knew that name.
"Sarah," I said carefully, "a glass of water there probably costs more than my data plan."
"Tonight," Mia cut in with a grin, "we act like we belong anywhere we walk into."
I stared at them.
They stared back.
"…You're not going to let this go, are you?"
"No."
I sighed. "Fine."
"Good. Be ready by eight."
The call ended before I could change my mind.
By 10:30 PM, my quiet dorm room felt like a different lifetime.
L'Élite wasn't just a club, it was a statement.
Everything about it screamed money. The lighting, the music, the people… even the air felt expensive, heavy with perfume and confidence. It was the kind of place where everyone looked like they had something to prove.
Or something to hide.
I made my way to the bar, trying not to look as out of place as I felt. My outfit, courtesy of Sarah, fit perfectly, but it still felt like I was wearing someone else's life.
"Tequila," I said, resting my hands on the marble counter. "Neat."
The bartender didn't hear me.
He wasn't the only one.
Something shifted in the room, not loudly, not dramatically, but enough that you could feel it. Conversations softened. Movement slowed. Attention… redirected.
"Look," someone whispered beside me. "Is that him?"
I glanced up, catching the reflection in the mirror behind the bar before turning around fully.
A group of men in dark suits moved through the crowd with quiet authority, creating space without touching anyone. People stepped aside instinctively.
And at the center
Him.
I didn't need an introduction. Everyone in the room already knew who he was.
Liam Vane.
Twenty-three. CEO. Untouchable.
The kind of man headlines followed.
He wasn't trying to stand out, which somehow made it worse. His suit was simple, dark, perfectly fitted, but it was the way he carried himself that drew attention. Controlled. Focused.
Like nothing here actually mattered.
Women tried to catch his eye as he passed.
He didn't notice.
Or maybe he just didn't care.
"He's unreal," the girl next to me whispered. "How does someone look like that?"
I exhaled quietly, unimpressed.
Power like that always came with a cost. You didn't build something that big without stepping on people along the way.
Not someone I'd ever trust.
"Tequila," I repeated, louder this time.
The bartender blinked, like he'd just remembered his job, and hurried to pour it. His hands shook slightly.
I took the glass, the cool surface grounding me, and turned back toward the mirror instead of the crowd.
I wasn't here for him.
That was the plan, anyway.
"You're not taking a photo."
The voice came from behind me, low, steady, close enough that I felt it more than heard it.
I stilled for half a second.
Then I looked up.
His reflection met mine.
Up close, he didn't look softer.
If anything, it was worse.
His eyes were sharp, too sharp. Not just observant, but calculating. Like he was already deciding something.
I turned around slowly, taking a sip of my drink before facing him fully.
"I don't take photos," I said, meeting his gaze, "of things I don't plan to keep."
For a brief moment, the space between us went completely still.
No music. No noise.
Just tension.
He studied me, not in the way men usually did, but like I was a problem he hadn't decided how to solve yet.
"Mark her," he said quietly.
I frowned. "Excuse me?"
"Sir?" someone behind him asked.
Liam didn't look away from me.
"Find out who she is."
There was no urgency in his tone. That made it worse.
Like it was already decided.
Something in my chest tightened, not fear exactly, but instinct.
A warning.
I set my empty glass down and stepped past him.
Our shoulders brushed, brief, solid contact, and I kept walking.
I didn't look back.
Didn't slow down.
Didn't give him the satisfaction.
But even as I moved deeper into the crowd, I could feel it.
His attention.
Sharp. Fixed.
Unrelenting.
And for the first time that night, I had the uncomfortable feeling that walking away hadn't ended anything.
It had started something.