Chapter 3

The heavy thud of Khalia’s back hitting the desk echoed through the empty archive room. Her hands stayed locked around Atasha’s wrists, her knuckles turning white from the strain. But she didn't push.

She couldn't.

Atasha’s grip on Khalia’s oversized sweater tightened, pulling her so close that the space between them vanished.

The anger radiating off the queen bee was palpable, but beneath it lay a volatile, frantic energy.

They were both breathing heavily, the silence of the basement magnifying every ragged inhalation.

"Let go of me, Clemente," Khalia whispered, though her voice lacked its usual icy certainty. Her eyes darted down to Atasha’s lips before snapping back to her furious, hazel gaze.

"Or what?" Atasha challenged, her voice dropping to a husky, dangerous register.

Her heart was hammering violently against her ribs, a terrifying mix of fury and an uninvited, overwhelming rush of adrenaline.

"What are you going to do, Salvador? Report me? Tell the dean?"

"I don't need the dean to handle a spoiled brat," Khalia snapped.

That was the final thread.

The insult tore through the last of Atasha’s sophisticated restraint.

Instead of a verbal retort, Atasha leaned down and slammed her lips against Khalia’s.

It wasn't a gentle kiss.

It was an act of aggression, a chaotic collision of teeth and tension fueled by months of buried animosity.

Khalia let out a muffled gasp against Atasha’s mouth, intending to scream, but the sudden physical contact sent a jolt of pure electricity straight down her spine.

Her hands on Atasha’s wrists instinctively loosened, shifting up to grip the lapels of Atasha’s pristine, tailored blazer.

Instead of fighting it, Khalia bit back.

The sudden, fierce retaliation caught Atasha off guard.

A soft groan escaped Atasha’s throat as Khalia tilted her head, deepening the kiss with a sharp, demanding intensity that Atasha hadn't anticipated from the quiet nerd.

The musty smell of the archive room completely faded, replaced by the intoxicating taste of mint and the overwhelming warmth of each other's skin.

Atasha’s hands tangled into the messy bun at the back of Khalia’s head, pulling her closer, anchoring her against the desk as the world blurred around them.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, the silence returned with a deafening weight.

Atasha stumbled backward a step, her fingers flying to her swollen lips.

Her chestnut hair was disheveled, and her perfectly composed facade was completely shattered.

She looked at Khalia, horror and confusion warring in her eyes.

Khalia remained leaning against the desk, her oversized sweater pulled askew, exposing a sliver of her collarbone.

Her chest heaved as she pushed her slipping glasses back up her nose, her dark eyes pinning Atasha to the spot.

There were no tears, no panic—only a cold, analyzing stare.

"That was a mistake," Atasha breathed, her voice trembling slightly as she tried to regain her regal composure.

"A disgusting, hormonal mistake. If you ever speak a word of this—"

"Shut up," Khalia interrupted, her voice entirely flat. She stood up straight, smoothing down her faded sweater.

"I'm not going to tell anyone, Clemente. I have a reputation to protect, too. I don't need people thinking I have terrible taste."

Atasha’s jaw dropped, her anger flaring right back up. "You—"

"But let's be realistic," Khalia continued, stepping forward, her analytical brain taking full control of the chaotic situation.

"We both have an immense amount of academic stress. And clearly, we have a lot of aggressive energy toward each other. I'm proposing a solution."

Atasha frowned, her brows knitting together.

"What are you talking about?"

"Enemies with benefits," Khalia proposed, her tone as clinical as if she were reading a business contract.

"We keep doing this thesis. In public, you can continue your little queen bee act, and I will continue to ignore you. But in private, when the stress gets too much, we use each other to blow off steam. No feelings. No public acknowledgement. No interference in each other’s personal lives. Strictly physical."

Atasha stared at her, stunned by the sheer audacity of the top student.

The offer was insane.

It was toxic. It violated every rule of her social hierarchy.

Yet, looking at the stubborn, beautiful set of Khalia’s jaw, Atasha felt a dark, addictive thrill coil in her stomach.

She wanted to break Khalia. She wanted to see that icy calm shatter again.

"Strictly physical," Atasha repeated, a slow, dangerous smile returning to her lips as she stepped back into Khalia's space.

"And the moment either of us gets soft, it's over."

"Deal," Khalia murmured.