Chapter Two: The Mischievous Kid

The second Nadia stepped out of the hotel, the cold bit straight through her scarf. She paused at the top step, her boots planted in place as she tried to make sense of the mess in her head.

Calling it bad luck felt ridiculous. She had shown up to her best friend's wedding looking for a night of celebration, only to walk away with a permanent, life-altering mistake she couldn't undo or hand back. One blurry night. One stranger who couldn't read room numbers. One morning she already knew she wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon.

*I'm twenty-four,* she reminded herself, giving her shoulders a sharp, internal pull. An adult. It was a horrific, absurd oversight, and she was going to bury it, move on, and never speak of it again.

She stepped onto the pavement and started walking.

She had barely cleared half a block when the massive electronic billboard towering over the square flared to life. Nadia tried to keep her eyes glued to the pavement, but a sudden surge of noise from the crowd made her look up. Her stomach dropped the second she recognized the man on the screen.

It was a live broadcast. Reporters crowded against the security line, microphones raised as they shouted over each other.

"Mr. Wolfe, is it true you're back to oversee the new market expansion?"

"Why the sudden move? Your firms in the States are hitting record highs."

"Are you taking press questions during this trip, Mr. Wolfe?"

He stood right in the center of the flashing cameras, completely unaffected by the chaos. He offered a faint, entirely polite nod that didn't reach his eyes, giving them absolutely nothing to work with. Elegant, detached, and clearly used to owning whatever space he occupied.

Nadia looked at the screen for a second, then she jerked her chin down, fixed her eyes back on her shoes, and hurried past. Behind her, a group of passing women stopped in their tracks, giggling and pulling out their phones to take photos of the screen. Nadia kept her head down, swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth, and didn't look back once.

By the time she reached her parents' apartment, the familiar smell of tea loosened something tight in her chest. Her mother met her at the door, her face lighting up as she took Nadia's coat.

"Nadia, perfect timing! Come sit. Your father and I just got back from Dali."

Her father was already entrenched at the kitchen table, looking thoroughly pleased with himself as he carefully poured steaming water over a dark clay pot.

"Pu-erh," he announced proudly before she could even ask. "The genuine, aged stuff. It cost us a pretty penny, but it's worth every single cent."

"Oh, stop worrying about the money," her mother chimed in, dismissively waving a hand as she sat down. "What matters is that we're all here to enjoy it."

Nadia wrapped both hands around the small ceramic cup, letting the intense heat soothe her stiff fingers. For the next hour, she completely let go of the morning, letting her parents' easy chatter wash over her. They argued good-naturedly about the mountain roads, the local tea farms, and who bought what at the markets. She laughed when she was supposed to, asked the right questions, and drank four full cups of the dark, earthy tea until the knot in her stomach finally began to loosen.

Then her eyes landed on the wall clock. Nadia nearly choked on her last sip and bolted out of her chair.

"I have the afternoon blocks," she stammered, throwing her bag over her shoulder. "I'm already cutting it incredibly close."

She snatched her keys, shoved her gloves into her pocket, and flew out the door before her mother could even tell her to be careful.

She slipped through the staff entrance with eight minutes to spare.

The academy was the most prestigious high school in the city, the kind of place where parents pulled strings for years just to get their kids on the waitlist. Nadia had sacrificed sleep and a social life to earn her position here, and she protected it fiercely. She handled senior literature and served as the homeroom advisor for Class Five. For the most part, she genuinely loved her students. Most of them.

"Please open your texts to page 85," Nadia said, trying to catch her breath as she smoothed down her skirt. "We're analyzing an ancient classic today. I'll read through the stanzas first, and then you'll tackle the commentary in your pairs."

She cleared her throat, holding the book high.

"The cuckoo sings on the river's isle..."

"A graceful teacher, a perfect match for her students."

The voice came from the center row, lazy, distinct, and dripping with amusement. The classroom erupted instantly. Desk chairs scraped against the floor as kids whipped around, muffled snickers immediately breaking out before Nadia could even lower her book.

Cullen Wolfe lounged in his seat, his arms locked over his chest and his eyes half-lidded against the glare of the window. He looked like a kid who owned the building and was just letting everyone else rent space in it.

"The cuckoo sings on the river's isle, a graceful teacher, a perfect match for her students," Cullen repeated, his tone mockingly solemn, like a monk reciting a sacred text.

A wave of actual laughter rippled through the room. Nadia bit the inside of her cheek to keep her temper in check, marched down the aisle, and rapped her knuckles hard against his desktop.

"My office. The second the bell rings."

Cullen didn't even flinch. He just flashed a bright, easy grin. "Aw, Miss Verne. What did I do?"

Ten minutes later, Nadia stared him down from across her desk with the look she saved just for him.

"Do you mind telling me why you find it necessary to hijack my literature lectures?"

"Come on, Miss Verne, I've been an absolute saint lately." Cullen smirked, tilting one dark eyebrow up. "School gets mind-numbing. I need a little entertainment to survive the day. Besides, aren't you forgetting my Christmas present?"

"You seem to have a flawless memory for gifts, but a terrible one for classroom etiquette," Nadia countered, leaning back against her headrest. "I actually have it right here, but it comes with a non-negotiable term."

Cullen leaned forward, suddenly interested. "Lay it on me."

"I've been with Class Five long enough to know when someone's trying to dodge me," Nadia said, her tone turning serious. "And not once have I seen a single member of the Wolfe family at a parent-teacher conference. There is a mandatory session tomorrow afternoon. Someone with your last name needs to sit in that chair. That is my condition."

Cullen's playful smirk faltered, his shoulders dropping a fraction. "Miss Verne, you have no idea how impossible that actually is..."

"Then you can forget about the present," Nadia said smoothly, reaching for her grading pen. "Head back to your study hall."

"Alright, alright! Fine," Cullen grumbled, raising his hands in defeat. "Someone will show up. I promise. Now, can I please have the gift?"

Nadia suppressed a small smile, opened her lower drawer, and slid a small, neatly wrapped package across the desk. Inside was a pair of hand-knitted white wool gloves. She had spent two straight nights losing sleep to finish the stitching, though she'd die before admitting that to him.

"Merry Christmas, Cullen."

Cullen picked them up, turning them over in his hands. For a second, the teasing look slipped. His mouth went thin and tight as he tried desperately to suppress a smile, but his eyes gave him away completely.

Nadia playfully extended her palm. "If they're not up to your standards, I can take them back."

"No way," he muttered quickly, tucking them securely under his arm. He stood up, threw her a ridiculous, overly dramatic theatrical bow, and sauntered out of the office.

Nadia watched the door shut behind him and sighed. The kid was eighteen years old, yet he carried himself like he was running a boardroom. A handful, sure, but just a reckless teenager at the end of the day. Nothing she couldn't handle.

She pulled her lesson planner closer and went back to grading.

Meanwhile, Cullen strode down the polished hallway, rounded the corner toward the lockers, and pulled out his phone.

"Butler Gray, it's me," he said, dropping the teenage act entirely. "Can either my dad or mum clear their schedules for a school thing tomorrow?"

"I'm afraid neither your father nor Mrs. Wolfe is in the country, young master," the voice replied smoothly through the speaker.

Cullen frowned, his fingers tightening around the phone. "My older brother just touched down from the States, didn't he? Send him. And make sure you tell him that if he bails on this, I am going to make his life an absolute living hell."

He cut the call, shoved the phone back into his pocket, and continued down the corridor, with the gloves tucked firmly under his arm.