Betty ran through the pristine hallways of Riverside Prep, clutching Marcus's towel and the broken pieces of her glasses. Without them, everything was a blur of marble columns and gold fixtures. Room numbers were impossible to read, and every corridor looked the same.
She'd been running for what felt like forever, checking her phone for the time between panicked glances at door signs she couldn't make out. Biology 101, Professor Hamilton, Room 304. Where the hell was Room 304?
Students stared as she rushed past, some pointing and whispering. Word was already spreading about the locker room incident. She could hear fragments: "...grabbed his towel..." "...total psycho..." "...who is she anyway?"
Finally, she spotted a blurry "304" on a door. Betty paused outside, trying to catch her breath and smooth down her hair. She was already twenty minutes late. Through the frosted glass, she could see the class was in session.
She opened the door as quietly as possible and slipped inside.
Every head turned. The classroom fell silent.
Betty's heart sank as she recognized several faces from the locker room—including Vel, who smirked at her from the third row. They'd had plenty of time to get dressed and make it to class while she'd been running around lost.
"Well, well," Professor Hamilton said from the front. "Nice of you to join us, Miss...?"
"Branson," Betty mumbled. "Sorry I'm late, I—"
"Find a seat."
Betty looked around desperately. Every chair seemed occupied, students deliberately looking away or placing bags on empty seats beside them. Even Stacey, sitting in the second row, avoided eye contact when Betty looked at her hopefully.
The only vacant seat was in the back corner—right next to Marcus.
He sat there with his arms crossed, dark hair still slightly damp, wearing a fitted black t-shirt that showed off the chest she'd accidentally touched earlier. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes never left her face.
Betty started toward the empty seat, trying to ignore the whispers following her movement.
"Careful," Kate stage-whispered to Stacey as Betty passed their row.
Betty was almost to the seat when it happened. Kate's foot shot out just as Stacey shifted her bag into the aisle. Betty's legs tangled, and she went down hard, hitting the floor with a loud thud.
The class erupted in laughter.
"Oops," Stacey said with fake concern. "So sorry!"
Betty's face burned as she scrambled to her feet, Marcus's towel falling from her hands. More laughter rippled through the room.
Professor Hamilton clapped his hands sharply. "Enough! Miss Branson, take your seat. Now."
Betty grabbed the towel and practically threw herself into the chair next to Marcus, who was watching her with what might have been amusement.
"As I was saying," Professor Hamilton continued, "your midterm project will account for forty percent of your grade. You'll be working in pairs to create detailed anatomical drawings and present your findings on human muscular structure."
He started reading names from a list. "Thompson and Rivera... Morrison and Chen... Mitchell and Branson..."
Betty's stomach dropped. Marcus's jaw clenched.
"Professor," Marcus raised his hand, his voice smooth and confident. "I'd prefer to work alone."
"That's not an option, Mr. Mitchell. The assignment requires collaboration."
"Then pair me with someone else."
Professor Hamilton's eyes narrowed. "The pairs are final. And might I remind you, Mr. Mitchell, that failing this project would result in academic probation, which would cost you your basketball captaincy."
The threat hung in the air. Marcus's hands curled into fists on his desk, but he said nothing.
The bell rang, and chairs scraped against the floor as students gathered their things.
"Remember," Professor Hamilton called out, "presentations are in two weeks. Don't disappoint me."
As students filed out, Marcus remained seated. "Everyone out," he said quietly, but his voice carried enough authority that people listened. "Now."
Stacey and Kate lingered by the door, but one look from Marcus sent them scurrying. Even Vel and his friends cleared out quickly.
Soon it was just Betty and Marcus in the empty classroom.
Betty started to stand. "I should probably—"
"Sit down."
It wasn't a request. Betty sank back into her chair as Marcus slowly stood and walked around to her side of the desk. She could smell his cologne—something expensive and masculine that made her pulse quicken despite everything.
"Going somewhere, braceface?"
Betty tried to back away, but her chair was already against the wall. Marcus kept moving closer until he was standing right in front of her, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
"Do you really not know who I am?" His voice was low, almost a whisper.
Betty shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
Marcus leaned down, bracing one hand on the desk beside her. His face was inches from hers now, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body.
"I can tell you're getting wet," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "Tell me your name, braceface."
Betty's cheeks flamed. "Betty," she whispered, hating how breathless she sounded.
"Betty." He said it like he was tasting it. "Well, Betty, if you want me to do this project with you—and trust me, you need me more than I need you—there's something you have to do first."
"What?" She could barely get the word out.
Marcus straightened up and looked down at his expensive designer sneakers. "Kiss them."
Betty stared at him in shock. "What?"
"You heard me. Get on your knees and kiss my sneakers. Show me the respect you should have shown in that locker room."
For a moment, Betty just sat there, humiliation and anger warring in her chest. She needed this project. She needed to pass this class. She needed to prove she belonged here.
Slowly, she slid off her chair and crouched down in front of him.
Marcus smirked triumphantly. "That's better. Now—"
Betty gathered saliva in her mouth and spat directly onto his pristine white sneakers.
"Kiss that," she snarled, jumping to her feet.
Marcus looked down at his shoes in shock, then back at her with fury blazing in his dark eyes.
But Betty was already running, grabbing her bag and bolting for the door. She burst into the hallway and kept running, not looking back even when she heard him curse behind her.
She was halfway down the corridor when she nearly collided with a tall man in an expensive suit.
"Excuse me," the man said politely, steadying her with gentle hands.
"Sorry," Betty mumbled, rushing past him toward the exit.
The man watched her go, then walked into the classroom where Marcus was still staring at his ruined shoes.
"Son."
Marcus looked up to see his father, Harry Mitchell, standing in the doorway with an amused expression.
"Dad? What are you doing here?"
"I was in the neighborhood. Thought I'd see how your first day was going." Harry's eyes flicked to the spit on Marcus's shoes. "Interesting morning?"
"Some psycho girl. Don't worry about it."
Harry walked over and placed a hand on Marcus's shoulder. "Actually, you should worry about it. In fact, you should make it your top priority."
"What are you talking about?"
"Get her heart, Marcus."
Marcus stared at his father like he'd lost his mind. "Why the hell would I do that?"
Harry smiled, the kind of smile that meant business. "Because her father is your fastest ticket to the NBA. Make that girl fall for you." He shrugged. "You do it as a hobby anyway."
Marcus frowned. "Her father?"
"Betty Branson. Ring any bells?"
The name did sound familiar, but Marcus couldn't place it.
"Richard Branson," Harry said patiently. "Sports agent to half the NBA. The man who could get you drafted straight out of college instead of riding the bench in some minor league."
Understanding dawned in Marcus's eyes. "You want me to seduce her for business?"
"I want you to be smart about your future. That girl just became the most important person in your life."