Semua Bab Against the Rules: Bab 1 - Bab 10

Sloane Mercer POV—I adjusted the strap of my leather satchel and drew in a deep breath, trying to steady myself against the swirl of nerves and excitement in my chest. Haleton University wasn’t just another college; it was a crucible of intellect and prestige, a place where the best students from across the country came to test themselves, and to prove they belonged. I had spent my entire summer buried in literary theory, parsing postmodernist essays and rehearsing arguments that I hoped to voice in seminars, but nothing could have prepared me for the sheer scale of the campus.The quad teemed with students, clusters of polished boots and designer bags moving with practiced confidence. I walked among them, boots clicking against the cobblestones, head high. I ignored the whispers and glances; I didn’t need their approval. Not yet.Ahead, the lecture hall loomed, its arched doors and ivy-clad stone intimidating but thrilling. I slipped inside, scanning for a seat and immediately caug

Sloane POV—The lecture hall smelled faintly of chalk and stale coffee as I slipped in, satchel heavy on my shoulder. Friday mornings had never been my favorite, but today felt different, more tense, more charged. Professor Dalton was already at the podium, straightening papers with meticulous care, and as soon as his eyes landed on my, I felt that familiar twist of irritation.I slid into my seat, adjusting my notebook in front of me. My hands itched to argue, to challenge, to make a point he couldn’t ignore. But the memory of yesterday’s office hours made me pause. I had survived that confrontation, barely, but I hadn’t backed down, not fully, and that stubborn streak was still alive, still smoldering.The lecture started, his voice calm but carrying the edge that made every word seem heavier, more deliberate. I scribbled notes furiously, every sentence of his analysis both a lesson and a challenge. I could feel him watching, measuring how much of my defiance I would let show in th

Sloane POV—My fingers wrapped around the glass like it was a lifeline. The sweetness of the drink, its sharp burn, slid down my throat, loosening the last threads of tension knotted in my chest. The pounding bass from the main room felt distant now, muffled through the thick velvet curtains that separated the public chaos from what waited behind the back room doors. I took another slow sip, letting the liquid steady my nerves, reminding myself I had chosen this, that I was in control, or at least, I could pretend I was.He moved with quiet precision, tall and dark in the dim light. The mask hid most of his expression, but I felt the heat radiating from him like a tangible force. He gestured subtly toward the curtains, and I followed without hesitation, letting the thrill of the unknown curl along my spine.Behind the curtain was a hallway of rooms, each with a numbered black door. He led me into number 14 after nodding to the security just past the curtain.The room was quieter, lit

Sloane POV—The sunlight crept in far too bright for my liking. It sliced through the half-open blinds, landing right across my face. I groaned, pulling a pillow over my head. Every throb in my temples reminded me that tequila had not, in fact, been my friend.Lila was snoring softly, one leg draped over the arm of the couch. Their living room looked like a disaster zone, heels by the door, a half-empty bottle of wine on the coffee table, one of Lila’s earrings hanging off a lampshade.I let out a low, sleepy laugh. “Tragic,” I muttered.I peeled myself off the couch, my muscles aching in ways that had nothing to do with dancing. My reflection in the mirror over the entry table made me pause. My lipstick was long gone, mascara smudged beneath my eyes, hair a wild mess. I looked like every cliché of a girl after a party, but my eyes… my eyes were different.They were bright. Warm. Still holding something electric from the night before.Flashes of it came back to me like fragments of a

Dalton’s POV—I leaned back, straightened my tie, and forced my features into the neutral expression I carried for students. I hadn’t expected Sloane to knock. After all, she’d never come to office hours voluntarily, especially not this late, but there she was, standing in the doorway, her eyes bright under the dorm-style hallway light.“Yes, Mercer?” My voice was clipped, controlled, professional.She hesitated for a fraction, shifting her weight. “I… I had a question about the upcoming essay.”Of course. The essay that had been nothing more than a minor hurdle in the syllabus suddenly felt loaded because she had decided to make it personal. I pinched the bridge of my nose. I should have known. No matter how routine the assignment, she had a way of turning any interaction into a test of my patience, and apparently, my control.“Come in,” I said, stepping aside. She walked past, shoulders squared, chin high, and yet there was a flicker in her expression he couldn’t place. Curiosity?