It was 5:00 a.m.
The sky was already beginning to brighten, streaks of gold bleeding into the fading night. Clouds drifted lazily above, light and innocent — a stark contrast to the heavy, unforgiving rain that poured the day before. It was the kind of morning no one would believe followed such a storm.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The alarm blared.
Zaria jolted upright in bed.
"Oh my God… it's 5 a.m. already?" she muttered, her voice dry and low.
She groaned as her head throbbed violently, every beat of her pulse matching the hangover banging against her skull.
"All those damn drinks from last night… what sort of hangover is this?"
With her left hand, she reached toward the spot beside her pillow where she always kept her phone before bed. After a few tired taps, her fingers found it.
"Damn. Low battery." she said softly.
Dragging herself up, she stumbled toward the mirror. Her curly hair had gone wild — strands falling across her face like vines. Her eyes were puffy from sleep and alcohol, and her usually smooth cheeks were flushed red from the dehydration and chaos of last night.
"Ugh… I look like a mess."
Ding!
A message popped up on her phone. It was from Viola, her closest friend.
"Bitch, ain't you coming to school today? Prof Ken's time almost here. I ain't gon need to remind you how tough a man he is, right? He gon pull you by your baby hair and drag your drunk ass outta his class. So be fast and pull up here. Gotcha??"
Zaria squinted at the screen. The time now read 7:00 a.m.
"Hell nah," she hissed, bolting into action. "I can't lose my baby hairs. I just grew them!"
She rushed into the bathroom, took a cold, hurried shower, and threw on her outfit with muscle memory precision.
⸻
At Brown University
The moment Zaria stepped through the school gate, she felt it — all eyes on her.
She didn't mind. She loved it.
She was a real-life goddess.
A strikingly fair-skinned girl, her complexion glowed like ivory under the morning sun. Her blue eyes sparkled — so vivid they made people second-guess whether they were even real. Framing her face was a thick crown of dark, curly hair, bouncing freely with every step she took.
Zaria's body was naturally curvy — the kind that didn't need to be exaggerated or explained. It was the type that turned heads without effort. Her confidence didn't scream; it whispered with certainty, and people listened.
She wore a tube top that hugged her upper body tightly, showcasing the unapologetic fullness of her breasts. Her cleavage peeked through the fabric — daring glances while warning stares not to linger too long. The top paired effortlessly with low-slung baggy jeans, cinched at her waist, creating a perfect balance of street and sensual.
Her hair was packed half-up, half-down, falling like a royal veil. Gold hoops danced as she walked, and her eyes, cold but enchanting, scanned the campus with her usual cool detachment.
Some stared with admiration. Others, with envy.
Zaria didn't care. She had long known that being this beautiful meant collecting enemies, especially from her own gender.
Their eyes followed her all the way to the lecture hall. As she stepped inside, she scanned the crowd for Viola.
Thirty seconds later, she spotted a familiar hand waving from the back. Viola's small fingers fluttered in the air, signaling the saved seat.
Zaria made her way there, slow and graceful, then dropped into the chair.
"Guess I won't get to lose my baby hairs today," she whispered with a smirk.
Viola opened her mouth for a savage clapback, but was cut short as Professor Ken stormed into the hall.
⸻
3:00 p.m.
Classes were done — for everyone except the poor medical students. Zaria and Viola walked down the hallway, heels echoing as they strolled toward the exit.
Viola was deep in conversation, face lit up as she chatted about her newest romantic venture.
"Girl, I'm dating!" she declared proudly.
Zaria rolled her eyes. "Which app this time? 'Cause this is, what — the twentieth man you've claimed this year?"
Viola grinned, unfazed. "Lovelock app. He's super handsome… and he seems rich."
Zaria scoffed. "Oh, then I'm calling him Mr. Seems."
Viola raised a brow. "Why?"
"Because you said he seems rich," Zaria laughed, flashing her perfect teeth.
Viola pouted playfully. "Now you making fun of me."
"Obviously," Zaria said.
Viola shrugged it off. "Anyway, you coming to the club tonight? It's the weekend. We gotta lay off some stress."
Zaria sighed, stretching. "Absolutely. After suffering through Professor Ken's boring-ass lectures? My brain needs alcohol just to reboot."
They locked hands and strutted off campus, laughter trailing behind them.
⸻
At Drop Town Hotel — 11:15 p.m.
"Ooh my God, this place is so exotic," Zaria said as they walked into the lounge.
"I told you. I always find the best spots," Viola said, proud. "And guess what? I heard a lot of rich guys chill here."
The girls made their way to the bar, drinks flowing and hips swaying as the night unfolded.
Four hours in, Zaria was drunk. Not tipsy. Not "a little faded." Drunk.
Her body had started moving without her mind's permission. She danced, laughed, and twirled, lost in the haze.
Then she saw him.
Across the room, near the bar, stood a man unlike anyone she'd ever seen. He wasn't just handsome — he was unreal.
His black suit hugged his body like it was tailored by sin itself. Broad shoulders. Trim waist. Hands tucked into his pockets like he didn't need to impress anyone — because he already was the moment he walked in.
His hair was black silk, glowing subtly under the club lights. Smooth. Sleek. Perfect. Not a strand out of place.
But it was his eyes that stopped her breath.
Dark orange. Not amber. Not hazel. Orange, like fire frozen mid-burn. He looked at her — through her — like he knew every secret she'd ever hidden behind her glossy lips and pretty clothes.
Zaria's heart stuttered.
The music pounded, and her blood with it. She didn't think. She just walked toward him, each step fueled by reckless desire and vodka courage.
He didn't move. Just stood there, watching her, a slight smirk tugging at his mouth.
She got closer.
And then… she kissed him.
No warning. No name. No plan.
Just lips crashing together — her hunger meeting his silence.
His mouth was warm, unmoving at first, like he was letting her do what she wanted… and waiting to see what she'd do next. Then, slowly, he kissed her back.
Deep. Controlled. Devastating.
One hand gripped her waist, fingers brushing against skin where her top had risen slightly. It wasn't possessive. It was grounding — like he knew she was seconds from falling apart in his arms.
And when his mouth deepened against hers, she felt a slow-burning heat unravel in parts of her she didn't know could ache.
She didn't even know his name.
But at that moment?
She didn't need to.