Chapter 1: Clash in Class
Damson's Pov;
I slid into my seat just before the bell, the chair scraping softly against the floor. Notebook open. Pen ready. Psych class wasn't my favorite, but it was predictable and predictability meant control. I chose the empty seat by the window, the one no one else wanted. Alone was easier.
Across the room, I felt eyes on me before I saw her.
Ada's POV
Of course he sat alone.
Damson Laurent. The brooding, quiet, wrapped in rumors like armor. The guy everyone whispered about but never really knew. He leaned back in his chair like he owned the space around him, like he didn't need anyone else.
I rolled my eyes.
Professor Thompson cleared his throat and scrawled words across the whiteboard.
IS LOYALTY A STRENGTH OR A WEAKNESS?
"All right," he said, clapping his hands once. "Debate time. Who's brave enough to start us off?"
Gustavo leaned toward Damson and muttered, "Prof's got a new haircut. Looks like he stuck his finger in a socket."
A laugh slipped out of Damson before he could stop it.
I noticed.
Ada's POV
I leaned closer to Cassandra. "Guess Damson thinks he's too good for us, sitting alone like that."
Cassandra snorted. "Nah. He's just poor and proud."
"Same difference," I whispered, lips curling.
Something about him irritated me so much. His silence, his calm, the way he never seemed to need approval. I shot my hand into the air.
"It's a weakness," I said clearly. "Loyalty blinds you to the truth."
My voice carried confidence, sharp and clean. Heads turned. I felt the familiar rush and the control.
Then his voice cut through it.
"Depends on what you're loyal to."
Damson's POV
She turned fast, eyes flashing. Up close, she was sharper than I expected, maybe like glass under pressure.
"Exactly," she said. "Loyalty's only as strong as your cause."
I leaned back, unbothered. "Or your people."
The air shifted. Not loud, but electric.
Professor Thompson raised a hand. "Interesting. Damson, expand on that."
I shrugged. "Loyalty's currency. You don't waste it."
She scoffed. "Or you don't have anything else."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
I smiled, not kind. Not amused. Dangerous.
Our eyes locked. Neither of us blinked.
This wasn't just a debate.
AFTER CLASS
Ada's POV;
I shoved my notebook into my bag, irritation simmering under my skin. He didn't win that exchange, but he didn't lose either. That annoyed me more.
Damson passed by with Gustavo, and for half a second, his gaze met mine. Calm. Knowing.
This isn't over, he muttered under his breath.
I heard it.
CAR BREAKS DOWN
The neighborhood was rough and even too quiet, too rundown. My car coughed once, twice, then died.
"Perfect," I muttered, popping the hood. Heat rushed up, carrying frustration with it.
Down the street, I spotted Damson and Gustavo crouched beside a Mustang, fixing a flat.
Of all days.
They looked up.
"I've got this," I said sharply when they approached.
Damson wiped sweat from his brow. "You sure?"
"I said I'm fine."
Pride clipped my voice, but I meant it.
As they walked away, Gustavo muttered, "Guess she thinks she's too good for us."
Damson shot him a look. "Nah. I think she's just… complicated."
I pretended not to hear.
THE MECHANIC
"You're ripping me off," I snapped. "This shouldn't cost $300."
The mechanic shrugged. "Parts ain't cheap, miss."
"Problem here?"
I turned. Damson stood behind me, voice low, steady.
"None of your business," I said.
The mechanic eyed him. "She says I'm overcharging."
Damson crouched, scanning the engine. "She's right. You're padding the bill."
The man stiffened. Gustavo stepped forward. "Hey. We got this."
Damson pulled out cash and held it out. "Fifty. Real price. Now."
The mechanic hesitated at first, then took it.
My cheeks burned. "I didn't ask for help."
"Didn't need to," Damson said.
I handed over the money anyway, eyes narrowed. "Thanks… I guess."
As they left, Gustavo whispered, "She's got a thing for you."
Damson snorted. "Nah. She hates me."
I watched them disappear.
He thinks he's something, I thought bitterly.
Home
"How was class?" my dad asked.
"Same old."
"You'll do great things, Ada."
"Not if people like Damson Laurent keep underestimating me."
He smiled knowingly. "Sounds familiar."
"I'm nothing like him."
My phone buzzed.
Cassandra: Ran into Damson again?
Ada: Unfortunately.
Cassandra: Girl, that man lives rent-free in your head.
I smiled despite myself.
No way.
RICO'S OFFER
The street buzzed low with distant sirens and the hum of engines. A box truck idled near the curb while Rico's boys unloaded heavy wooden crates, their boots scraping asphalt, their movements practiced and quiet.
Rico leaned against the van, arms crossed, watching, not working. He grinned when he spotted them. "Yo, D! Gus! What's good?"
Damson and Gustavo stopped.
"I'm making moves," Rico continued, nodding toward the crates. "Need help?"
Gustavo raised an eyebrow. "What kind of moves?"
Rico laughed. "The profitable kind. Come check it out."
Damson's eyes tracked the crates, the weight of them, the way the men handled them carefully. "What's the deal?"
Rico stepped closer, voice dropping. "Import business. Easy cash if you're in."
Gustavo whistled. "Sounds like a plan."
Damson didn't smile. "We'll think about it."
Rico's grin widened. "You know where to find me when you're ready."
As they walked, the noise of the city dulled behind them, crates thumping rhythmically as they were loaded. Damson rubbed his knuckles, his mind already dissecting Rico's pitch: cash first, risk later, and the itch in his gut that warned him this wasn't clean.
Gustavo kicked at a loose crate lid as they passed. It thudded. "If we're in," he said quietly, "we're talking real money… and real problems."
Damson's gaze drifted down the street. For a split second, he thought he saw a familiar silhouette pause