Are You Kidding me?

Aria's POV

CRASH!

Glass shattered. Metal groaned. Screams ripped through the restaurant.

A car—no, a blacked-out SUV—exploded through the front wall like a beast unchained, demolishing the very spot I’d been sitting in seconds before.

Tables flipped. Chairs splintered. The scent of garlic butter was instantly replaced by the acrid sting of gasoline and smoke.

My ears rang. Dust clouded my vision. I coughed, chest heaving, heartbeat slamming against my ribs like it wanted out.

People were running. Someone yelled for security. The hostess was sobbing behind the counter, cradling a bleeding hand.

I pushed myself to my knees, my vision clearing just enough to see the wreckage. My untouched plate lay shattered beneath the crushed metal of what used to be a luxury sports vehicle.

If I’d hesitated for even one second—

No. I wasn’t going to think about that.

Instead, my eyes locked onto the SUV’s windshield.

It was cracked—but I could still see the figure behind it.

It was cracked—but I could still see the figure behind it.

A man.

Slumped over the wheel.

Motionless.

My entire body tensed as my gaze flicked back to the ruined remains of the table where my food had once sat like a promised miracle.

That steak had smelled like heaven. I hadn't even taken one bite.

Now it was mashed into the tile with wood splinters and car grease.

My eye twitched.

I stormed toward the driver’s side door, the crunch of broken glass beneath my boots barely registering beneath the rage bubbling in my chest.

“Are you kidding me?!” I shouted, slamming my palm against the driver’s window. “What the hell is your problem?!”

No movement.

I banged harder. “You ruined my first decent meal in forever, you jackass!”

Still nothing.

I clenched my jaw and backed up a step, eyes scanning the damage. The window on the back seat was already blown out. But the one at the front passenger side had cracked without shattering completely.

Fine.

I circled to the other side and slammed my fist through it.

Glass scattered like ice shards. I shielded my hand, careful not to get cut as I reached in and popped the lock.

The door clicked open with a groan, and I yanked it wide.

The guy slumped sideways, half-conscious—or worse. His head lolled, exposing a tattoo just beneath his left ear—a symbol I didn’t recognize, something tribal and sharp.

His dark brown hair was tousled, and his skin—tanned and flawless—gleamed faintly under the emergency lights flickering from the restaurant’s alarm system.

He was ridiculously handsome.

But that wasn’t what I should’ve been focused on.

I pressed two fingers to his neck.

Still breathing. Pulse strong.

Not dead. Just… out.

“Someone call an ambulance!” I shouted behind me. I didn’t even turn to see if anyone listened. “Now!”

I unbuckled his seatbelt, leaned in, and carefully slid my arms under his body. He was solid—heavy—but I’d carried worse. My strength wasn’t just muscle; it came from years of surviving people who wanted me to fold.

As I lifted him, his scent hit me.

Oh…myyy.

It was… addictive. Like pine and smoke and something that made my heart stutter. My wolf stirred—softly, cautiously—pressing against the wall I’d built to keep her quiet.

Not now, I told her.

“Just one of those spoiled rich brats,” I muttered under my breath as I hauled him out of the car, his weight resting fully in my arms. “Probably high or drunk. Daddy paid off the last DUI, so why not crash into a restaurant next?”

But even as I said it, I wasn’t convinced.

Because he didn’t smell drunk. Didn’t look drunk. There was something wrong about this—something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Ambulance is here!”

Someone’s voice rang out from behind me, too late and too loud.

I stepped back as the paramedics rushed in, finally taking over like they hadn’t just been standing there watching me do their job. I handed the unconscious guy off without a word, wiping my hands on my jeans as they lowered him onto the stretcher.

One of them tried to thank me.

I walked away.

I didn’t care who he was. Didn’t care what happened next. Not my problem.

I’d already gotten more drama than I signed up for today. All I wanted now was sleep—and a plate of garlic butter steak that wasn’t crushed under two tons of stupidity.

----

I stood outside the dorm building, one hand gripping the handlebars of my newly acquired bicycle—a secondhand piece of metal with squeaky brakes, chipped black paint, and a defiant little bell I didn’t remember asking for. It wasn’t glamorous, but it beat walking.

No way I was trekking across campus every day like some noble, starving wolf with sore ankles.

I pedaled slowly toward the main campus, navigating the cobblestone walkways until the buildings grew taller, fancier, and increasingly judgmental. Even the fountains looked expensive—like they’d charge you for glancing at them too long.

Eventually, I reached the central parking area—a wide, paved space lined with polished cars that looked like they came with bodyguards and trust funds. My bike squeaked its disapproval as I rolled into the lot.

I spotted a small empty space near the far side, tucked between a luxury SUV and a sleek electric coupe. The moment I parked there, I felt it—eyes.

People were watching me.

side-eyeing me like I’d tracked mud into a palace.

Relax, I thought. It’s not like I parked a donkey.

I locked my bike, adjusted the strap on my worn canvas bag, and started toward the main building.

The stares followed. I didn’t care.

Let them look.

I had one priority today: find the headmaster’s office, get my schedule, and stay out of trouble.

Problem was… this place was massive. Like castle-meets-labyrinth-meets-social-hierarchy nightmare massive.

I was debating whether I should look at a map or just trust my dangerously bad sense of direction.

Finally, I sighed and turned to a passing student—tall, dressed in a sharp gray-and-gold outfit that practically screamed Beta royalty.

“Hey,” I said, lifting my chin. “Can you point me toward the headmaster’s office?”

He blinked, clearly startled that I had the audacity to speak to him. His eyes flicked over me—casual outfit, lack of insignia, hair in a messy bun.

“look like you are new here,” he said “Omega’s don’t dare speak to us unless they are spoken to.”

I stared at him for half a second, long enough for him to think I might reply. I didn’t. I blinked once—slowly—turned on my heel, and walked away.

He wasn’t worth the oxygen it would take to clap back.

I’ll find it myself, I thought.

How hard could it be?

Spoiler: very.

Ten minutes later, I was still wandering. Hall after hall. Door after identical door. My confidence slowly eroded with each left turn that led nowhere.

The building layout made no sense. It was like someone had taken a normal floor plan and scrambled it in a blender of architectural spite. No signs. No maps. No helpful staff.

Just endless marble corridors that echoed back my footsteps like a taunt.

To make things worse, my bladder decided to join the rebellion.

Perfect.

I picked up the pace, scanning walls for a bathroom sign like it was a lifeline. I rounded a corner and finally—finally—saw two doors with a little chrome icon and the word Restroom carved in elegant script above it.

Thank the Moon goddess.

I shoved one of the doors open and stepped inside… only to stop dead in my tracks.

Because there, in front of the marble sink counter, was a couple. The woman had her hands pressed against the wall, one leg hitched up high as the man pounded into her from behind.