Unavoidable Encounter

The cold morning air wrapped around Amara as she stirred awake, her body instinctively curling into itself for warmth. But it wasn't enough. The warmth she wanted wasn't there.

For a moment, in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness, she almost expected to feel it—the lingering weight of Rafael's coat, the scent of cedar and something undeniably him. But reality hit her as she stretched out her arms, grasping only the thin blanket wrapped around her. She let out a quiet breath, frustration pooling in her chest.

She shouldn't be thinking about it.

But she was.

Why had he given it to her in the first place? Why had he taken it back?

Why did he always leave her feeling like she was unraveling?

With a groan, she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Routine. She needed to focus on the simple things—showering, dressing, breakfast, getting to class. She dragged herself to the bathroom, washing away the remnants of yesterday's confusion under the lukewarm water before pulling on a sweater and a pair of jeans that had seen better days.

By the time she stepped onto campus, the whispers had already begun.

She could feel their eyes on her.

The same girls who used to ignore her now watched her with thinly veiled jealousy. The ones who had never bothered learning her name now whispered it like it was some forbidden secret.

"I don't get it. Why her?"

"She's not even pretty."

"Maybe he likes pathetic girls."

Amara bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to walk faster.

She had been used to being invisible. But now?

Now, she was Rafael Aldridge's source of entertainment.

And that made her a target.

She kept her head down and made it through the day, but the weight of the attention pressed against her like a vice.

By the time her final lecture ended, she wanted nothing more than to go home, but then she saw him.

And he wasn't alone.

Near the faculty entrance, Rafael stood beside another woman.

Professor Helena Sinclair.

The elegant, sharp-witted chemistry professor. Respected. Admired. Feared.

And—comfortable standing so close to Rafael that their shoulders nearly touched.

Amara's stomach twisted. She hated that she noticed. Hated that she even cared.

Helena leaned in, saying something in a low, amused voice. And Rafael—he didn't move away.

Then, as if sensing Amara's gaze, he turned.

Their eyes met.

A slow smirk curved his lips. And then—he winked.

Amara's breath caught. A flush crawled up her neck, but before she could turn away, she heard laughter behind her.

"Jealous, Lenz?"

Celeste.

She didn't answer. She just walked.

Because she didn't have the right to feel anything.

Rafael Aldridge could do whatever he wanted.

The bookstore was supposed to be her escape.

But when she arrived, the doors were locked, a sign taped to the glass: Closed for the day.

Perfect. Just perfect.

"Amara!"

She turned to see Leah, her best friend, bounding toward her with an excited grin. In her hand, she held up a black card.

"We're going shopping."

"Leah, no—"

"Yes."

"I don't need—"

"It's not about need, it's about distraction. And my dad gave me his card, so tonight, we're reckless."

Amara hesitated.

But after the day she had?

She let herself be dragged along.

The mall was a blur of bright lights and elegant displays, a world far removed from Amara's own. She felt out of place, drowning in the scent of designer perfumes and the glossy perfection of the people around her.

"You need new clothes," Leah insisted, holding up a sleek black dress. "Try this on."

"Leah—"

"No arguments."

The shopping mall had been a mistake.

Leah had meant well, dragging Amara through racks of luxury clothes she could never afford, stuffing her into dressing rooms with silk dresses and pointed heels. But Amara had felt like she was wearing someone else's life.

And then he showed up.

Rafael Aldridge.

His presence had filled the space effortlessly, turning something ordinary into something suffocating.

The moment she saw him, standing in that high-end store with Professor Helena Sinclair, her stomach twisted.

They looked comfortable together. The way Helena spoke, the way she touched his arm lightly—it was easy, practiced. She knew him.

Not like Amara did.

Not in the way that came with wounds and ghosts and unspoken truths.

But in a way that felt closer.

And Amara hated that it mattered.

She had tried to walk away. Tried to pretend it didn't bother her.

But Rafael had stopped in front of her, blocking her escape.

"Ladies," he had greeted smoothly, his smirk sharp as a knife.

Leah, oblivious to the tension, had smiled. "Professor Aldridge, fancy seeing you here."

His gaze had flickered over to Amara, slow and deliberate, before he said, "Shopping, Lenz?"

His voice had been teasing, almost amused, but something about it had made her skin prickle.

"Not by choice," she muttered.

"Ah." His smirk deepened. "Dragged into a world you don't belong to, then?"

Her stomach clenched. Why did he always do this?

Before she could respond, Leah nudged her with a grin. "Actually, Amara was just about to try something on."

Rafael's gaze flickered to the black dress still in her hands. The same one Helena had mocked earlier.

"That one?" he mused, tilting his head. "It suits you."

Her grip on the fabric tightened. "I'm not buying it."

Helena stepped closer, her eyes cool as she looked between them. "Perhaps it's for the best," she murmured. "Some things aren't meant for everyone."

The words were smooth, polite—but the intention was razor-sharp.

Amara stiffened.

Rafael's smirk faded. His eyes darkened just slightly as he turned to Helena.

"Helena," he said lightly, "did I ask for your opinion?"

A flicker of something passed through the professor's eyes—annoyance? Jealousy? But she masked it quickly, offering a tight smile.

"I was simply stating a fact."

"Were you?" His voice was slow, lazy, but it carried weight.

Helena's fingers curled at her sides.

Amara didn't stay to watch the power play unfold.

She had turned on her heel and walked away.

By the time Amara got home, the night had settled into quiet shadows. She had barely kicked off her shoes when—

Knock. Knock.

She tensed.

Slowly, she moved toward the door and opened it.

No one was there.

But at her feet—a box.

A beautiful, elegant box wrapped in black silk ribbon.

Her breath hitched as she bent down, carefully lifting it. Inside, nestled against layers of soft fabric—

A dress.

Not just any dress.

The same dress she had refused to try on.

And next to it, a note.

One word, written in smooth, elegant script.

Wear.

Her fingers trembled as she stared at it, her heart pounding in her chest.

Rafael.

He was still playing his game.

It had to be him.

After everything—his smirk, his lingering gaze, the way he had insisted she try the dress on even when she refused—it had to be him.

Because wasn't this how he worked? Giving something only to take it back. Letting her feel the weight of his attention just to remind her that she would never truly understand him.

And yet…

Something wasn't right.

Rafael was controlling. He played games, but they were always intentional, always calculated. This—leaving a gift without a confrontation—this wasn't his style.

Her fingers curled into the fabric, a deep frown settling on her lips.

She wasn't used to gifts. She wasn't used to being wanted at all.

Then—her phone vibrated.

She inhaled sharply, grabbing it from the table.

A message.

But when she saw the sender, her stomach dropped.

It wasn't Rafael.

It was him.

The Mystery Man.

The one who had been watching from the shadows for far too long.

Her pulse pounded as she read the words.

"I told you, Amara. You deserve more Wear it for me."