There was way too much Liam Sinclair in my personal space.
I wasn’t sure what was worse—the fact that I had landed right on top of him, sprawled across his stomach like some ridiculous damsel in distress, or the fact that our faces were so dangerously close that I could see the exact shade of mischief in his dark eyes.
I moved to push myself up, but in my rush, my elbow slipped against his chest. Liam didn’t even flinch, just watched me with an infuriating smirk as I struggled to regain my balance.
"Now, this is what I call an entrance," he drawled, his voice low and teasing.
His hands skimmed along the bare skin of my legs, his touch deliberate, fingertips just beneath the hem of my skirt. My entire body went rigid.
"I have to admit…” A slow, amused grin curved his lips. “I didn’t expect such an original way to introduce yourself. But I don’t mind continuing from this point... just maybe somewhere more private?"
Every alarm bell in my head blared at once.
I had heard plenty about Liam Sinclair before I even stepped foot in this academy. Liam was the playboy, the one who collected admirers like trophies and had a long list of girls who thought they could tame him.
I wasn’t about to be one of them.
"Get your hands off me, Richie Rich," I snapped, shoving against his chest.
He let me go easily, his smirk only widening as I scrambled up, nearly losing my balance again.
As soon as I put weight on my right leg, a sharp bolt of pain shot up my knee, and I sucked in a breath. Glancing down, I saw a thin trickle of blood running down my shin, a nasty scrape from where my leg had slammed against the marble stairs.
Liam got to his feet, brushing imaginary dust off his uniform.
"They weren’t lying about your sharp tongue," he mused. "But maybe it’s also capable of saying thank you."
My glare could have set his designer tie on fire. "Thank you? You didn’t exactly catch me."
His lips twitched. "Would you rather I hadn’t been there? Because from where I’m standing, you landed on something much softer and pleasant than cold, hard stairs."
I clenched my jaw, refusing to let him get under my skin. I had bigger things to worry about. Like the fact that I hadn’t just fallen. I remembered it now. That shove.
"I didn’t just jump at you or something," I muttered, more to myself than to him. "Someone pushed me—"
Liam suddenly loosened his tie, sliding it from his neck in one smooth motion. Before I could react, he crouched in front of me, his movements practiced and sure.
His hands were shockingly gentle as he wrapped the silk fabric around my knee, tying it with precise care.
I couldn’t move. Could barely breathe.
Liam Sinclair was kneeling in front of me, bandaging my wound with his own tie—and doing it with the kind of calm efficiency that made it impossible to tell if he was being genuine or just toying with me.
"You should be careful," he murmured, his voice quieter now, unreadable. "Being too bold and ignoring social ranks in these halls can cost you... more than you think."
It wasn’t just a warning. It was a fact.
Flustered, I muttered, "Thanks," barely above a whisper.
Liam flashed a charismatic smirk, unbuttoned the top of his shirt slightly as if he was already bored of the moment, then stood up. Without another word, he walked away, leaving me standing there, heart pounding, tie wrapped around my knee like a brand.
I arrived in class still thinking about the fall. And the tie. And Liam’s words.
I barely noticed the classroom as I walked in—until something on the teacher’s desk caught my eye. A worn-out box of playing cards.
Something about it unsettled me, but before I could linger on it, a commotion outside the window pulled my attention.
Students rushed to the glass, pressing against each other to see below. Curious, I moved to the edge of the room and looked down into the courtyard.
A fight was already underway. Or rather, a massacre.
A tall, broad-shouldered student in a black leather jacket was pummeling another red-tied student, fists landing with unrelenting force. The victim barely put up a fight.
"That temper of his… Aiden Sinclair is completely unhinged."
I stiffened at the name.
Another voice muttered, "That’s his third fight this week."
Someone scoffed. "This time, he’s definitely getting punished."
A calm, almost amused voice beside me said otherwise. "No one punishes a Sinclair."
I turned toward the speaker and found myself face-to-face with Gabriel Sinclair.
He was watching the fight like it was a mildly interesting movie, completely unbothered by his brother’s violence.
Below, Aiden delivered a final blow, shoving the beaten student to the ground before shaking the blood off his knuckles. He didn’t even glance back as he walked toward the academy building.
Gabriel’s light storm-gray eyes flickered to me. He looked at me. Then at the empty seat beside him. Then at my bandaged knee, wrapped in Liam’s red tie.
Without saying a word, he moved his belongings off the chair.
An invitation.
With no better options, and the bell ringing to signal the start of class, I slid into the seat next to him.
I hesitated before muttering a quiet, "Thanks," as I slid into the seat next to Gabriel.
He barely acknowledged me, giving only a slight nod before turning his attention elsewhere. I followed his gaze toward the door just as Aiden Sinclair walked in.
He moved with that slow, deliberate confidence, the kind that made people tense even when he wasn’t looking at them.
Mr. Parkins, oblivious to all of it, frowned as he picked up a worn, flattened card box from his desk. With an irritated sigh, he passed it to the front row.
"Throw this away," he said.
I barely paid attention—until Aiden made the smallest movement. A flick of his fingers. The student holding the box froze. Then, hesitantly, it started moving backward instead of forward.
By the time it reached Aiden, he unfolded the cardboard carefully, his expression unreadable.
Gabriel watched. So did I.
Aiden’s lips curved slightly as he tilted the message toward his brother.
"Tonight. 6 PM. Auditorium ‘Emerald.’ Let the game begin."