Alexandrov's first day at Saint Laurentius Academy had passed in eerie silence. Even as he walked through the hallways, the students seemed to whisper in his wake, each of them wondering who exactly this new student was—more than just a handsome boy in a sharp suit. There was something darker about him, something that made them feel the temperature drop when he entered a room, even on the warmest days.
But one thing was clear: Alexandrov didn't care.
His mind was elsewhere. He could feel her.
Amalia Winter.
Her scent had haunted him through the night, weaving itself into his dreams. The pulse of her heartbeat, steady and pure, had pierced through the thrum of his restless sleep. He could almost see her face in his dreams—eyes like the sea, blue-green and captivating, surrounded by an ethereal glow that seemed to beckon him.
And now, as he walked into the school's grand dining hall, his sharp gaze swept across the students, each of them oblivious to his presence. His senses were tuned to one frequency: the rhythmic beat of her heart.
A soft laughter bubbled up from the far corner, drawing his attention.
There she was. Amalia Winter.
She was sitting with a small group of girls, her dark auburn hair cascading down her back like a river of fire. Her posture was casual, but there was an air of quiet strength about her—something regal in the way she carried herself. The way she laughed. It was soft, like the sound of wind through the trees, and yet, it reached deep into him, as if calling him from some ancient, forgotten place.
Alexandrov took a slow breath, his heart thudding in his chest. She was even more beautiful in person, if that was even possible. The world around him seemed to fade into the background.
Without even realizing it, he had moved toward her, each step calculated and deliberate, until he was standing just a few feet away. The space between them pulsed with an unspoken tension, like the silence before a storm.
Amalia looked up, meeting his gaze.
Her eyes, those oceanic eyes, locked onto his. Her smile faltered for a second, a flicker of recognition passing through her features. But just as quickly, she masked it, returning to her conversation as if nothing had happened.
Alexandrov's lips twitched into a faint, knowing smile. He wasn't bothered by her hesitation. It was only natural. After all, no one knew who he really was—not even her.
The moment passed, and he moved on to his seat.
But he couldn't shake the feeling that their paths were meant to cross in this very place.
Later that evening, the moon hung high in the sky, casting a silver glow over the academy grounds. Alexandrov stood by the large oak tree near the fountain, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black jacket, his gaze focused on the glimmering water.
He could feel her approaching. Amalia.
He didn't need to turn to know.
"Are you always this mysterious?" Her voice was soft, laced with curiosity, but also with a hint of something else. A challenge.
Alexandrov smirked slightly, turning his head just enough to see her silhouette against the moonlight. "Only when I find something worth the mystery."
Amalia stepped closer, her presence pulling at him like gravity. "I don't think I've met you before," she said, her tone casual, though there was a subtle tension in her voice. "You don't talk like them. You don't act like them."
"I don't." Alexandrov's lips curled slightly. "But I am."
She stepped a little closer, the distance between them shrinking with each movement. "Who are you really?" she asked.
He considered her question for a moment. How much could he reveal?
"A student," he said at last, his voice drifting on the breeze. "Just like you."
Amalia's lips parted, but before she could say anything else, a voice from behind them interrupted.
"Amalia."
She turned to see a tall boy with dark brown hair, wearing a school uniform that matched hers. His gaze flicked over to Alexandrov, and for the first time, his posture shifted—tense, protective.
"I see you've met the new kid."
Alexandrov's eyes narrowed slightly, his senses picking up on the undercurrent of hostility. This boy was protective of her, but not in a way that indicated friendship. It was something deeper, something possessive.
"I was just getting to know him," Amalia said, a note of amusement in her voice. She glanced at the boy, then back at Alexandrov.
"Who's this?" Alexandrov asked, his voice cool and curious.
"This is Clifton Cole," Amalia said, her eyes flicking between the two. "He's the president of the student council."
"Nice to meet you." Clifton's tone was cordial, but there was something in his eyes that made it clear he didn't trust Alexandrov.
Alexandrov extended his hand. "Likewise."
Clifton hesitated for a moment, then shook it. His grip was firm but not overly so—just enough to show he wasn't intimidated by Alexandrov's presence. But the underlying message was clear: Stay away from her.
Alexandrov let the moment linger, then pulled his hand back, nodding toward Amalia.
"Maybe we'll talk again," he said softly, his voice tinged with something dark, something old. "But not tonight."
Amalia's gaze held his for a moment longer, a flicker of something passing between them. Something deeper than simple curiosity.
With a polite smile, she turned away, following Clifton toward the dorms.
Alexandrov watched them go, his thoughts heavy with the weight of what had just happened.
Back in his dorm room, Alexandrov sat by the window once more, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of his glass. His thoughts were filled with Amalia—her scent, her smile, the subtle tension in her gaze. She had felt it too, the pull between them. It was undeniable.
And yet, there were obstacles. Clifton Cole, for one. The boy had no idea what he was dealing with.
Alexandrov knew it was only a matter of time before everything began to unravel. But for now, he let the night fall around him, knowing that the games were just beginning.