Novel's POV
“How do you want it, Novel?”
The voice was a low, velvet rasp against the shell of my ear, sending a frantic heat racing down my spine. I couldn't see him clearly the room was draped in shifting shadows but I knew that scent. Cedar and something dangerously wild.
“I don't know... I’ve never done it before,” I stuttered, my heart thundering against my ribs.
He didn't answer with words. Instead, his mouth found the sensitive line of my throat. I felt his teeth graze my skin, a sharp nip that made my knees turn to water. If he hadn't been holding my waist with those large, steady hands, I would have collapsed.
“That’s a good girl,” he murmured against my pulse.
The dream version of Alexei was bolder, darker. When his hand moved, sliding beneath the fabric of my clothes, the sensation was so vivid I could feel the friction of his skin. I gasped, my head falling back, a desperate sound escaping my lips as he began to move with a slow, agonizing rhythm.
“Faster, please!” I cried out, lost in the phantom heat of him.
“Say my name while I punish you, Novel. Be a good girl.”
“Alexei! Please, faster”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound pierced the haze like a siren. Alexei’s face blurred, his touch turning to cold air. I reached out, trying to grab the edge of the dream, but it was gone.
“Stoppppp!” I jolted upright, my chest heaving. The digital clock on my nightstand was screaming at me. With a groan of pure frustration, I swiped it off the table. It hit the floor with a satisfying thud, but the damage was done.
I was awake. And it was Monday.
Sophomore year at Barcelona International University was a special kind of chaos, especially on Mondays. I dragged myself to the bathroom, staring at the dark circles under my eyes. My makeup was always a disaster, so I usually skipped it, but today I needed a mask. I couldn't walk into class looking like a girl who had spent the night being half disvirgined by a billionaire in her sleep.
I threw on a blue tank top, high waist jeans, and my Mary Jane heels the "not too high" kind that still made me feel like I was trying.
By the time I reached the lecture hall for Media Ethics and Law, I was already exhausted. The professor, Mr. Maxwell, was a bald man in his fifties who dressed like he was stuck in a 1992 sitcom. He was notoriously greedy for administrative fees and universally disliked.
“Settle down, class,” Maxwell droned, looking at us like we were a nuisance. “Your seniors will be joining you for this module starting today. Take notes. Try to look like you belong here.”
He left as quickly as he’d arrived, leaving the room to erupt into chatter. I sat in the front row the only time it was ever available was Monday mornings and pulled my bag closer. I didn't have friends here. I was just Novel Hart the quiet girl, the nerd, the girl who was always a second behind the rhythm of the room.
I was heading to my next class, lost in thought, when I accidentally clipped someone's shoulder in the hallway.
“Watch where you’re going!”
I looked up to see a girl who looked like she’d stepped off a runway. Blonde, perfectly polished, and currently wearing a look of absolute disgust.
“I didn't even touch you,” I scoffed, my lack of sleep making me bolder than usual.
“What? Did you just scoff at me?” she shouted, her voice drawing a crowd. She was pretty, fitting the ‘Mean Girl’ lead of a romance novel perfectly, but her eyes were venomous.
“Sorry. I think we’re good now,” I said, trying to push past her.
Suddenly, I felt a sharp, burning yank at the back of my head. She’d grabbed my hair. My hand went up to fight back, but before I could, a shadow fell over us.
“Ava, stop. You can't go around fighting everyone just because we had a row.”
A guy stepped between us, gently but firmly prying Ava’s hand from my hair. He was stunning icy blue eyes, jet black hair, and a voice that sounded like a choir. He was at least 6’3, and for a second, I just stood there, stunned by the Angel who had just intervened.
“Sorry,” the guy said, looking at me with genuine apology.
“I’ll take her from here.”
He dragged the fuming Ava away, leaving me to fix my ruined ponytail.
The day only got weirder. A text message blast went out to the sophomore group
“Mandatory get-together tonight. Private room at Pulse Edge. Attendance counts toward Media Law extra credit. Don’t be late.”
I groaned. Why me? I hated social gatherings even more. But I needed those points.
I arrived at Pulse Edge three hours later, feeling like a complete idiot. I was wearing a hoodie and baggy jeans, standing in a sea of sweaty bodies and deafening bass. This wasn't a restaurant; it was a meat market.
I struggled through the crowd, dodging drunk teenagers and the smell of cheap tequila, until I found the private room. When I pushed open the door, my heart sank. There were no lecturers. No textbooks. Just a group of my classmates holding red cups and laughing.
“Please... is there a lecturer here?” I asked a girl near the door.
She stared at me for a beat, then burst into a cackle.
“Guys, she fell for it, A nerd actually showed up”
“Pay up, Williams!” a boy shouted from across the room.
“I told you the ones in the front row were suckers.”
The heat of humiliation burned through my cheeks. I didn't wait for another word. I turned on my heel and bolted, my eyes stinging. I just wanted to go home. I wanted to crawl under my covers and pretend the real world didn't exist.
I was rushing through the club’s exit, blinded by my own frustration, when I slammed into a solid, unyielding chest.
“Ouch!” I cried, rubbing my forehead. The impact felt like hitting a brick wall.
I looked up, ready to apologize, but the words died in my throat. The strobe lights from the club caught the sharp line of a jaw and the cold, steel grey eyes I’d spent all night dreaming about.
“Am I dreaming?” I whispered, the sound lost in the thumping music.
A smirk played on his lips, dark and knowing. He reached out, his hand steadying me, and the ‘Pull’ returned a physical force that made my breath catch.
“No, you’re not, Miss Novel,” Alexei said, his voice dropping to that dangerous, velvet rumble.
“But I have to ask... what is a girl like you doing in a place like this?”