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Ashira had never felt this conflicted in her life. Her double existence was getting harder to maintain. The spy inside her whispered about danger, betrayal, and bloody escape routes. But the girl pretending to be a boy in this criminal university felt her heart racing for reasons she could not categorize—three men circling her, pulling her into their worlds, and a fourth… waiting unseen.
The night after Alden's chilling revelation, the entire campus seemed to breathe unease. Students whispered in corners, guards doubled their patrol, and every shadow felt heavier. The Mafia university wasn't safe to begin with, but now it was as if the walls themselves expected betrayal.
And Ashira was at the center of it all.
She walked into the grand hall—an opulent space used for gatherings and secret "auctions." Chandeliers sparkled overhead, but the gold glitter couldn't hide the bloodstains darkening some corners of the floor. Tonight, a celebration was being held for the heirs of the criminal council. Music echoed, expensive wine poured, and masked men and women danced as if nothing could touch them.
Ashira's disguise was flawless—her fitted black suit, her hair slicked back, and the air of arrogant confidence that belonged to a boy raised in crime. But beneath her mask, her sharp eyes scanned everything. Every glass, every door, every whispered deal.
And then—she froze.
Across the room, leaning casually against a column, Alden's eyes were on her. Dark, calculating, and burning with a hunger he no longer bothered to hide. The memory of his words last night still clawed at her: "You belong to me, whether you admit it or not."
Her chest tightened, but before she could look away, another presence slipped beside her.
"Relax your shoulders," Adrian murmured, handing her a glass of champagne she had no intention of drinking. His voice was calm, soothing, but there was tension in his eyes. "You're giving yourself away."
Ashira forced a cocky grin. "Worried about me?"
His jaw clenched. "Always."
The way he said it—low, certain—hit her harder than she wanted. But the moment was cut short when Damian swaggered up, smirking as usual, his tie loosened and his eyes glinting like he owned the night.
"Well, well. My favorite fake boy surrounded by trouble again," he teased, stealing her glass before she could sip it. He took a drink and leaned close, lips brushing her ear. "Careful, darling. One wrong step and you'll drown in this sea of monsters."
Ashira forced herself not to shiver. Between Adrian's quiet protectiveness, Damian's reckless teasing, and Alden's dark obsession, she was spiraling. And none of them knew who she really was. Not yet.
The music shifted—low and sensual. A masked figure on stage announced, "The traditional mafia waltz will begin. Partners… choose wisely."
Ashira cursed under her breath. The waltz wasn't just a dance—it was a show of power, alliances, and silent wars. Whoever danced with her would be claiming her, if only for the night.
Before she could react, Damian grabbed her wrist. "You're mine, little fox."
But Adrian blocked him, his hand steady on Ashira's back. "She's dancing with me."
And then Alden appeared, his aura making both of them tense. "Step aside. He's mine."
The three men clashed in silence, the weight of their stares sharper than knives.
Ashira swallowed, caught in the crossfire. But her training kicked in—when predators fight, the prey must move. She slipped free, walking straight to the dance floor before any of them could grab her.
The hall quieted. Every masked criminal turned to see who she'd choose.
Ashira took a steadying breath, her lips curling into the most dangerous smile she could summon. "If you boys want me…" she murmured, voice carrying, "then try to keep up."
She stepped into the center of the floor, lifted her hand—
And shock rippled across the hall as a man no one expected took it.
Her professor.
The mysterious, cold, almost invisible man who'd been nothing more than a shadow in the background until now. His grip was firm, his steps flawless as he pulled her into the waltz like he'd been waiting for this moment.
Ashira's eyes widened beneath her mask. You…
The professor leaned down, his lips brushing just near her ear. "Little spy," he whispered so softly no one else could hear, "did you think I wouldn't notice?"
Her blood ran cold.
For the first time that night, Ashira's heart skipped not from desire, but from fear.
The music swelled. They danced, perfectly in sync, but every step felt like a threat, every twirl a promise. The crowd watched in awe, unaware of the silent storm passing between them.
Across the room, Alden's eyes narrowed, Adrian stiffened, and Damian's smirk vanished.
The game had just changed.
And Ashira realized—her most dangerous enemy might not be Alden, or Damian, or even Adrian.
It might be the man now holding her hand.
Her teacher.
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