He finally lost his patience.
"Go back and get your books."
"Got it…" She instantly let go, grinning mischievously. "Lucian, I knew you cared about me the most. I'll bring them right away!"
"Get lost."
"Going, going!" She waved excitedly, then added cheekily, "But only for five minutes—I'll be right back. See you soon!"
That was how her tutoring life began.
Lucian had probably never seen a student as hopeless as Elena. Within half a month, she had nearly driven him mad, and he looked thinner from the sheer exhaustion of trying to teach her.
Normally, he was quiet, reserved, the type to give one-word answers like hm, oh, shut up, annoying, don't bother me. But those weeks transformed him. His words became sharp, his tone biting.
"Elena, this problem is so simple. Did you smash your head in a door?"
"Were you even listening in class? Don't tell me you were asleep every day. Do you even remember your math teacher's name?"
"I've explained this question to you eight hundred times. Even a rock would've gotten it by now, but you— you're worse than a rock. You should be tested for your IQ before wasting my time!"
She always met his furious glare with a pen between her teeth, blinking innocently, blinking again… until his frustration cracked into a sigh, and his voice softened just a little.
"Fine. One more time. But this is the last time."
Of course, it was never the last time. Again and again, over and over, until he was ready to collapse.
But Elena could never concentrate. Every time she looked at his face—the sharp profile, the way his lashes trembled when he frowned, the intensity when he explained a concept—she drowned deeper in her feelings. She was hopelessly addicted.
One night, he tossed a thick practice test onto the desk.
"You're not allowed to sleep until you finish this."
She stared at the sea of problems, most of which looked like strangers to her. Panic flickered in her voice.
"Um… I don't really…"
"I already taught you all of these," he cut her off, his face darkening. "Don't tell me you still don't know how to solve them."
Her throat went dry. She didn't dare respond.
His expression grew stormy.
"Elena, if you dare say you can't do this, I'll pack my things and go back to Southville tonight."
Was he threatening to run away because of her?
Carefully, she teased, "If you really go back to Southville, should I just come find you tomorrow?"
"Elena!"
"Don't be mad, don't be mad. I was just joking." She gave an awkward little laugh. "I'll do them. I promise."
"Good."
"But it might take a while… so maybe you can read or scroll through your phone while I work. I'll call you when I'm done."
He let out a cold huff, picked up another workbook, and began marking points. The room quieted to the soft scratch of pens on paper.
Elena buried her head, struggling to focus, sneaking glances at him every so often—until his voice cracked like a whip.
"Stop staring at me. Do your work."
She flinched and obeyed.
Hours crawled by. By the time she finished the last problem, it was deep into the night.
"I'm done!" she whispered excitedly, turning—only to see him fast asleep on the desk, head resting on his arm.
The desk lamp cast a golden glow over his face, softening the sharp lines into something devastatingly beautiful. The coldness was gone, replaced by a boy she could almost reach.
Her heart clenched. She thought of the very first time she saw him, asleep in almost the same way. One glance had sealed her fate, trapping her forever.
Her gaze slid to his lips.
Her head spun like she was drunk, though she hadn't touched a drop. Before she realized it, she leaned down and brushed her lips against his.
Warm. Soft. Surreal.
Her heart thundered wildly in her chest.
Then his amber eyes snapped open. Surprise flickered across them, catching her frozen in the act. She jerked back in horror—
But his hand caught the back of her head, pulling her down. Their lips met again, deeper this time, carrying the faintest trace of mint.
She froze, too stunned to respond, too breathless to resist. Her wide, wet eyes stayed locked on his face, on his lashes brushing against his skin, on the intoxicating closeness.
It felt like drowning. Like dreaming. Like he belonged to her.
For one fleeting, fragile second, she dared to believe. Maybe he loves me too. Maybe he always has. Maybe we'll be together, always.
Her heart swelled with sweetness, spilling warmth through her veins.
But dreams never last. And this one shattered the moment it began.
Later, she would learn the truth. That night's kiss wasn't love. It was impulse. A trick of the atmosphere. Nothing more.
Because after that night, he pulled away. He never kissed her again.
And when she rushed across cities to find him, only to see him with Lydia in his arms, everything made sense.
Her kiss had never meant a thing.