Amara woke up with a pounding headache, the weight of the previous night pressing heavily on her chest. The dizziness made it hard to focus, but flashes of Rafael, the club, and Leah's worried face flickered in her mind like fragmented scenes from a half-remembered dream. She groaned, rubbing her temples, trying to make sense of it all.
Leah was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through her phone. The moment she noticed Amara stirring, she let out a sigh. "You're finally up."
Amara pushed herself upright, the motion making her stomach churn. "What happened last night?" she mumbled.
Leah scoffed. "You really don't remember? Amara, you were all over Rafael! If I hadn't called you, God knows what would've happened."
Amara winced, shame creeping up her spine. "I... I wasn't thinking."
"No kidding," Leah snapped. Then, softer, "Are you falling for him?"
The question sent a jolt through Amara. Her instinct was to deny it, to brush it off as nothing, but she couldn't lie to Leah—not when the truth was written all over her face.
"I don't know," she whispered.
Leah sighed, shaking her head. "Amara, he's dangerous. And he's our professor. Do you really want to risk everything for him?"
Amara didn't answer. Instead, she threw off the blanket and forced herself out of bed, wobbling slightly as she stood. "I need coffee. And fresh air."
Leah followed her out of the dorm, keeping a wary eye on her. The university campus was buzzing with energy as students hurried across the courtyard, papers and books in hand. Amara noticed a few glancing at the notice board near the main hall, murmuring excitedly.
"What's going on?" she asked.
Leah grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the crowd. "It's about the scholarship. They just announced the details."
The board displayed an official university notice, the bolded letters standing out:
THE HARVARD SCHOLARSHIP OPPORTUNITY
Professor Daniel Lenz's research on the evolution of tragedy in modern literature has reshaped contemporary literary discourse. Harvard University is offering one outstanding student from our department the opportunity to complete his research and work alongside leading scholars in the field. The selected student will receive full funding for their studies, housing, and living expenses for the duration of their program.
Only one student would win.
Amara's heart clenched as she read it. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. A way out. A way to leave everything behind—this city, this past, even Rafael.
She needed this.
"Amara," Leah said cautiously, watching her face. "You should apply. You have the grades, the talent. You could actually win this."
Amara bit her lip. "Yeah… I need to start preparing."
The scholarship exam would be brutal. The university would be testing them on classical literature, critical analysis, and research methodology. There were only a few weeks to prepare, and she'd have to give everything she had.
But as she turned away from the board, her mind betrayed her.
Leah sighed, looping an arm around Amara's shoulders. "I figured as much. This scholarship… it's huge." She gestured toward the large notice pinned on the board.
Amara had read it already, but seeing it again sent a fresh wave of nerves through her:
One student. One scholarship. A chance to work under Professor Daniel Lenz on 'The Evolution of Tragedy in Modern Literature' at Harvard University.
Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag. "Only one," she murmured.
Leah exhaled, her voice softer now. "It's brutal. But, Amara… you have to go for it. You're one of the best students in literature. If anyone deserves it, it's you."
Amara swallowed hard. "I don't know."
"Why not?" Leah demanded. "You've spent years studying. You have more knowledge on literary tragedy than anyone here. And your father…" Leah hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Your father was brilliant. You told me yourself—his research shaped how you think."
Amara's throat tightened. Memories crashed over her like a tidal wave.
Flashback
The scent of old books filled the dimly lit study, dust motes dancing in the light of the desk lamp. Amara sat cross-legged on the floor, a thick volume resting on her lap. Her father leaned back in his chair, flipping through his notes.
"Dante wasn't just writing about love," he murmured. "He was writing about loss, about obsession, about the price of desire."
Amara frowned, running her fingers over the old text. "But people always say Dante's love for Beatrice was pure."
Her father smiled, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "And that's the tragedy of it, Amara. He spent his life devoted to an idea of love that was never real. Tell me, is that not the cruelest fate of all?"
She thought about it, her young mind struggling to wrap itself around the weight of his words. "So, you're saying love and tragedy are always connected?"
Her father leaned forward, tapping the book in her lap. "The greatest tragedies are born from love. That's why they endure."
Back in the present, Amara blinked rapidly, forcing herself to focus.
Leah nudged her. "Amara?"
She exhaled shakily. "Yeah… yeah, I know. My father taught me so much. But I don't have anything left. His books, his notes… they're gone. I have nothing to prepare with."
Leah frowned. "You still have your mind. And you have me. We'll find resources, we'll—"
But Amara wasn't listening anymore. She glanced around, scanning the campus instinctively.
Something was missing.
Someone.
"Rafael's not here," she muttered before she could stop herself.
Leah's head snapped up. "Are you seriously thinking about him right now?"
Amara stiffened. "No, I just—"
"Amara." Leah's voice was sharp, edged with frustration. "What happened with him… that was a moment. That's it. Don't let it distract you."
"I know," Amara said quickly, but even as the words left her mouth, she wasn't sure if she believed them. Because the truth was, she could still feel him. The way his hands had burned against her skin, the way his voice had tangled around her like smoke, the way he had disappeared into the night as if he had never been there at all.
She thought it was over. A reckless mistake, a moment of insanity. But now he was missing, and she felt it more than she wanted to admit.
Leah studied her for a long moment before shaking her head. "Focus, Amara. You need this scholarship."
Amara nodded, but the weight in her chest didn't ease.
They moved toward the library, and for the rest of the morning, Amara forced herself into preparation mode. Books piled high around her, notes scattered across the table. The scholarship test was going to be brutal—only one student would win, and the competition was ruthless. She needed to brush up on everything, especially the evolution of tragedy in literature.
Her fingers trailed over the spine of a book, her mind drifting again.
She needed this scholarship.
She needed a way out.
Out of this city. Out of this life.
Away from them.
Away from him.
But even as she tried to push the thought of Rafael away, his presence lingered in the shadows of her mind.
And she hated that she cared.
Pain was the first thing Rafael felt when he woke up. A dull, relentless ache radiated through his body, a cruel reminder of the night before. His muscles screamed in protest as he shifted slightly, his breath hitching as a sharp pain stabbed through his ribs. His father's work was thorough—he had made sure Rafael would remember his punishment for a long time.
The room was dimly lit, the heavy curtains blocking out most of the morning light. Rafael blinked slowly, trying to shake off the haze clouding his mind. He wasn't sure how long he had been unconscious, but judging by the stiffness in his limbs and the dryness in his throat, it had been a while. His head throbbed, each pulse syncing with the lingering pain seared into his skin.
A soft knock echoed through the silence, followed by the creak of the door opening.
"Sir, you need to get up."
It was Matteo, his father's most trusted man. Rafael forced his eyes to focus, watching as the older man stepped into the room, his sharp gaze scanning him with something dangerously close to concern.
"I'm up," Rafael muttered, his voice hoarse.
Matteo arched a brow. "Doesn't look like it." He moved closer, setting a fresh set of clothes on the edge of the bed. "Your father wants you downstairs. Now."
Rafael scoffed, pushing himself up with difficulty. His entire body protested, but he clenched his jaw and forced himself to sit. He wouldn't give his father the satisfaction of seeing him weak.
Matteo sighed and shook his head. "You look like hell."
"Feel worse," Rafael admitted, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
Matteo stepped forward, his hands steady as he helped Rafael to his feet. "Come on, let's get you ready."
Rafael allowed it, too exhausted to argue. Matteo had been around since he was a child, a shadow always lingering in the background, cleaning up whatever mess his father deemed unacceptable. But unlike the others, Matteo never looked at him with disgust or indifference. There was something almost paternal in the way he adjusted Rafael's collar, his hands careful as he helped him into a plain black shirt and a pair of dark jeans—simple, understated, nothing like the expensive suits his father usually forced him to wear.
Once Rafael was dressed, Matteo stepped back, nodding. "Better."
Rafael let out a humorless laugh. "Not sure it matters."
Matteo didn't reply, just gestured toward the door. "Let's go."
The walk to his father's study was agonizing. Every step sent fresh waves of pain through his body, but he didn't falter. He wouldn't let his father see him stumble. When they finally reached the heavy oak doors, Matteo gave him a brief look before stepping aside.
With a deep breath, Rafael pushed the doors open and stepped inside.
His father sat behind his massive mahogany desk, an air of authority wrapping around him like a second skin. His expression was unreadable, but Rafael knew better than to mistake that for leniency.
"You look like a man who has learned his lesson," his father said, his voice deceptively calm.
Rafael clenched his fists. "I did nothing wrong."
His father walked around the desk, coming to stand in front of him. "There is a girl—Ava Montgomery. Her father is an influential politician, and he wants his daughter to get the university's only scholarship."
Rafael's stomach twisted. He already knew where this was going.
His father continued. "The scholarship is based on Professor Daniel Lenz's research, but what most people don't know is that a crucial piece of that research is missing."
Rafael stiffened. "You mean Amara's father's research."
A slow smirk spread across his father's lips. "Ah, so you remember. Yes. Your job is simple—give Ava Montgomery the research. She'll use it to secure the scholarship, and in return, her father will owe us a favor."
Rafael felt cold. Amara's father had dedicated his life to his work. He had poured everything into that research. And now, his father wanted him to hand it over to some spoiled girl just because her family had power?
"I'll think about it," he finally said, his voice even.
His father narrowed his eyes. "You have until tomorrow. After that, I expect results."
Rafael nodded once, then turned and walked out without another word.
As soon as he was in the hallway, he exhaled shakily. Matteo was waiting for him, his sharp gaze assessing him carefully.
"Well?" Matteo asked.
Rafael swallowed hard. "I need to get to the library."
Matteo arched a brow. "The library?"
Rafael nodded. "There's something I need to find before my father does."
Matteo didn't ask questions. He just nodded. "Then let's go."
As they walked, Rafael's mind was a storm of thoughts. He had been given an impossible choice, but there had to be a way out.
And somehow, it all led back to Amara.
She had no idea that her father's research was now a weapon in a war she wasn't even aware of.
And Rafael had no idea how to keep her safe from it.