Theo avoided Adrian for two days.
It was not rebellion at first. It was survival.
He told himself that missing one night was nothing. Professors canceled classes all the time. The problem was that Adrian Gray did not cancel things. He created them, controlled them, owned them—and Theo had felt that ownership too deeply to forget.
The third evening, rain rolled over the city again. Theo sat at his desk, staring at the blinking cursor on his laptop, trying to write something that wasn’t about him. Every line bent back toward Adrian. Every metaphor returned to control. He hated it, hated himself for letting one man occupy his thoughts like a pulse he couldn’t slow.
When the knock came, he knew before opening the door.
Adrian filled the frame, drenched from the storm, eyes darker than the
