Anabeth Hale learned early in life that invisibility was a survival skill. She didn't remember when she started shrinking herself into quiet corners or when her voice learned to curl inward instead of rising outward. She only remembered the silence—her own—and the noise of everything else around her.
Her parents were the kind of people who never should have had children. They weren't cruel, at least not in the deliberate way. They simply didn't see her. Their world revolved around themselves—plans, parties, promises they never kept. They moved through life like performers on a stage, always rehearsing lines for people who never really cared to watch. Their energy was spent outward, chasing attention, admiration, anything that fed their egos. And whatever attention they did have left never made its way to Anabeth.
So she learned to grow up quiet.
Meals were eaten alone. Questions went unanswered. Achievements disappeared into the air as though they had never existed. She learned to pack her own lunches, wash her own clothes, tuck herself into bed. She learned that needs were burdens, and burdens weren't loved.
By seventeen, she had mastered the art of being self-sufficient. By eighteen, she had mastered the art of pretending she didn't need anything more.
But pretending and being are not the same.
Which was why, when she finally entered Blackridge University—her escape, her freedom, her fresh start—the world seemed brighter, louder, fuller than she had ever imagined. It was overwhelming at first. People everywhere, voices everywhere, possibilities stretching like open roads in every direction.
For the first time, she was surrounded by people her age. People who laughed loudly and lived boldly. People who touched without hesitation, who sought friendships and affection as easily as they breathed. She had never been around so much warmth, and she wasn't yet sure how to stand near it without burning.
Still, she tried.
The first few weeks were a whirlwind of new experiences. Orientation events. Crowded cafeterias. Dorm parties that spilled into hallways and smelled of cheap perfume and too-sweet drinks. A kind roommate. A campus full of faces she didn't know but could reinvent herself beside.
She loved the freedom. Loved the energy. Loved the feeling of being somewhere where nobody knew her as the quiet girl from a neglected household. Here she could be anything—confident, spontaneous, desirable.
Sometimes she reached for that light too eagerly. Sometimes she said yes when she should have said no, followed impulses just because she could, because the world finally offered her attention she had never received. She wasn't reckless, not really, but she was lost, drifting between wanting to be wanted and fearing she might lose herself completely if she wasn't careful.
Most days, she didn't think about the past at all.
Until the night everything changed.
It was a Friday evening in late September, the kind where the air smelled of warmth fading into autumn. Her roommate had dragged her to a crowded social mixer near the student center—music blaring, students everywhere, lights glowing against the darkening sky. It wasn't exactly her scene, but she tried anyway, moving through the crowd with a cup of soda in her hand, half-smiling at strangers, half-hoping she would find someone interesting to talk to.
Then someone bumped into her.
Hard.
The drink slipped from her hand, splashing onto the pavement.
"Watch where you're going," a sharp voice snapped.
Anabeth blinked up, startled. The girl who had run into her looked irritated, but that wasn't what caught her attention.
It was the group behind her.
Four men dressed in dark clothing, too polished, too sharp to be students. They didn't look like they belonged on a college campus. They looked like they belonged in a place where the world bent too easily to power. Their presence drew attention even from students who normally wouldn't care.
But it wasn't the group that made her stomach tighten.
It was the one standing at the center.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with an expression carved from ice. His hair was dark, his jaw sharp, his eyes cold enough to freeze the air around him. He didn't speak. Didn't need to. There was something about him—something dangerous, controlled, terrifyingly calm—that made people instinctively step out of his path.
For a moment, his gaze flicked toward her.
Just one second.
One second where his emotionless eyes passed over her face, assessing…something. Not interest. Not curiosity. Something sharper, like recognition of threat—or inconvenience.
Then he looked away and continued walking.
The crowd parted around him like he was a shadow moving through sunlight.
"What was that about?" Anabeth murmured, brushing soda off her hand.
Her roommate followed her gaze and immediately stiffened.
"Oh. Him." She swallowed. "Yeah, don't look at him too long."
"Why?"
"Because he's not a regular guy. Rumor says his family owns half the city. And not in the 'businessman' way." She lowered her voice. "He's connected to the mafia. A real one."
Anabeth laughed nervously. "You're joking."
"I wish. People call him Damian Knight. Coldest guy on this campus—and he's not even a student."
Anabeth's breath caught. She looked toward where he had disappeared into the shadows of the walkway. The energy he carried lingered like a storm.
"Why is he here?" she whispered.
"Nobody knows," her roommate said. "But whenever he shows up…trouble follows."
Trouble.
The word sat heavy in Anabeth's chest.
She should have walked away. Should have forgotten the encounter entirely. Should have reminded herself that she had come to campus for peace, for growth, for a chance to build a life that wasn't suffocated by the chaos of others.
But that single glance—cold, unreadable—echoed in her mind.
Because Damian Knight looked like someone who felt nothing at all.
And Anabeth had spent her entire life surrounded by people who pretended to feel too much.
Something about that difference caught her attention in a way it shouldn't have.
Something about him felt like a story waiting to unfold.
She didn't know it yet, but that night was the beginning of a chain of events that would unravel everything she thought she understood about danger, love, and herself.
It was the night their paths crossed.
The night the coldest man in the city noticed the girl who had spent her life trying to be invisible.
And the night invisibility stopped being an option.
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