Chapter Twenty-Five

Ava’s POV

I stood still for a moment after the car pulled away and simply looked at the school.

It was no ordinary school. The main building rose in clean lines of glass and pale stone, the kind of architecture that belonged more to a private corporate campus than a place of classrooms. Wide steps led up to a set of heavy glass doors. Perfectly maintained lawns stretched on either side, and a row of expensive cars sat in the student parking area beyond the main walkway. Even the air felt different—quiet, polished, and carefully controlled.

As I walked toward the entrance I began to hear the conversations around me. Two girls near the steps were comparing summer trips—one to the Amalfi Coast, the other to a private island I had only ever seen in magazines. A boy in a tailored jacket laughed about his father’s new jet and the crew that came with it. Someone else mentioned a charity gala where the cheapest table cost more than most people’s monthly rent. The comments were casual, almost bored, as if extreme wealth was simply the background of every ordinary day. It did not take long to understand what I had stepped into. This was the richest school in the town, the kind of place where last names carried more weight than grades and where people like me—people who arrived from complicated private arrangements rather than old family money—stood out whether they wanted to or not.

I tightened my grip on the bag Corren had chosen for me and kept walking.

Inside, the lobby was all high ceilings, soft light, and polished floors. A reception desk directed me to the administrative office for final registration. The process was efficient and impersonal. I signed where I was told to sign, received a temporary student card, and was given the location of my first class. No one asked unnecessary questions. No one commented on the driver who had dropped me off. In a place like this, private cars were not remarkable.

The classroom was on the second floor. I found it with a few minutes to spare and stepped inside. The room was large and modern, with wide windows and tiered seating. Most of the students were already present, arranged in loose groups, still talking in the same easy, moneyed tones I had heard outside. I took an empty seat near the middle of the room and set my bag down carefully. My pulse was quicker than I wanted it to be. Everything about the environment felt sharper than the university lecture halls I had once imagined for myself.

The teacher entered a short while later—a woman in her forties with a precise manner and a voice that carried easily. She welcomed the class, ran through a brief overview of the course, and then looked directly at me.

“We have a new student joining us today,” she said. “Please stand and introduce yourself.”

I stood.

The room quieted by degrees as faces turned toward me. I kept my voice steady and gave the simplest version of the truth.

“My name is Ava. I’m new to the program this term. I look forward to the class.”

A few polite nods answered me. Someone near the front smiled briefly. I was about to sit down again when my eyes moved, almost without intention, toward the back of the room.

I saw him again.

He was seated in the last row, slightly apart from the others, one arm resting along the back of the neighboring chair. The same young man I had glimpsed outside when I stepped from the car—the same one I had not been certain about. This time there was no quick turn of the head to confuse the recognition. He was looking directly at me. The expression on his face was calm, interested, and faintly amused, as if he had been waiting to see whether I would notice him. Heat rose in my cheeks before I could stop it. I sat down quickly, heart beating harder than the short introduction justified, and fixed my attention on the teacher as she continued with the lesson.

I did not look at the back row again for the rest of the period. I did not need to. The awareness of his presence sat between my shoulder blades like a light, persistent pressure. My mind tried to place him more firmly—the courtyard outside the glass building, the way Corren’s billionaire acquaintance had shaken hands while the younger man stared, the brief confusion at the school entrance that morning. Whether he was exactly the same person or only someone who resembled him, the effect was the same. He had seen me. And now he was here.

The lesson passed in a blur of syllabus details and opening remarks. When the teacher finally dismissed the class for break, chairs scraped back and conversations rose again almost immediately. I gathered my bag with deliberate care, waiting until most of the students had filed out before I stood. I needed a moment of ordinary movement—something to reset the unsettled feeling in my chest.

The cafeteria was located in a separate glass-walled wing of the building. It was already half full when I entered. The space was bright and expensive in the same quiet way as the rest of the school: long tables, modern chairs, a food service area that looked more like a private club than a student canteen. I collected a simple tray—water, a small salad, something I could eat without thinking too much about it—and found an empty table near the window. I sat with my back mostly to the room and tried to focus on the view of the lawn outside.

I had only taken the first sip of water when a shadow fell across the table.

I looked up.

He was standing there with a tray in his hands, the same young man from the back of the classroom. Close up, the recognition settled more firmly. The features matched the brief impression from the courtyard and the uncertain glimpse outside the school. He carried himself with the easy confidence of someone who had never needed to question whether he belonged in rooms like this. His expression was open, mildly curious, and entirely free of the heavy control I had grown used to under Corren’s roof.

He glanced at the empty chair across from me, then back at my face.

“Can I join you?”