Arabella had promised herself the night before that she would wake up early and be on time for her very first lecture. She even set three alarms—though, in true Arabella fashion, all three were snoozed into oblivion.
By the time she finally rolled out of bed, she was humming to herself, stretching like she had all the time in the world. Adrian was already dressed, leaning casually on the doorframe with his bag slung over his shoulder.
"You'll be late," he said flatly.
Arabella scoffed, fluffing her hair in the mirror. "Late? Please. Professors should be honored I even show up. I am the moment."
Adrian didn't reply. He just left. No lecture, no attempt to hurry her. And that somehow annoyed her more.
By the time she strutted into her lecture hall, the room was already packed. Heads turned when the door creaked open, and she forced a confident smile like she owned the place. She mumbled something vague about a "mix-up with her schedule" as she slid into a seat.
Then she froze.
Two rows ahead, notebook open, was Adrian. Calm. Settled. Already there. He didn't smirk, didn't say a word—just glanced back at her for half a second, and it was enough. Her blood boiled.
Fine. Whatever. She could pretend not to care.
—
By lunch, Arabella was starving. The cafeteria line was long and the trays… insulting. She stared at the soggy fries and bland chicken like they had personally offended her.
"This is what they serve?" she muttered loud enough for people to hear. "Honestly, I wouldn't feed this to my dog."
But hunger won, and she eventually took a tray. Balancing her food carefully, she scanned the hall for a seat. She spotted an empty table near the corner and made her way over—
Until she collided with someone.
The tray jolted, soda spilling, greasy chicken landing right on her silk blouse and designer skirt. Arabella gasped, clutching her clothes like she'd been stabbed.
"My Dior!" she shrieked, eyes snapping up.
Adrian. Of course.
He looked down at his shirt, now streaked with sauce, then at her—calm, unbothered, like it was nothing. "Figures."
Arabella's mouth dropped. "Figures?! Do you know how much this outfit costs? You just destroyed a *limited edition* set. This is silk! Imported! From *Italy!*"
Adrian blinked once, deadpan. "And now it's… cafeteria-flavored."
Arabella gasped so loudly heads turned from other tables. "You—you absolute barbarian! Look at me! Do I look like someone who eats food like this?!"
He raised an eyebrow. "You were holding a tray, so… yeah."
Her jaw nearly hit the floor. "Unbelievable. First day of classes, and I get assaulted by soggy fries and your brick wall body. You should be apologizing. On your knees."
Adrian just sighed, taking a napkin to blot his shirt. "Relax. It's just food."
"*Just food?!*" she clutched her ruined blouse like it was her last lifeline. "This is fashion homicide. You should be arrested."
He gave her the faintest smirk, finally meeting her eyes. "Maybe you should watch where you're going next time, princess."
Arabella was fuming, muttering under her breath about "pressing charges for destruction of couture" as nearby students tried not to laugh.
This was going to be a *long* semester.