Isaac woke up late that morning. Winter light slipped through the curtains, pale and cold. He'd worked all night at the bar, and insomnia had only let him sleep a couple of hours. The fatigue showed in his shoulders, in the heaviness of his eyelids.
The night shifts were wearing him down, but he didn't have a choice. He needed money.
His mother had died only a few weeks ago, and even though his father told him not to worry about the funeral expenses, Isaac couldn't just sit and do nothing. He wanted to help. It was the least he could do.
Since the funeral, his mind had been running on autopilot. He forgot simple things, lost track of time, and though his face stayed as calm as ever, inside he felt like glass about to crack. Staying on campus for winter break was his way of staying busy, even if his little sister hadn't forgiven him for it. His father understood, though. Going home now… would've been too much.
He kept himself busy, work, classes, and now searching for new clubs or extracurriculars to fill his time. He didn't realize it, but he was pushing himself far beyond his limits.
In class, Isaac was the kind of student who drew attention without trying.His calm posture, the fine lines of his face, those golden eyes that seemed to weigh every word — they made him stand out, even when he didn't want to.
That day, in the chemistry lab, his attention was fixed on Professor Mirna — a tall woman with a sharp voice and sharper stare. Her lessons were flawless, but everyone knew: even breathing too loud could earn you a warning.
Outside, in the hallway, Kegan and Dante waited.
"It's this one," Kegan murmured, pointing to the door. "Let's wait until class is over. Then you can talk to him."
Dante, restless, leaned closer to peek through the window. And there he was, Isaac Collins. Serious, focused.
"There's that idiot," Dante muttered under his breath, lips twisting in irritation.
"Wait— don't tell me you're actually going to—"
Too late. Dante had already pushed the door open.
Kegan sighed. "Unbelievable. This guy's insane."
The sound of the door snapping open broke through the low hum of the ventilators. The entire class went silent. Professor Mirna turned around slowly, her glare sharp enough to kill.
All eyes turned to the intruder, red hair, confident stance, impossible to ignore. But Dante wasn't smiling this time. His expression was focused, his green eyes locked straight on Isaac.
"Of course," Mirna said, voice edged with irritation. "Dante Black. Care to explain what you're doing interrupting my class?"
"I need to talk to one of your students," he said, unfazed. "Isaac Collins."
A wave of murmurs rippled through the room. The chaotic Dante Black and the quiet Isaac Collins? That pairing made no sense, yet it was all anyone could talk about.
Isaac didn't even react until Mirna called again, louder this time.
"Collins! Didn't you hear? You're being called. Out. Now."
Isaac frowned in confusion, and the moment his eyes met Dante's, the redhead finally smiled—slow, deliberate, almost daring.
Still, he stood, muttered an apology to the professor, and followed Dante into the hallway.
"Why would you interrupt a class like that?" Isaac asked, genuinely baffled, as if trying to make sense of someone completely irrational.
"Because I needed to talk to you," Dante replied casually.
Isaac blinked, studying him for a moment. Right. Definitely not normal, he thought.
"Anyway," Dante continued, shrugging. "I came to talk about the offer my friend made the other day — you know, the modeling thing."
"Uh-huh." Isaac's voice was flat, uninterested.
That hint of disinterest hit Dante like a slap. He crossed his arms, forcing a grin."Didn't think it was very polite of you to say no so fast, but fine. If it's about money, we'll pay you well. It's a great opportunity for someone like you — a scholarship student who could use the cash."
Isaac's jaw tensed. "I'm not interested in the money," he said evenly. "I just don't want to do it."
He turned to go back inside, but Dante's hand shot out, grabbing his wrist.
"Hey! I'm not done talking!"
Isaac looked down at the hand gripping him. He didn't move — didn't even flinch.When his golden eyes lifted again, there was no anger, no fear. Only quiet disdain.The kind that cut deeper than shouting ever could.
Dante's grip faltered. That look… it threw him off balance.It pissed him off too.
How could someone look at him like that — like he was nothing?
"Listen," Isaac said calmly, his tone steady. "Dante, right?"
Dante nodded stiffly.
"You're… troublesome. I don't want trouble. So I'm leaving now — and I hope you don't try to stop me again."
He gently moved Dante's hand aside and walked away, steps measured, firm posture .
Dante stood frozen. For a long second, he just stared.
Did he just… ignore me?
A laugh slipped out, low, disbelieving."What the hell…?" he whispered.
No one had ever dismissed him like that before. No one.
And something inside him snapped — or maybe ignited. It wasn't anger, not exactly. It was that dangerous spark of pride that refused to lose.
A grin curved his lips."I'll make you come to me, asshole," he muttered, pulse quickening as adrenaline rushed through him.
And though he'd never admit it out loud…he liked the way it felt.
After several days of giving up on Isaac, frustration still hung heavy in Ethan's studio.The photos weren't turning out the way he'd hoped. The model didn't try, barely followed directions, and every shot felt lifeless. Sure, the session was unpaid—but a feature in RickTentation could've boosted the guy's career. So why wasn't he even trying?
After sending in the test photos, Ethan got a call from the magazine. They were putting his project on hold to focus on others, though they promised to stay in touch. The disappointment was written all over his face.
"Ugh, what a dam joke," Dante muttered, slumping back in his chair. His voice dripped with irritation while Ethan sat at his desk, elbows pressed against the surface, staring at the screen in defeat. The place looked like a storm had passed through it.
"Relax," Ethan said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's not over yet. The editor messaged me privately. He said it's because of the model. If I can get better shots, he'll handle the rest."
Dante's eyes sharpened with sudden energy. "So, you still have a chance…" His tone softened, thoughtful.
Ethan nodded, forcing a small smile. "Yeah. Anyway, heard anything from your mom?"
That question wiped the smirk right off Dante's face. His expression went still—eyes distant, jaw tight. Ethan knew that look too well. Dante always helped everyone else but never talked about himself.
After a moment, Dante sighed. "Yeah… she texted. I have to go in Fifteen days."
Ethan's head snapped up. "What? Fifteen days?"
"Mm-hmm." Dante gave a faint, crooked smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Family stuff."
The silence that followed was heavy. Ethan dropped his gaze, his shoulders sagging as he spoke softly. "When will you be back?"
Dante hesitated, looking off to the side. "I don't know. But don't worry—I'll help you finish everything before I go."
"What? That's not what I meant, idiot!" Ethan snapped, his voice trembling between anger and concern. "I'm worried about you!"
But Dante cut him off, flashing that same practiced grin—the one that never fooled Ethan."I know. Just… let's not talk about it, okay?"
There was nothing more to say. Ethan nodded quietly. They went back to discussing models, though Dante offered money at least three times to organize a proper casting, and Ethan refused every time.
Later that night, after a shower, Dante let himself fall onto the bed, arms spread wide as if he wanted to sink into the mattress. The steam from the water still clung to the cold air of the dorm room. His eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"I don't want to go back…" he whispered.
The mere thought tightened his throat. The idea of returning to his mother's house made him feel trapped, even from miles away. The smell of disinfectant, of expensive perfume, of control. The sharp echo of her heels against the marble floor. The voice that never needed to shout to destroy.
His fingers moved unconsciously, twisting over and over—a nervous tic he'd had since childhood, every time fear disguised itself as anger. No one would ever imagine it, looking at the Dante Black of today—the rebel, the provocateur, the boy who seemed afraid of nothing—but there was a time when everything about him was order, silence, and obedience.
Sometimes, he remembered it all too clearly.
His mother's voice lived in his head—firm, steady, as if she had never doubted anything in her life.
"Dante will make a fine leader for the Blacks," Helena used to say, wearing that satisfied smile that left no room for argument.
From a young age, Dante had been the perfect son.Always clean. Always proper.Every step measured, every word rehearsed before it left his mouth.There was no space for mistakes.No space for him.
"You have to do better. I don't accept half-effort."
" A son who can't succeed is useless to me."
"If you fail, Dante, you make me look bad. And that, I won't allow."
He learned quickly that arguing was pointless. He obeyed. He smiled when told to. He stayed silent when he wanted to scream.But inside, something was growing—quiet rage, a pressure building behind his ribs, begging to break through the mask.
"Can I go to my friends' house? Everyone from my class is—"
"Stop wasting time with those children, Dante. You're not like them."
He was eight.He just wanted to play. But Helena Black didn't raise sons, she raised heirs.
"Are you sick?" she once asked, seeing him pale and sweating. "Take care of your health. No one wants someone weak."
That night, he didn't sleep. His body ached, his head burned, but all he could think was, "I can't be a burden. I have to be better."
The next morning, he apologized.
"I'm sorry. I caught a cold because I didn't take care of myself. It won't happen again."
And it didn't.He trained. Ate well .Spoke only when necessary. Didn't drink. Didn't waste time. His body grew stronger.His mind became a wall.
Until the day the topic of college came up.
"You'll study business," Helena said, eyes still on her paperwork. "You'll run the company when I'm gone."
"I don't want to," he said, his voice tight. "I like engineering. I want to build something of my own."
Helena laughed—a short, humorless sound.
"Engineering? Don't be ridiculous, Dante. You're not made for that. I already enrolled you in Westwood, MTM University. Business. You start next semester."
His jaw locked. His hands curled into fists, knuckles pale.He had swallowed everything his whole life, but this time something broke.
"For fuck's sake… I told you I'm not doin—"
The slap came before he could finish. A sharp crack. Heat spreading across his face. Silence afterward.
He stared at her, stunned.Helena calmly adjusted a strand of her hair, perfectly composed.
"When you talk like that, you sound like a sociopath," she said. "Pack your things. You're leaving for MTM."
And he did.
Dante shot up from bed, gasping for air, as if something were choking him.The room was too quiet, too small, the walls pressing in. He needed to get out.
Outside, the campus was wrapped in a deep winter blue. The air was sharp, dry, and freezing, but he didn't care. He walked across the empty paths in a sleeveless shirt, the cold biting at his skin like punishment.
He had no destination.He just walked.
His heartbeat thundered in his chest, pulsing all the way up to his throat."I don't want to go back," he muttered, and for once, it didn't sound like defiance—it sounded like a plea.
Then, his phone vibrated.A message.From Helena.
The driver will pick you up in two days.
Dante stopped dead in the middle of the path.The trees whispered overhead, branches creaking like old bones. The world felt distant, muffled, as if submerged underwater.His right eye twitched.His hands went numb.
"Two days…?" he whispered, voice hollow.
Anger and fear tangled inside him, thick and hot, like pressure in a sealed bottle.He wanted to scream, but no sound came out.He wanted to cry, but nothing would come.
And then, voices drifted through the night.
"You slept all day and now you can't fall asleep? Stop dragging me into this!"Kegan's voice—half a complaint, half a laugh.
Dante froze. Through the trees, he could see them—just far enough that they couldn't see him.Isaac sat on a bench, cigarette between his lips, the smoke curling upward into the night air like silver threads. His posture was lazy, one leg crossed over the other, that calm, unbothered aura radiating off him.
And Dante hated it.Not Isaac—he wasn't even sure it was about him. He hated that calmness, that stillness, that ability to exist without breaking apart.
Isaac laughed quietly at something Kegan said. The sound reached Dante like a spark in dry grass.His pulse jumped. His hands clenched.
Then, Isaac looked up. Their eyes met for barely a second—gold against green.And Dante turned away, fast, like the sight had burned him.
Isaac frowned, confused."What's wrong with that lunatic?" he muttered under his breath, too softly for Kegan to hear.
But Dante was already gone.His breathing was uneven, every step heavier than the last. He didn't know what he was angry at anymore—his mother, Isaac, himself.All he knew was that it hurt.And when Dante didn't know how to handle pain, he did what he always did: threw it at something else.
"That useless idiot—sleeping all day while Ethan kills himself working," he grumbled, slamming open the door to his dorm.
The sound echoed in the empty room.He sat on the edge of his bed, trembling, staring at the floor. The silence pressed against his ears like static.
"Two days," he said again, voice low. "She said two weeks…"His pulse quickened."She decides everything. Always. Everything."
The trophy on his desk flew across the room, hitting the mirror.The glass shattered—clean, deliberate—each fragment catching the light for an instant before falling to the floor.It was strangely beautiful.And it sounded like something inside him breaking, too.
He didn't move. Just stared.And then, the thought came.Not out of cruelty.Not revenge.Just a sudden, desperate need to take back control, even if only for a heartbeat.
He opened his laptop.The blue light washed over his face, hollowing out his features. His fingers moved on their own—fast, sure, reckless.Helena thought he was just another spoiled heir, but she never understood what he was really good at.Technology. Systems. Breaking things open and making them his.
She'd taught him how to fight for control.Now he was only using what she'd taught him.
To: Financial Aid DepartmentFrom: Helena BlackSubject: Temporary Suspension of Scholarship – Isaac Collins
Please suspend the scholarship of student Isaac Collins for one month.Attached are the supporting documents.
— Helena Black
His leg bounced under the desk.His green eyes looked dim now, washed out, as if he wasn't really there.
He hit send.The click sounded too loud.
Seconds later, the reply arrived:Approved.
Dante exhaled slowly, his lips twisting into a faint, bitter smile. Not satisfaction—just exhaustion.
He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling, his heart still racing.He told himself it wasn't about Isaac. That it was about control, about doing something before the world crushed him again.
But deep down, he knew the truth:he didn't want to hurt anyone.He just wanted to stop hurting himself.
And yet, even that tiny act of rebellion did nothing to quiet the storm inside him.