(Rachelle's POV)
The door shut behind us with a quiet click, and for a moment, I just stood there, trying to remember how to breathe.
What the hell was that?
One second I was shaking hands with the Vice-Chancellor, and the next, some tall, sweaty demigod in a sports jersey had stormed in, stared straight into my soul, and growled at me.
Like—actually growled.
And to make it worse, it hadn't just been a sound. It was a feeling. Something deep in my chest had jolted, sharp and sudden, like the air itself had recognized him before I did.
I tried to replay it in my head, but Aunt Clara's voice cut through my thoughts.
"Well," she said, lips twitching into a smirk, "see? This is exactly what I was talking about."
I blinked at her. "What?"
She gestured vaguely back toward the office. "You just got here, Rachelle. Barely stepped foot in this place, and there are already hot guys snarling at you."
I groaned. "Aunt Clara, he wasn't— he didn't— oh my God, please stop."
But she was already laughing. "I warned you, didn't I? Westvale boys are trouble. Especially the athletic ones. You saw the look on that one—like a hungry wolf."
"Don't say hungry wolf," I muttered, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "That just sounded creepy to me and I didn't know why."
She arched a brow. "Fine. Then—dangerously handsome young man with anger issues and piercing blue eyes. And oh my God… he was very hot. Are boys these days made to be so sinfully good-looking?"
I hated that she was right.
In the middle of all that chaos, I'd found it impossible to look away from him. He really was good looking.
I covered my face with my hands. "Can we not narrate my trauma?"
"Sweetheart," she teased, looping her arm through mine as we walked out of the administration building, "if I don't tease you, who will?"
Despite myself, I smiled.
That was Aunt Clara—equal parts mother, best friend, and occasional menace. She'd raised me since I was five, after my parents' accident, a word that always came with silence attached.
She never married, never complained, and somehow turned her tiny flower shop into our home and safe haven.
Now she was sending me off to university—the first Monroe to ever get a scholarship to Westvale, according to her.
As we made our way toward the dormitories, the view hit me again.
Westvale University wasn't just beautiful—it was cinematic. A sprawling courtyard stretched before us, gothic buildings wrapped in ivy standing beside sleek glass dorms. Beyond it all loomed the thick green edge of Westvale Forest. It was a school for elites, which was why I was happy and very much surprised that I made the cut.
The air felt… different. Charged. Like it was holding its breath. It was a weird feeling.
A strange lump formed in my throat. Ever since we'd moved to town, I'd had this unsettling feeling—like the wind whispered my name when no one else was around.
I shook it off. New place jitters. That's all.
"Alright, dorms," Aunt Clara said, squinting her eyes at the campus map. "Building C, Room 209. Let's find your kingdom, Your Majesty."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm a scholarship student, not royalty."
She smirked. "You're still the prettiest thing in this courtyard."
"Flattery won't get you out of carrying my suitcase."
"Oh, maybe we should go back and ask that handsome hunk to help us carry your stuff," she said with a wicked grin. "Something tells me he'd be very happy to."
"Oh no, Aunt Clara. Just stop it already," I said, mortified. Knowing that until she leaves the premises, she's never letting this go.
She only laughed harder.
We bantered our way across the courtyard until we reached the dorm building — tall, sleek, a mix of old brick and new glass. Inside, the air smelled faintly of detergent and coffee. Girls hurried past with boxes and pillows, laughter echoing down the hall. It felt alive, warm and chaotic
Room 209 was at the end of the second floor. The door stood slightly open, and when I pushed it wider, I froze. Someone was already inside.
A tall girl with caramel skin and a head full of dark curls stood balanced on a chair, wrestling a poster onto the wall. She glanced over and beamed.
"Oh! Hi! You must be my roommate!" She said brightly, hopping down when she saw me. "what's your name?" she asked me.
"That's me," I said, smiling. "I'm Rachelle. Rachelle Monroe."
"Well, come on in," She ushered me in..
"Yeah thank you." I smiled, stepping inside.
"I'm Zara," she said, offering her hand. "Zara Bennett. Psychology major, caffeine addict, occasional chaos gremlin. Don't worry, I come with good playlists."
I laughed, shaking her hand. "Good. I can live with a gremlin as long as she has taste."
"Roomie chemistry already," she grinned. "This is a good omen."
Aunt Clara sighed dramatically. "Wonderful. She's known you five minutes and already likes you more than me."
Zara laughed. "Impossible. Hello ma'am,. You must be her mom?"
"No, honey," Clara said, setting my suitcase on the bed. "I'm her aunt—but I've basically been her mom since she was four."
"And," she added pointedly, "the one who has some very important parting words."
I groaned. "Oh no. Not again."
Zara's eyes lit up and looked between us, intrigued. "Again?"
"She means the talk," I said dryly. "We've had it every year since I turned thirteen."
Clara crossed her arms. "And we'll have it again until I'm sure it's sunk in."
Zara's eyes widened, and I burst out laughing
"Oh my God, Aunt Clara! Pls....stop!!!"
"What?" she said innocently. "You think just because you're in university you're too grown up to hear about safe sex?"
Zara was biting her lip, clearly trying not to laugh. "This is the best thing I've ever witnessed."
"Aunt Clara," I said, half laughing, half mortified, " I'll say it again...I'm nineteen, not sixteen. And am already mortified that we're having this discussion again in front of my new roommate."
"Still, since there are already hot guys growling at you already," she said without missing a beat and firmly, "No pregnancy, Rachelle, use condoms. That's why I explained all the sex stuff to you using pamphlets. So you'll see and know how it's done rightfully."
Zara snorted. "This is epic. I love her. She's iconic."
I grabbed my pillow and threw it at Zara, who ducked behind her bed, laughing. Aunt Clara just smiled, looking proud of herself.
When she finally left—after five more hugs and two call me every day reminders—the room felt quieter.
Zara sipped her coffee. "Your aunt's cool."
"She's… a lot," I said, grinning. "But yeah. She's basically my whole world.
"Lucky you," she said softly, then brightened. "So. Tell me everything. Where're you from? What's your major? Any cute guys yet?"
I hesitated, that last question hitting harder than I expected. My mind flashed back — blue eyes, a growl that vibrated straight through me, the way the air had seemed to bend around him. And the way my chest had tightened like something had snapped into place, even though I couldn't quite name what it was.
"There was… one," I admitted. "In the admin building."
"Ooh," Zara said. "Already? What's he like?"
I fiddled with the edge of my sleeve "Tall. Dark hair. Very good-looking. Kind of intense. And, um… he growled."
She blinked. "He what? Wait a minute... Your aunt said something just now, about hot guys already growling at you"
"I know how it sounds," I said quickly. "He just walked in, looked at me like he'd seen a ghost, and—"
"Growled," she finished.
"Exactly."
She studied me, eyes narrowing playfully. "Well...that's either terrifying or really hot. Depending on the context."
"Probably terrifying."
"Or both."
I shook my head, chuckling"You're not helping."
She flopped onto her bed. "Please.....If a guy like that looked at me that way, I'd be halfway to writing our wedding hashtags."
"Zara!"
"What? Don't tell me you didn't feel something."
I bit my lip, unsure what to say. Because, truthfully, I had. Something electric, unsettling, magnetic, and intimate. As if I knew him somehow. But how did you explain that to someone you'd just met?.
I shrugged it off. "I'm probably just tired," I said. "Moving day stress."
She hummed. "Sure you are. Rachelle."
We laughed, and for the first time all day, I relaxed.
Outside the window, the sun dipped behind the trees, bathing the campus in gold. Students crossed the courtyard below, their voices drifting up on the breeze.
Something about this school...Westvale still felt strange.
Alive and Watching.
But I told myself it was nothing. That it was probably just nerves.
But I was dead wrong. If I had known what this place is.....what it's truly all about...I would have run for my dear life.
Beyond the beauty and glamour of this place.... Westvale wasn't truly what it seemed.
I didn't know that somewhere across campus, the same man who had growled at me was pacing beneath that same sunset—fighting the instinct that screamed I was his.
And I didn't know that tonight, fate had only just begun to weave our story.