Amara walked through the university campus with slow, measured steps, the weight of the morning's events pressing down on her shoulders like an anchor. The world around her buzzed with a feverish energy, students whispering, laughing, and gasping over the scandal that had just unfolded in the lecture hall. Phones were out, articles were already being written, and the entire city seemed to be drowning in the aftermath of what had been the most shocking exposé in years.
At her side, Leah kept pace, her face a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. Unlike Amara, she didn't seem to be affected by the chaos in the same way. If anything, she appeared almost thrilled by it.
"I swear, I didn't see that coming." Leah let out a low whistle, shaking her head. "Lucas, of all people? I always knew he was scum, but with a professor? And then his father?" She let out a small laugh. "Karma is real, and it hit them like a train."
Amara remained silent, her fingers clenched around the strap of her bag. The images replayed in her mind, over and over—the sheer horror on Lucas's face, the stunned silence of the crowd, and Rafael… Rafael smirking as if he had orchestrated the entire thing.
She should have been glad. People like Lucas and his father, powerful men who thought they were untouchable, had finally been brought down. It was justice, wasn't it? Then why did she feel so uneasy?
"I don't know…" Amara finally spoke, her voice quiet. "It just feels… calculated."
Leah raised an eyebrow. "Well, obviously. Someone planned this. And whoever it was? They had access to some serious dirt."
Amara swallowed hard. Her thoughts drifted back to the mysterious message she had received right before the scandal erupted: Wait. Something enjoyable is about to happen.
It hadn't been a coincidence. Someone had known exactly what was going to take place. Someone had wanted her to witness it.
"Did you get a message?" Amara asked suddenly, turning to Leah.
Leah frowned. "A message?"
"Yes. Right before the videos played."
Leah shook her head. "No. Why? Did you?"
Amara hesitated, nodding slightly. Leah's expression darkened with curiosity.
"What did it say?"
Amara inhaled deeply, glancing around as if someone might be listening. Then, she leaned in. "It said, Wait. Something enjoyable is about to happen."
Leah's eyes widened slightly. "Okay, that's creepy." She paused, thoughtful. "And I'm guessing this isn't just some random prank?"
"No," Amara whispered, her mind spinning. "It felt personal."
Leah crossed her arms. "Well, if someone wanted you to see this, then it means you're part of their plan somehow." She tapped her fingers against her arm, deep in thought. "So, the real question is—who the hell is pulling the strings?"
Amara didn't have an answer. But she had a suspicion. And that suspicion led back to one man.
Rafael.
The way he had watched everything unfold, the amusement dancing in his dark eyes—it had been too perfect. He had wanted this to happen.
But was he the one behind it? Or was there someone else?
Her phone vibrated again, and her breath hitched. With trembling fingers, she pulled it out, unlocking the screen.
Another message.
Your semester and tuition fees have been submitted.
Her heart stopped.
"What is it?" Leah asked, sensing the shift in her energy.
Amara stared at the screen, reading and rereading the words. Her entire semester… paid? That was impossible.
"I—" She shook her head. "I need to find out who did this."
Without waiting for Leah's response, she turned and bolted toward the administration office, her mind racing. This wasn't a small amount. It was a significant sum—one she could never have afforded on her own.
Someone had paid for her.
And that thought both terrified and confused her.
She reached the office, breathless, and slammed her hands against the reception counter. The woman behind the desk looked up, startled.
"I need to check something," Amara said, barely able to control her voice. "My tuition fee. Someone submitted it."
The woman blinked, then turned to her computer, typing swiftly. "Your name?"
"Amara Lenz."
A few moments passed as the system loaded. Then, the receptionist's eyebrows lifted. "Yes, your fees were submitted this morning. Everything is clear."
Amara's fingers curled into her palms. "By who?"
The woman frowned. "It doesn't say."
Amara's stomach twisted. "No name? No details?"
"No, it was done through an anonymous transfer."
Amara stepped back, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. An anonymous transfer?
Who would do this?
She turned on her heel, her heart pounding. She needed answers. She needed to find Rafael.
Meanwhile, across the city, in a private penthouse overlooking the skyline, Rafael leaned back in his chair, swirling the glass of whiskey in his hand. The news was everywhere—Lucas's disgrace, his father's public downfall, the uproar in the university. The city was ablaze with scandal, and Rafael was enjoying every second of it.
The media had descended like vultures, reporters shoving microphones into the faces of anyone even remotely connected to the institution. Students were giving anonymous interviews, adding fuel to the already raging fire. Lucas's father had gone into hiding, and the university administration was scrambling to contain the damage.
It was perfect.
He took a slow sip of his drink, his lips curling into a smirk.
Everything had fallen into place.
And then there was Amara.
Rafael exhaled, placing the glass on the table as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Her expression during the scandal had been priceless—shock, confusion, suspicion. He could almost hear her thoughts, the way her mind must have been working, trying to piece together the puzzle.
He had watched her run out of the hall, seen the determination in her eyes. She wanted answers. And that, more than anything, amused him.
She was smart. Too smart for her own good.
His phone vibrated on the table, and he glanced at the screen. A message from an unknown number.
She knows something is off. But she doesn't know who to blame yet.
Rafael's smirk deepened as he typed his response.
Good. Let her chase ghosts for a while.
He sat back, his gaze drifting toward the city lights. This was only the beginning.
And Amara? She was already caught in the web.
Amara stormed through the university, frustration burning through her veins. She had searched for Rafael, but he was nowhere to be found. No one knew where he had gone, and the lack of answers only fueled her desperation.
Her phone buzzed again. Another message.
Enjoy the show?
She gritted her teeth, her grip tightening around the device.
Who was playing this game with her? And why?
The answers were out there. She just had to find them.
And this time, she wouldn't stop until she did.
Amara sat on the edge of Leah's bed, arms crossed, her expression full of reluctance. The golden glow from the vanity mirror illuminated Leah's bedroom, casting soft shadows against the walls.
"I don't know why you're acting like this is a death sentence," Leah teased, sifting through a pile of dresses. "It's just a party, Amara. A chance to have fun. To celebrate."
Amara sighed, sinking deeper into the mattress. "You act like I have something to celebrate."
Leah spun around, her eyes narrowing. "Are you kidding me? You, of all people, deserve to enjoy yourself. You've been through hell and back, and for once, things are turning in your favor." She tossed a deep red dress onto Amara's lap. "Now, put this on."
Amara lifted the dress hesitantly, her fingers tracing the silky fabric. It was beautiful but revealing—spaghetti straps, a plunging neckline, and a slit running up one thigh.
"This is too much," Amara muttered, holding it away from her body.
Leah rolled her eyes. "You'll look stunning. Just trust me."
Before Amara could protest further, Leah pulled her up and dragged her in front of the mirror. "Makeup time."
Amara sighed in surrender as Leah began working her magic. Soft strokes of foundation, a touch of blush, a smoky eye to enhance her sharp gaze. When Leah finally stepped back, Amara barely recognized herself.
"You look…wow," Amara whispered, her fingers grazing her cheek.
Leah grinned. "Told you."
With a final tug at the dress, Amara stood up. The fabric hugged her curves perfectly, accentuating every dip and slope. It was daring, bold—everything she usually wasn't.
"I feel…different," she admitted.
Leah winked. "Good. Now let's go before you change your mind."
The night was alive as Leah's car pulled up in front of the club. The line of people stretched down the block, neon lights flashing over their eager faces. The heavy bass of music throbbed from inside, making the pavement tremble beneath their heels.
Leah handed the keys to the valet before looping her arm through Amara's. "Ready?"
"No."
"Perfect. Let's go."
The bouncer barely glanced at them before letting them through, the privilege of knowing the right people. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of liquor and the rhythmic pulse of music. Chandeliers hung overhead, casting a golden glow over the sea of bodies moving on the dance floor. Laughter and conversation buzzed through the space, mixing with the clink of glasses.
Leah led Amara straight to the bar. "Two shots, please," she told the bartender.
"I don't—"
"Tonight, you do," Leah cut in, handing Amara a small glass filled with amber liquid. "Trust me."
Amara hesitated before throwing the shot back. The burn was sharp, hot, but it settled into a warmth in her stomach. Leah grinned in approval.
"See? Not so bad."
As they settled at the bar, Amara let herself take in the crowd. Women in dazzling dresses, men in sleek suits, bodies pressed together in a haze of music and alcohol. It was intoxicating, electric.
And then, she felt it.
A gaze. Heavy. Intense.
Her pulse jumped as she turned her head slightly, her eyes landing on a familiar figure in the VIP section.
Rafael.
He was lounging in a leather booth, a glass of whiskey in one hand, his long fingers lazily tracing the rim. His dark eyes were on her, smoldering with something unreadable. He wasn't alone—two men sat beside him, engaged in conversation, and a woman perched on the edge of his seat, laughing at something he wasn't paying attention to. Because his attention was on her.
Amara swallowed hard. Heat curled low in her stomach, unwelcome and dangerous.
Leah followed her gaze and smirked. "Well, well. Look who's here."
Amara tore her eyes away. "Let's not do this."
Leah only grinned, mischief dancing in her eyes. "Too late."
A moment later, the bartender set two drinks in front of them. Amara frowned. "We didn't order—"
"They're from the gentleman in the VIP section," the bartender interrupted, nodding toward Rafael's table.
Amara turned her head just in time to see Rafael lift his glass in her direction, his smirk slow, lazy, dangerous.
Her fingers tightened around the stem of the glass. "Unbelievable."
Leah giggled. "Oh, he's playing games."
Amara exhaled sharply. "And I'm not playing along."
"Sweetheart, you're already playing."
Annoyance bubbled under her skin as she lifted the drink and took a slow, deliberate sip. Rafael's smirk deepened as if pleased with her response.
The night blurred around them, the music a steady thrum in the background. Leah dragged Amara to the dance floor, laughter spilling from her lips as they moved together. The alcohol made everything feel lighter, looser. Amara let herself get lost in the moment, in the music, in the freedom.
But Rafael's gaze never left her.
Even as she danced, she could feel it like a brand against her skin. A constant, burning presence. When she turned her head, he was still watching, his fingers tapping idly against his glass.
And then, suddenly, he was moving.
He stood, murmuring something to his companions before making his way through the crowd, toward her. The people around him seemed to instinctively part, as if sensing the raw power rolling off him.
Amara's breath hitched as he stopped right in front of her. Close. Too close. The scent of whiskey and expensive cologne wrapped around her, making her head spin.
"You seem to be enjoying yourself," he murmured, his voice a velvet caress against her skin.
Amara lifted her chin. "I am."
His lips twitched. "Good."
Silence stretched between them, thick, heavy. The music faded into the background, the world narrowing to just the two of them. Rafael reached out, trailing a single finger down the exposed skin of her arm.
A shiver ran through her.
He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "But tell me, Amara," he whispered, his voice dipping into something almost sinful. "Are you celebrating? Or distracting yourself?"
Her stomach clenched. "Does it matter?"
He chuckled, low and knowing. "Not really."
She turned to fully face him, their bodies almost touching. The air between them was charged, thick with something dark and dangerous.
"I should go," she said, though she made no move to leave.
His smirk deepened. "You won't."
And she hated that he was right.