CHAPTER FOUR - ELENA

The day of our presentation came faster than I expected, and I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I was going to ruin it.

Noah had put everything into this project, carrying the weight of our partnership, while I had contributed little more than glares and silence. And now, that effort would be my weapon of choice.

The projector screen flickered in front of me, a distorted reflection of the presentation we—no, he had spent weeks perfecting. The class sat waiting, a sea of expectant faces. Mr. Harrison stood at the front of the room, arms crossed, and a faint, knowing smile played on his lips. He saw right through me; I was sure of it. But that didn’t matter. I just needed to make this believable.

I cleared my throat, putting on a bright, overly cheerful smile.

"Okay, so," I began, my voice just a touch too high-pitched. "As you can see, our initial projections regarding social class were slightly... exaggerated."

I trailed off, feigning confusion. The room was silent, save for the low hum of the projector. The truth was obvious. I was sabotaging our work on purpose.

Noah shifted slightly beside me, but he didn’t interrupt. He didn’t flinch. He just watched.

That quiet, unwavering confidence of his only fueled my irritation. He was too controlled, too damn smug. He needed to be knocked down a peg.

I stumbled through the next few slides, deliberately mispronouncing key terms, twisting facts, making a mockery of the work he had done. I could feel the weight of the class’s confusion, the subtle tension thickening the air. I waited for Noah to panic, to stammer, and to finally lose it.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he took a step forward, his presence suddenly commanding, his voice smooth and reassuring, as if speaking to a child who had gotten herself hopelessly lost.

"Actually, Elena," he said, his tone maddeningly patient. "If you'll allow me, I can clarify some of these points. There seems to be a slight misunderstanding."

I braced myself, expecting him to call me out, to turn this into a public confrontation. But he didn’t.

Instead, he did something worse.

He fixed it.

With a calm, effortless ease, he took my intentional blunders and wove them into something coherent, something even better than what he had originally planned. He built upon my mistakes, reframed them, and owned them.

And in doing so, he made me look incompetent without ever having to say it out loud.

I gritted my teeth as I watched him work. He was smooth, poised, completely unshaken. The class relaxed, the confusion replaced by amusement as Noah turned what should have been a disaster into something impressive.

He even smiled.

A small, knowing smile, like he had expected this all along. Like he was “enjoying” this.

And then, just to twist the knife deeper, he turned to me and nodded—nodded—as if I had been an actual contributor to his success.

"And with that," he finished, addressing the class, "we’d be happy to answer any questions you might have."

The room erupted in applause. Applause…..?

Mr. Harrison beamed, looking entirely too pleased. The class leaned forward, eager to ask questions.

And I?

I stood there, seething.

Then, just as I thought it was over, Noah leaned in ever so slightly, his shoulder brushing against mine, his voice a low, amused murmur meant for me alone.

"If you’re going to play dirty," he whispered, "at least try to be better at it."

A shiver ran down my spine, hot and unwanted, colliding with the burning anger coursing through me.

By the time I turned to glare at him, he was already answering a question, a smirk barely hidden on his lips.

And I was left standing there, speechless, my mind a chaotic mess of frustration, humiliation, and something else. Something I really didn’t want to name.

****

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

Images from the presentation replayed in my mind like a broken record. The way Noah had stood his ground, the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw as I deliberately butchered our project, the calm, controlled manner in which he had dismantled my sabotage piece by piece.

I tossed and turned in my silk sheets, the plushness offering no comfort. I had expected him to be humiliated. I had expected him to crumble under the pressure. Instead, he had shone. And in doing so, he had turned the spotlight back on me, exposing my own pettiness.

His words echoed in my mind, his voice calm but laced with quiet amusement. "If you’re going to play dirty, at least try to be better at it."

It was infuriating. Arrogant. And yet… strangely intriguing.

I was bored, I realized. Terribly, desperately bored. Life had always been predictable, mapped out in advance. People around me laughed at my jokes even when they weren’t funny, agreed with my every word, never dared to push back. Except Tiffany, she was the only one who challenged me once in a while.

But even that wasn’t enough.

Noah was different. He was a breath of fresh air, a rude awakening. A challenge. A puzzle I couldn’t quite solve.

I already knew his background. Everyone did. Scholarship kid. Worked multiple jobs to survive. Ambitious, driven, and relentless in his pursuit of success. He came from a world so different from mine—a world I had only ever glimpsed from a safe distance.

I had everything I could possibly want, yet I felt empty. Unfulfilled.

I rolled onto my side, staring into the darkness, but even with my eyes closed, I could still see him. The way his brow furrowed in concentration.

The way his lips curved ever so slightly when he knew he had the upper hand. The way his voice had sent an unexpected shiver down my spine.

When sleep finally came, it was restless. Fragmented.

And every time I drifted off, I saw Noah Carter.

****

The next day in class, I found myself watching Noah.

He sat a few rows ahead, head bent over his notebook, scribbling furiously. His uniform was the same slightly worn one he always wore; the fabric stretched just enough over his shoulders.

He looked completely absorbed, oblivious to the world around him. Unlike me.

I tried to focus on the lecture, but my mind kept wandering back to the way he’d looked at me yesterday—the way he always looked at me, like he pitied me. As if he saw through all my walls and found my tantrums amusing rather than intimidating. It made my skin prickle, and I hated it.

I surprised myself by standing up and walking straight toward him during lunch. An impulse. A stupid, reckless impulse.

“Noah,” I said, my voice coming out softer than I intended.

He looked up, his expression neutral but his eyes sharp, as if already expecting some kind of battle. "Elena."

I hesitated, feeling suddenly ridiculous. "About yesterday," I started, then stopped. How did people do this? Apologize like it was nothing? I cleared my throat. "I... I apologize. That wasn't... nice."

For a second, he just stared at me, then one corner of his mouth quirked up. "An apology? From Elena Kensington? I must be dreaming."

My patience snapped. "Don’t flatter yourself. I just don’t want Professor Harding thinking I’m completely incompetent."

Noah let out a low chuckle, the kind that did something weird to my stomach. "Relax, Elena. Your reputation is safe." His eyes glinted with something I couldn’t quite place. "Besides, I’m sure you have your own unique talents."

Something about the way he said it made my spine go rigid. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged like it didn’t matter, like he hadn’t just dropped some cryptic insult. "Let’s just say you have a certain... flair for the dramatic."

I crossed my arms. "And what exactly does that mean?"

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "It means," he said smoothly, "that you’re incredibly good at getting people to do what you want. You just need to learn how to use your talents for something other than petty sabotage."

I opened my mouth to fire back, because, excuse me, what? But he was already straightening up, turning away like he’d won some invisible argument I hadn’t even realized we were having.

Then he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Oh, and Elena?"

I lifted my chin, daring him to say something else that would make me want to strangle him.

"If you’re planning another performance, let me know in advance." His smirk deepened. "I might actually enjoy the challenge."

Then he winked. The audacity.

I stood there, fuming, heart pounding, completely thrown off. I wanted to scream. I wanted to shove him. I wanted to—

I had no idea what I wanted...