"Brisée entre ses bras"

~Ava

I didn’t think the day could get any worse.

The fluorescent lights of the hallway buzzed overhead, mocking me as I stood outside Professor Harlan’s office clutching a folder that held my failure.

Advanced Calculus? A big, fat F staring back at me. The only one course I managed to carelessly fail.

My grades. My disappointment. My heart. All neatly stapled together on white paper that suddenly looked like my death sentence.

At 18, I was supposed to be conquering college, not crumbling under it. My dreams of transferring to a top engineering program? Shattered. I needed extra credit, a miracle, anything

When I finally got in, he barely looked up. “Ava, I’m busy right now,” he said, pen scratching across his desk. “Come by next week and we’ll discuss it.”

"Please spare me a few minutes, it's about my grade in Calculus. I... I failed. Can we talk about retaking or extra work?" My voice cracked, betraying the lump in my throat.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Ah, yes, Miss Ava. Look, I'm swamped with grading and committee meetings. Come back next week, Monday, say 2 PM. I'll have time then by God's grace."

"Next week?" I echoed, my heart sinking further.

Today was Friday, the end of a hellish week. Waiting seven days felt like an eternity in purgatory.

But what choice did I have? "Okay... thank you."

He waved me off dismissively, already typing again. Defeated, I mumbled a goodbye and shuffled out, the door clicking shut behind me like a final judgment.

The hallway blurred as tears pricked my eyes. I wiped them away angrily, crying in public? No way. Not here, not in front of the smug freshmen who thought college was a party.

I stepped into the sun, squinting, and felt the weight of the whole semester pressing on my shoulders.

Everyone around me looked so alive, laughing, talking, hugging like the world wasn’t falling apart for me. Meanwhile, my thoughts were heavy, dragging like wet clothes.

I hugged my books to my chest and walked toward the gate, my head low, my sneakers scraping against the pavement.

Then I heard it. The sound of an engine purring.

A sleek black SUV, the kind that screamed money and mystery.pulled up sharply right in front of the main entrance, tires crunching gravel. Heads turned immediately.

The door opened.

And he stepped out.

Tall, easily over six feet with broad shoulders straining against a tailored black button up shirt that hugged his muscular frame like a second skin.

His dark hair was tousled just enough to look effortless, falling slightly over his forehead.

Chiseled jawline shadowed with a day's stubble, piercing eyes hidden behind aviator glass shades.

He moved with predatory grace, exuding power and something dangerously magnetic. The students murmurs erupted like wildfire.

"Oh my God, is he picking someone up? Look at those arms, does he bench press cars?" a girl in a sorority tank top whispered loudly to her friend, fanning herself dramatically.

"Someone tell me that's Lucifer in human form! I mean, hello, sin on legs. I'd sell my soul for a ride which isn't gonna take place in the car," her friend giggled, clutching her phone to snap a sneaky pic.

"Bet he's a celebrity undercover. Or a mafia boss. Either way, I'm deceased," another guy chimed in, elbowing his buddy. "Dude, those tattoos peeking out from his sleeve? Total bad boy vibe.”

“Holy hell… I’d let him ruin my GPA.” another one screamed.

I would’ve laughed if my mouth wasn’t suddenly dry.

The whispers rippled through the crowd, a mix of awe, envy, and outright lust.

Phones were out, capturing the spectacle. I stood frozen near the gate, my depression momentarily forgotten in the surreal scene.

Who was this guy? He didn't belong here, in our mundane college world of ramen noodles and all nighters.

He removed his shades slowly, revealing eyes like stormy seas, deep gray, intense, scanning the area with purpose.

His gaze flicked to his phone, thumb scrolling briefly, then locked onto... me? No, couldn't be.

He pocketed his phone and strode forward, parting the crowd like Moses at the Red Sea.

I took two instinctive steps back, my heart hammering. Run, a voice screamed in my head.

He's too good looking to be a good person. Those eyes, that build, he looked like the villain in a thriller movie, the one who kidnaps heroines and makes them question everything.

Kidnapper? Stalker? My mind raced to worst case scenarios. The compound's gate was only feet away, I could bolt into the street, flag a cab, disappear.

But my feet wouldn't move. Something primal held me there, a mix of fear and inexplicable pull.

He stopped inches from me, towering over my 5'6 frame. Up close, he was even more devastating, flawless skin, full lips curved in a slight, knowing smirk, and a faint scar above his left eyebrow that only added to the danger.

"Are you Ava Thompson?" His voice was deep, with a rumble that vibrated through me.

I blinked, shocked silent. How did he know my name? My full name? Panic clawed at my throat, but all I could wonder was how a man could be this handsome.

It wasn't fair, evolution had no business creating perfection like this. "I... uh... yes?" I stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, as if confirming something on an invisible list. "I'm Adrian Blackwood. I'm your mother's new husband."

The fuck did he just say?

I blinked. Once. Twice.

The words didn’t register at first. My mother’s what?

“The fuck…” The word slipped out before I could stop it. “You’re my what?”

He tilted his head slightly, as if amused by my disbelief. “Your stepfather.”

My brain short circuited. My mother's husband?

My mum, the beautiful quirky Elena Thompson had divorced my Dad seven years ago.

I was only 11 then, old enough to remember the screaming matches, the slammed doors, the way Dad packed his bags one rainy night and never came back.

She'd raised me alone ever since, juggling nursing shifts and my endless activities. Lately, though, she'd been gushing about hanging out with this hot man from her hospital's admin team.

"He's got that silver fox thing going, Ava, but way hotter," she'd teased over dinner last week, her cheeks flushing.

Woah, she wasn't kidding. This man was incredibly hot. But he looked nothing like an angel, more like temptation wrapped in sin, with those dark eyes promising forbidden secrets.

Before I could process, he stretched out his hand, not for a shake, but to grab my wrist.

His grip was firm, warm, sending an unwelcome jolt up my arm. He pulled me toward the SUV without another word, his stride unyielding.

I stumbled after him, too dazed to resist, my backpack bouncing against my side. The students murmurs turned to outright jealousy, a chorus of envious hisses.

"Lucky bitch, who even is she? Getting manhandled by that god?" one girl snarled, arms crossed.

"Did he just say he's her stepdad? Damn, sign me up for that family tree," her friend added with a scoff.

"Stepdad? Please, look at how he's holding her. That's not fatherly, that's straight up possessive. Jealous as hell," a guy muttered, shaking his head.

"I'd fake a relation for a ride on that beast underneath his trouser," another voice chimed in, laced with bitterness.

I barely registered them, my eyes fixed on Adrian as he drew me closer to the vehicle.

The door of the SUV opened automatically, fancy tech and he guided me inside with surprising gentleness, though his hand lingered on my wrist a second too long.

The SUV pulled away from the curb, leaving the murmuring crowd in the dust.