After everything was done, Ava returned to class and took her seat just as the bell rang again.
"Study period. All students are to proceed to the library."
A chorus of groans filled the room.
"I'm so exhausted," Daisy mumbled, resting her chin on her hand. "I wish I could just turn the clock forward."
Ava glanced at her.
"You were in a daze throughout the whole lesson. What more rest do you want?" she said calmly. "Go to the library and save me a seat."
Daisy frowned. "Why? What happened? You're not coming? Don't tell me you want to skip class."
As she spoke, her green phoenix-like eyes sparkled, dimples appearing as she pouted her orange-glossed lips. Her curly black hair, dark as night, framed her face perfectly, and her snow-white skin made her look like a porcelain doll.
"Of course I'm not skipping," Ava replied flatly. "I'm not like you. Now go—save me a seat."
Daisy crossed her arms.
"If you don't tell me why you're not coming, I'm leaving."
Ava smiled slowly.
"Fine. Go save me a seat, and I won't tell Daniel that you have pictures of his abs on your phone. Or that you secretly take photos of the basketball team's abs like a creep."
Daisy stiffened.
"And," Ava added casually, "I'll go with you to that new restaurant—the one where handsome, shirtless male models serve the food."
"I'm going!" Daisy exclaimed instantly, grabbing her backpack and rushing out, dragging other girls along with her. "Don't you dare go back on your word!"
Ava giggled softly and glanced around the now-empty classroom.
She stood and walked toward the back, where Asher's desk had been moved. Opening his bag, she pulled out a notebook and flipped through it, a smirk forming on her lips.
Just as she turned to leave, she met his gaze.
"Aaah—!" Ava screamed, clutching her chest before stomping her foot. "What the hell was that for? Walking like a ghost!"
"The notebook," Asher said coolly, ignoring her reaction as he stretched out his hand.
Ava shook her head, slipping the book behind her back.
"I don't have your note."
Asher rolled his eyes and leaned closer, reaching behind her.
Ava reacted quickly—raising the book high, standing on her tiptoes and bending backward so he couldn't grab it. He was still holding her hand as he leaned closer, their chests brushing.
"Are you that bored?" Asher said coldly. "Snooping through other people's things. Give me my book."
"And if I don't?" Ava shot back, refusing to back down.
Asher smiled faintly, then suddenly let go.
Ava fell hard, landing on her butt.
She gasped in pain and glared at him. As he turned to leave with his bag, she stuck her foot out and tripped him.
Ava stood up quickly, snatched the book from his hand, folded it, and shoved it inside her shirt.
"Come take it out," she dared. "I double dare you."
Asher let out a mocking chuckle.
"You think I wouldn't dare put my hand inside your shirt and take my book back?"
"Do that," Ava snapped, "and I'll report you for molestation. I'm petty like that. And don't forget—people still think you cheated. I'm the reason this school is still tolerable for you, so don't cross me. I'm taking your note, not your kidney."
Asher lowered his gaze, licking his lips slowly before looking back up.
"Molestation?" he scoffed. "Touching your chest is no different from touching a name tag or boy chest . If not for your skirt, I'd think you were a boy."
He laughed softly.
"And stop acting like you're my savior. If I remember correctly, you were just telling them not to drag your name through the mud when they bullied me."
Ava took a deep breath.
"Then you're even more stupid than you look," she said coldly.
"I helped because I'm the student government president. I don't watch students get bullied and do nothing."
She stepped past him.
"And don't flatter yourself—I don't care about clearing my name. I help because I can. I hate it when people use my name as an excuse to hurt others."
She paused, glancing back once.
"As for my chest being flat—there's an eye clinic nearby. Go fix your damn eyes."
And with that, Ava walked away.
Asher, still sitting on the cold classroom floor, rolled his eyes in irritation. He pushed himself up roughly, brushed dust from his uniform, and left without another glance back.
By the time Ava reached the library, she had already slipped Asher's notebook out from under her shirt.
The library was quiet—rows of tall wooden shelves, the faint smell of old paper and polish, sunlight filtering in through high windows. Students whispered, pages turned, chairs scraped softly against the floor.
Ava sat down calmly, opened the notebook, and began her work.
She wasn't reading.
She was studying his handwriting.
Stroke by stroke.
Pressure.
Spacing.
The way his letters leaned slightly to the right, sharp and confident, like he never hesitated when he wrote.
For the city competition, contestants needed a signature, fingerprints, and a handwritten health declaration. Asking Asher directly would be pointless—he would refuse without blinking.
So Ava adapted.
She spent the entire period copying his writing again and again, comparing curves, correcting angles, adjusting speed. When her imitation finally matched his—close enough to fool even a trained eye—she closed the notebook with satisfaction.
Next stop: the teachers' office.
The hallway was empty. Luck was on her side.
Inside, the office was silent. No teachers. No staff. Just rows of files, neatly stacked documents, and the head teacher's desk sitting like an open invitation.
Ava moved without hesitation.
She searched until she found their class register, flipped through it, and carefully copied Asher's personal information. Height. Age. Medical notes. Emergency contact. Then—slowly, precisely—she forged his signature and filled in the health declaration.
Clean.
Efficient.
Perfect.
Once done, she returned everything to its exact position and left as if she had never been there.
Back in class, the atmosphere was lazy.
Some students were reading.
Some were sleeping.
Others whispered in clusters.
Ava walked straight to Asher's desk, placed the notebook down gently, and returned to her seat.
The moment she sat, Asher stood up.
Without a word, he picked up the notebook, walked outside the classroom, and threw it into the dustbin.
A few students gasped. Others exchanged looks.
Ava only glanced sideways once—then calmly returned to scrolling through her phone, completely unbothered.
Meanwhile — At the Airport
The arrival hall fell unnaturally quiet.
A man stood at the center of it all.
He wore a tailored black suit beneath a long charcoal trench coat, the fabric heavy and elegant, the cut sharp enough to command attention. The coat swayed slightly as he moved, polished shoes clicking against the marble floor.
His features were striking—
A square jaw, high cheekbones, and emerald-green eyes that smoldered with quiet danger. Slightly full lips curved into a lazy, knowing smirk. Thick brows framed his gaze, sharp and unreadable.
Broad shoulders.
A toned, powerful build.
Jet-black hair, tousled just enough to look effortless.
Light golden skin.
At six foot two, he towered over most men.
He was thirty-nine—but looked like someone who had only just stepped into his twenties.
Sin and temptation, wrapped in human form.
Heads turned. Cameras lifted. Whispers spread.
Then—seven limousines arrived.
The one in the center was pure white, pristine and imposing. The others were black, sleek, and identical.
Thirty bodyguards stepped out in perfect synchronization—fifteen on each side—forming a straight, unbreakable formation. They were not ordinary guards. These were elite mercenaries and former military personnel, men whose names alone carried fear.
They answered to one person only.
A man in a blue suit stood out among them.
"Sir," he said respectfully. "The dinner party has already started. Your hotel is the same venue."
Nathan Carter nodded once and entered the white limousine.
His secretary, Mary, quickly followed—only for the door to close firmly in front of her.
John turned to her, expression blank.
"This limousine is for the CEO and his family only. You'll need to find your own transportation."
Without waiting for her response, he walked toward one of the black limos.
Mary stood frozen, her face flushing with anger.
Nearby, six additional bodyguards moved swiftly, blocking airport passengers who had taken photos. Phones were confiscated. Images deleted. No evidence remained before they entered the remaining vehicles and drove off.
The other secretaries dispersed, some casting awkward glances at Mary.
"I thought she said she'd ride with the CEO," Maria scoffed as she passed by. "Tsk. Dreamer. Some people don't know when to wake up."
Mary clenched her fists.
He who laughs last, laughs best, she thought darkly. Just watch. I'll rise to the top.
Straightening her back, she turned and went to find a ride of her own.
The limousine slowed to a stop at the grand entrance of the hotel.
Crystal chandeliers glowed through towering glass doors, warm golden light spilling onto the marble driveway. The moment the car halted, bodyguards moved with machine-like precision, lining up on both sides.
One stepped forward and opened the door.
Nathan Carter stepped out.
His presence alone shifted the atmosphere. Conversations inside the lobby stalled. Heads turned. Phones discreetly lowered. The bodyguards fell into position behind him as he walked forward, long strides steady and unhurried.
John followed closely.
They headed straight for the VIP elevator, bypassing the public lifts entirely. The remaining bodyguards took a separate elevator, while only two guards entered the VIP lift with Nathan and John.
The elevator doors slid shut smoothly, ascending toward the seventh floor.
"How's the company?" Nathan asked, his voice low, calm, and controlled.
John adjusted his glasses slightly.
"Your brother, Jacob, tried to make a deal with the Night family. His personal funds weren't enough, and he couldn't use company assets since Old Master Carter placed the company under inspection."
Nathan's expression didn't change.
"He attempted to borrow externally," John continued. "I intercepted it in time. He borrowed from the Loiusva Loan Company, not the Night family. Don't worry—he doesn't know you're the one managing it from behind the scenes."
The elevator chimed softly as they reached the seventh floor.
Nathan nodded once as they walked toward his suite.
"When this month ends, drag his finances back in line. I'm only intervening because of my father. Otherwise, I have no reason to involve myself in a company my brother insists on running."
John paused before opening the door.
"Your father believes the company won't suffer losses under your oversight. That doesn't mean your siblings are incompetent—they're simply… reckless."
Nathan waved it off dismissively as he entered the suite.
The room was expansive—floor-to-ceiling windows, dark wood furnishings, a muted luxury that spoke of quiet power. The two bodyguards remained stationed outside.
"Before the dinner party," Nathan said as he loosened his tie, "bring me the documents for the new tech project. I want a full review."
"Yes, sir."
John bowed slightly and excused himself.
---