Chapter Three: Enemies Cross Paths

Nadia was up at six.

Outside, it was still pitch black—the kind of freezing winter morning where just stepping out from under the duvet felt like a punishment. She stood by the window, wrapping both hands around a mug of warm water, watching the bare tree branches whip around in the wind. Christmas was only two days away, but there wasn't a single flake of snow. The sky was just a heavy, indifferent sheet of gray.

The sound of heavy, stumbling footsteps down the hall cut through the quiet.

Amara appeared in the doorway, looking an absolute wreck. Her makeup was smeared, she was swaying on her feet, and the sharp, sour stench of stale alcohol rolled off her in waves. She leaned heavily against the doorframe, her chin tilted up with a defensive, irritated look that practically dared Nadia to say something.

"Amara," Nadia said, keeping her voice low to avoid an early morning shouting match. "Did you go gambling again?"

Amara’s chin went higher. "Who says I lost? Nobody can prove I lost anything. It was just a rough patch, alright? Things always turn around. Just give it a few days."

Nadia looked at her for a long, heavy moment. There was no point in arguing; they’ve had this exact conversation a dozen times before. Without a word, she picked up her scarf and bag and walked out.

By ten o'clock, the classroom was nearly full. Parents packed the rows of desks, some still unwrapping heavy coats and winter scarves, while others sat quietly with the patient, resigned look of people who did this every year. Only one seat at the very back remained empty.

Cullen Wolfe’s family. Absent again.

Nadia was scanning the room, ready to officially start, when the back door clicked open. She looked up, and her breath caught in her throat.

Caiden Wolfe walked in, wearing a crisp white shirt with a tan overcoat draped carelessly over his arm. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a high-stakes boardroom and hadn't bothered to slow his pace. His dark eyes swept the room in one clean, efficient motion. They locked onto her for a split second—something unreadable flickering across his features—before he moved right past her as if she were just another piece of school furniture.

Nadia’s fingers tightened against the attendance list, trying to hide the sudden, sharp tremor in her hands.

Of course. Of course Cullen and Caiden were brothers. Of course the identical stranger from that chaotic hotel room was now sitting in her classroom.

The world was entirely too small. Fine, paths cross. But did he have to end up in her territory?

She swallowed down the sudden spike of adrenaline, forced her posture straight, and took a deep breath.

The second Caiden took his seat, the energy in the room shifted. Half the mothers in the class suddenly sat up straighter, and several phones came out almost immediately. A woman in the third row was already typing out a post. Caiden ignored all of it with the practiced, effortless detachment of a man long accustomed to the spectacle he created. His face remained perfectly blank, though a faint hint of impatience lingered in the set of his jaw.

His gaze drifted back to the front, pinning Nadia down.

"Miss Verne," he said, his low, unhurried voice cutting through the ambient chatter. "Are we ready to begin?"

Hearing her name come out of his mouth, especially in this room, sent a strange jolt right through her focus. She forced her eyes down to her notes and turned to face the crowd.

"Thank you all for making the time today," she began, her voice a little raspy from a lingering cold, but steady enough to carry across the room. "We’ll be going over academic performance and general conduct from the past term. I'll call out the names as we go."

She moved through the roster systematically. Nadia genuinely cared about her students, and it showed in the way she spoke—she knew their individual quirks, where they struggled, and what they were capable of.

The entire time, she could feel Caiden’s eyes on her. It was like a spotlight left on in a dark room; even without looking at him, she knew exactly where his attention was fixed. He was watching her without a trace of expression, as if quietly assessing every detail and storing it away for later.

Finally, she reached Cullen’s name and forced herself to look up.

"Are you here representing Cullen Wolfe?"

"Yes," he replied simply, his tone relaxed. Instantly, half the parents turned their heads to look at him.

*He's just a student's guardian,* Nadia reminded herself, anchoring her thoughts to her professionalism. *Nothing more.*

"Cullen currently ranks second to last in the entire senior year group," she said clearly, looking him dead in the eye. "That goes for every single exam, without exception. I certainly hope that’s something your family is prepared to address, Mr. Wolfe."

A heavy silence dropped over the classroom. Any ordinary parent would have flushed red with embarrassment, but Caiden merely tilted his head a fraction, completely unfazed.

"How many students are in this year group?" he asked.

"Two thousand nine hundred," Nadia replied.

He tapped one long finger against the sleeve of his coat, the faintest ghost of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "So there's still someone behind him. Two thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine out of two thousand nine hundred. That seems like a perfectly reasonable position."

Nadia blinked, momentarily thrown. She quickly recovered, reminding herself that this was apparently how billionaires rationalized failing grades.

"Your perspective is certainly unique, Mr. Wolfe."

"Just practical," he countered smoothly, his eyes never wavering from her face.

Nadia was the first to break eye contact, looking back down at her papers. She hated that he always made her look away first, and the irritation was beginning to prickle at her nerves.

The meeting wrapped up just after noon, and parents immediately began filtering toward the exit. Caiden was on his feet before she even finished her closing remarks, moving toward the door with long, efficient strides.

Cullen was waiting just out in the corridor, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, looking like a man bracing for an impact.

"Caiden," Cullen muttered as his brother approached.

"That's really the best you can manage?" Caiden asked, not even slowing down as he walked past.

Cullen hurried to fall into step beside him, a grin already breaking through his nervous facade. "Okay, look, hear me out. You know how everything in a department store is priced at ninety-nine cents? It's psychological pricing. It changes how people perceive value. Now say it out loud: two thousand nine hundred versus two thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine. Which one sounds better?"

"You are not a product with a clearance tag," Caiden said flatly, his voice deadpan. "Do not let me see you at number two thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine again."

Cullen scoffed playfully. "You’ve never once cared about my grades before. Why start now?"

"Top one thousand by next term," Caiden ordered. "Or I cut off every single one of your allowances."

Cullen’s grin completely faltered. He pulled a face, groaning as he pushed his hands deeper into his pockets. "Fine. But you have to agree to one condition."

"What condition?"

Cullen opened his mouth to speak, then paused and closed it. A slower, much more mischievous grin spread across his face—the kind that meant he had just cooked up an idea he wanted to savor privately before sharing it.

Caiden glanced down at him, checked his watch, and kept walking down the hall.

Once the final parent had filtered out of the room, Nadia rolled her shoulders, letting out a massive sigh of relief. She gathered her lesson books and stepped out through the main school gates into the biting afternoon air.

Honestly, she had been thinking about a massive bowl of spaghetti since eleven o'clock. She had definitely earned it. That morning had taken far more composure than she had been prepared for, and she was exhausted.

She was just stepping onto the sidewalk when a sleek, polished black Bentley pulled up directly alongside her and crept to a halt.