Move-in day was pure madness.
Cars stretched down the street. Parents unloading endless gear from minivans. Students hauling their suitcases across the sunbaked quad, sweat dripping in the late summer heat.
I pulled up to my assigned dorm, juggling two suitcases and a box of basics. Mom wanted to tag along. Dad even offered to fly over. I shut both down.
This was my fresh start. I was flying solo.
My roommate hadn't arrived yet. The room was cramped, two beds, two desks, a single window looking out on the courtyard. The walls were bare, waiting to be filled with memories.
I began unpacking: clothes into the closet, laptop on the desk, ring light tucked into the corner.
My phone buzzed. A message from Zoey: FIRST DAY OF COLLEGE BESTIE
Me: It's just move-in day.
Zoey: Still! Post photos, I want to see everything.
I snapped a quick selfie, me in the empty dorm, sunlight streaming in, captioned: chapter one.
I posted it and comments poured in.
So proud of you!!!
UCLA ERA LET'S GO!
You're gonna crush it!
I was replying when someone knocked.
"Come in," I said, expecting my roommate.
The door opened.
Madison stepped inside.
I froze.
"Nice room," she said like she owned the place, eyes scanning like a hawk. Platinum ponytail, designer shades pushed up, crop top that probably cost more than my whole wardrobe.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm a junior. I live next door." She grabbed a book from my desk and flipped through it. "Saw your Instagram. Thought I'd say hi."
"Hi. You can leave now."
"Hostile much?" She dropped the book and sauntered to my closet, rifling through my clothes. "This is new. When did you start dressing like you're headed to a job interview?"
"Madison. Get out."
"I'm just curious." She pulled out a blazer and examined it. "You've been acting strange all summer. The whole rebrand. The cryptic posts. The new vibe." She hung the blazer back up and faced me. "What's your plan?"
"Nothing. Just moving on."
"Moving on," she scoffed. "That's why you're at UCLA, the school your ex goes to. Where I go. You could've avoided both of us if you really wanted to move on."
"Maybe I'm not scared of you anymore."
"You should be."
I stood up, stepped closer. "Get. Out."
She didn't move, arms crossed, studying me. "You're different. Not sure if it's fake or you've actually grown a backbone."
"Does it matter?"
"It does if you're scheming something dumb." She stepped closer. "Like messing with Liam. Or me. Or your past."
"Your past?" I laughed. "Madison, I don't care about your relationship. Keep him. I don't give a damn."
Her eyes narrowed. "Then why are you here?"
"Because I got accepted. Because I want to study communications. Because my life isn't about you or Liam anymore."
She didn't buy it. The doubt showed on her face.
"Stay away from him," she warned quietly. "I'm serious, Avery."
"Gladly."
She opened her mouth but stopped, glancing at the scattered papers on my desk.
Before I could react, she grabbed one.
The syllabus. Ethan's syllabus, margin notes where I'd highlighted readings.
"Media Psychology 101," she read. "Professor Parker. You're taking Liam's dad's class?"
My heart skipped.
"It's required for my major."
"Bullshit. There are three intro classes. You picked his on purpose."
"Schedule worked best."
"Avery." Her voice dropped, colder. "What are you doing?"
"Taking a class."
She stared at the syllabus, then me. Horror and disbelief washing over her.
"No," she whispered. "You're not that dumb."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do." She stepped closer, voice low and sharp. "I know that look. I know when you're plotting. And if you think for a second you can—"
"Can what?"
"Stay away from him."
"From who? My professor? The one teaching a required course?"
"You know who." Her hands trembled. "Liam's dad. Ethan. Whatever revenge fantasy you have, stop now."
I held her gaze, steady. "I'm here to learn, Madison. That's it."
"Liar."
"Believe what you want."
She grabbed my arm hard. "If you mess with him, if you try, I'll destroy you. Your brand. Your followers. I'll make what happened with Liam look like a joke."
I pulled free. "Get out."
"Avery—"
"NOW."
She paused, then dropped the syllabus and moved to the door.
Looked back.
"He'll never want you," she said coldly. "You're a kid playing dress-up. He's a grown man, way out of your league. This won't end how you think."
She left.
Door clicked shut.
I stood, heart pounding, adrenaline rushing.
She knows.
Not everything, but enough.
And now she's watching. Waiting for me to slip.
Good.
Let her watch.
That night was the department mixer.
Mandatory for all incoming comm majors. Faculty milling in the student lounge. Free pizza. Awkward chit-chat.
I almost skipped it. After Madison's visit, I wanted to hide and sort myself out.
But hiding was exactly what she expected.
So I changed into a simple black dress. Elegant, understated. Not trying too hard, but not invisible either.
I arrived twenty minutes late. The lounge was packed. Students gathered around professors. Everyone networking, laughing, pretending they belonged.
I grabbed a water and scanned the room.
There he was.
Ethan. Near the back, chatting with students. Navy sweater, dark jeans. More relaxed than usual.
He hadn't seen me.
I thought about walking over, proving Madison wrong.
Then someone called my name.
"Avery Lane, right?" It was Dr. Navarro. Young prof, dark curls, sharp features, a smug grin. "I've heard about you."
"All good things, I hope."
"Mostly." He chuckled. "You're in Ethan's intro class?"
"Yeah."
"Good luck. He's brilliant but tough. Doesn't go easy."
"I'm not looking for easy."
"Clearly." He glanced around. "First day's overwhelming, huh?"
"I'll manage."
"I'm sure." He looked at me a little too long, a little too intense. "If you need help navigating the department, just ask. I love mentoring promising students."
There was something slimy about his offer.
"Thanks. I'll keep it in mind."
I slipped away, nearly bumped into Ethan.
"Miss Lane." He steadied me with a hand on my elbow. "Careful."
"Sorry. Didn't see you."
"Clearly." He almost smiled, dropped his hand. "Settling in okay?"
"Yeah. Room's small but fine."
"First day's chaos. Gets easier."
"That's the word."
"Because it's true." He glanced around, then back. "Saw your Instagram. You're already documenting college."
"Kind of my job."
"Right. Influencer thing." No judgment. "Ever just live without filming?"
Caught off guard.
"Sometimes," I said. "But followers expect content."
"And what do you want?"
"To find out who I am without the camera."
His expression softened. "Good goal."
Someone called him over.
He looked back. "I should—"
"Go ahead."
But he hesitated.
"You're in my Tuesday-Thursday lectures," he said. "Front row or back?"
"Not decided."
"Front row do better. Back row's more interesting."
"Which do you want?"
He paused, something flickered in his eyes. Made my breath catch.
"I haven't decided either."
He leaned in just a bit. I caught his cologne, clean, expensive.
His voice dropped. "I'll be seeing you again, won't I?"
Not a question.
A promise. A challenge.
My heart pounded, but I kept my face neutral.
"Guess you'll have to wait and see, Professor Parker."
I slipped away, out the door, into the night.
My hands shook.
My heart raced.
Not from fear.
Not nerves.
Something else.
That wasn't just curiosity.
That was interest.
Real interest.
And I felt it too, the pull, the spark, the rush when he leaned in.
This was supposed to be revenge. Hurt Liam. Prove I'm not weak.
But when Ethan looked at me, revenge was the last thing on my mind.
I pulled out my phone. Opened Instagram. Started a caption for the photo.
Then deleted it.
Some things don't need showing off.
Some things are meant to stay private.
For now.
Back in my dorm, the quad was quiet. Most students at parties or mixers.
I was alone with my thoughts.
One kept repeating:
He's interested.
Not just curious.
Not professional.
Interested.
Madison was wrong.
This will work.
I just have to be patient. Strategic. Careful.
I whispered as I unlocked my door:
"Game on."