The library is quiet at night—too quiet. Your patience is thinning. The lamp casts warm light over your open notes, but the seat across from you remains infuriatingly empty.
9:00 PM.
Then, 9:10.
By 9:20, you've already reread the same sentence in your textbook eight times. The librarian reminds you of the closing time—10 p.m.—which only adds to your growing irritation.
Okay! Breathe in. Breathe out. Just ten more minutes and you're out.
You check your phone, a glaring 9:30.
No messages. No missed calls. No Jeonghan.
"Bullshit! I knew it!" you mutter under your breath as you gather your things slowly. You clench your jaw tight to compose yourself.
As you head back to the dorms, you spot him—lounging on one of the benches under the pergola in the east courtyard like some fallen angel with too much time and not enough care.
"Jeonghan!" you call out, not caring whether your voice disturbs the night.
He doesn't even flinch.
You march up to him, eyes blazing. "You asked me to meet you at the library. I waited. For almost an hour."
He looks up lazily from his phone screen, one eyebrow quirking like you've just interrupted his date.
"Oh?" he says mildly. "Did I?"
You almost choke him on his sheer audacity.
"Yes. You did. YOU. Fucking. Did."
He shrugs dismissively. "Must've slipped my mind."
You blink, mouth agape. "Slipped your—Jeonghan, I'm your assigned study buddy. This is part of a graded policy. This might be trivial to you, but to me, it's a necessity to keep my scholarship."
He leans back, crosses one leg over the other, and says, "You're resourceful. You'll manage."
He looks at his phone, turning away from you, indicating that this conversation is over.
"Why are you so fucking childish?" You mutter under your breath before storming off to your dorm and slamming the notes on your table.
Biology Class, the following day...
Professor Smith's high-pitched voice slices through the classroom like a blunt blade. "Today, we're mixing things up. Randomized groups of three based on your color card. For the next research, you'll work together."
The class groans collectively. A box gets passed around, each student pulling out a colored slip like drawing straws for survival.
You flip yours. White. Clean. Simple. And your favorite.
"Please be my lucky charm," you whisper, holding the paper tightly like it's your lifeline.
Chatters break out as everyone flips cards, praying not to get stuck with enemies, exes, or emotionally unstable rich kids.
Smith taps the desk, his receding hairline gets harder to ignore with every downward glance at the list.
He clears his throat before announcing the first group. "Purple group: Charmaine, Camille, and...,"
There is a moment of anticipation, and anxiousness is palpable. Who would want to be in the same group as these two strong-willed women?
"...Wonwoo."
A collective ooooh ripples through the room. It's no secret: ex-lovers in one group stir everyone's curiosity.
Oof. This is a drama worthy of its reality show.
Wonwoo doesn't even blink, wearing his usual I-don't-give-a-fuck look perfectly. Camille smirks, crossing her arms with an exhausted sigh.
Charmaine? She looks ready to flip the desk.
You can already feel the simmering tension off them like a slumbering volcano awaken to explode.
Now, just please not me with the rest of the royal pains.
Your stomach knots while the professor drones on, stirring more chaos with every name he announces.
"White group," Smith announces, "Aurora...,"
Oh, please! Please! Not them!
"Joshua, Mingyu."
Oh, HELL no.
Joshua's lips tilt into that annoyingly perfect smile—one that says I always get what I want. Mingyu just raises an eyebrow like the universe owes him an explanation.
You glare at your card like it committed treason.
Not just one, but two of them? WTF! Why?
You get ready to raise an argument, but then—
Wonwoo leans forward, voice calm but with a hint of condescension. "I'd prefer to work with someone smart. Or at least competent."
The room erupts in laughter. Camille shakes her head with a tired chuckle, but Charmaine? Her face goes red, and her nostrils flare like a bull ready to charge.
Wonwoo clears his throat and says, flatly, "Professor, I'd like to request a switch."
"Switch?" Smith replies, surprised.
"Yeah," Wonwoo replies, gaze settling on you. "I'll trade Camille for Aurora."
The room collectively gasps. Camille's lips part in shock, her silence louder than Charmaine's growl.
"Excuse me?" you say sharply, already rising.
"Aurora's smart. Efficient. I want to pass," Wonwoo says without missing a beat.
"And I want her right where she is," Joshua cuts in, voice deceptively calm, his eyes anything but. "We're good, aren't we?" he says pointedly, glancing at you without really asking.
You grind your teeth, but you remain quiet.
Camille's eyes finally snap to Wonwoo. "You seriously think you can just trade people like we're poker chips?"
"I'm optimizing outcomes," he says coolly.
"You're a dick," Charmaine snaps.
"You're emotional," Wonwoo retorts without blinking.
Mingyu pushes back his chair. "Try that tone again, and I'll make sure you never 'optimize' a damn thing in this class."
Wonwoo stands as well, unshaken. "Relax. I was just being practical. If Aurora doesn't want to be in my group, I'll work alone."
"Oh please, like we'd fight to the death just to be stuck working with you. Get over yourself!" you grunt.
Before it can spiral into a full-blown showdown, Professor Smith claps loudly. "That's enough! The groups are final. No trades. No negotiations. I don't care if you have history or hysteria—your names are on the list, and that's where they stay."
The room falls silent.
You sink into your seat between Mingyu and Joshua like it's a damn war trench.
"Well, well," Joshua drawls, "looks like we're officially in a group."
You cross your arms. "I'm sure you manipulated it."
"I charmed it," he corrects, smirking. "And I must say, I'm looking forward to—"
"Watching her slow descent into madness?" Mingyu interrupts.
"Oh, absolutely not," Joshua replies, "I would love to see how this little fireball burns this kingdom to ashes."
Your jaw tightens. Mingyu doesn't respond, but the glance he throws him is unreadable and far too knowing.
"For the record," you mutter, "I'd rather be in a group with a cactus."
Joshua hums. "Hah! I'm sure the cactus would be more charming than us?"
You smirk. "Absolutely! And less prickly, too."
"Cute," Joshua teases.
"Tsk," Mingyu snorts. "Just don't be a dead weight."
After the chaotic class, you make the mistake of heading to the restroom alone. The door barely closes behind you before you hear it click shut again.
Charmaine.
She's leaning against the sink, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line, devoid of that practiced smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"I was wondering when we'd get some alone time," she says coolly.
You quietly head for the faucet, ignoring the way her gaze seems to be murdering you already in her mind.
She clicks her tongue. "You've been here what—barely a month? And already they're orbiting around you like you're some shiny new toy."
You raise a brow. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Of course, you know exactly who she's referring to.
Her smile twitches, sharp and dangerous. "Stop feigning ignorance. Getting grouped with Mingyu and Joshua? Paired with Jeonghan? Wonwoo's ready to swap the love of his life with you? And what's next? Snatching one of them as your boyfriend? Now, you're acting like the stars aligned, making your destiny brighter than others?"
You meet her eyes. "Honestly, if I had any say in this, I wouldn't be linked to them whatsoever. I'd really appreciate it if you could pull some strings and pair me with someone else."
Charmaine circles you like a vulture. "Tsk. Tsk. So so proud... You know, I kept wondering how someone like you ended up here. You—" she scoffs, shaking her head, "—you're a premium social climber," she spits.
Your fists clenched so tightly that your nails cut into your palms. "I worked for it," you reply, voice trembling but firm. "I came from nothing, it's true. But I earned this."
She laughs—loud, cruel, echoing in the empty restroom. "Worked hard?" she mocks as she steps closer. "Don't disrespect your mom. I know what she does, how she 'works hard'."
You stand still. You don't even ask how she found out. Of course she did. She has the means. The circles. The access. The malice.
"She's a 'hostess', right?" Charmaine continues. "Entertaining the city's rich and powerful. Dressing up pretty. Providing their needs. How many wealthy men did she 'serviced' until someone handed you a scholarship?"
Charmaine leans in, her cold hands lifting your chin to meet her gaze. "And who's to say you're not doing the same? Maybe it runs in the blood." Her tone drips with disgust. "Is that how you worked hard? Maybe that's how you earned this. One lap at a time."
Your chest tightens, choked in a cocktail of emotions. You want to defend your mom, but you don't even know where to begin.