The autumn rain lashed against Sterling University's Gothic arches, turning the cobblestone paths into rivers. Students scurried under umbrellas, their laughter drowned by the storm - all except Liam Sterling, who strode through the downpour like the campus itself bowed to him. His charcoal-gray overcoat clung to broad shoulders, raindrops glinting in his tousled ink-black hair. At twenty-two, he was the heir to the Sterling Hotels empire, a golden boy with a smirk that hid a thousand secrets. But beneath the veneer of polished arrogance simmered a darker hunger: midnight poker games in back-alley dens, where he gambled fortunes and fragments of his fractured soul.

Across the quad, Lucia Moreau slammed the library door shut, her threadbare hoodie soaked through. Her auburn curls stuck to her cheeks like wildfire trapped in rain. At twenty, she was a scholarship student with a chip on her shoulder the size of her student debt. Her father's abandonment and her mother's taste for toxic men had carved defiance into her bones. She worked two jobs, aced every exam, and vowed never to let anyone like them near her again.

Their collision was inevitable.

---

Business Ethics Seminar | 10:15 AM

The lecture hall hummed with murmured gossip as Professor Hale droned on about corporate responsibility. Liam lounged in the front row, long legs stretched out, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. "Philanthropy is just PR for tax breaks. Morality doesn't fund dividends."

Lucia's pen snapped in her grip. Typical trust-fund nihilism. She shot to her feet, her voice sharp enough to slice through his arrogance. "So exploiting workers is just a line item to you? Must be nice to buy your way out of guilt."

The room froze. Liam turned, his storm-gray eyes locking onto hers. A slow, dangerous smile curled his lips. "Lucia Moreau, right? The scholarship case with a martyr complex."

"And you're the poster boy for ethical bankruptcy," she fired back, ignoring the heat crawling up her neck.

He leaned forward, elbows on knees, his gaze raking over her. "You think shouting about fairness changes anything? The game's rigged, darling. Always has been."

"Then unrig it," she snapped. "Or are you too busy counting Daddy's money?"

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Liam's smile vanished. For a heartbeat, his mask slipped - a flicker of something raw, almost wounded - before his smirk returned, sharper. "Careful, Moreau. You're cute when you're angry, but I'd hate to see you? break."

"You first, Sterling."

The professor cleared his throat. "Perhaps you two can continue this? debate after class."

Lucia sank into her seat, pulse roaring in her ears. Liam's gaze burned into her back for the rest of the hour.

---

Rain-Soaked Confrontation | 8:47 PM

Lucia hunched under the library's stone archway, shivering as her phone buzzed - another voicemail from her mother. Drunk. Again. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms.

"Lost your audience, firecracker?"

She whirled. Liam stood beneath a black umbrella, his tailored coat pristine against the storm. He looked like a fallen angel, all sharp edges and shadow.

"What do you want? A standing ovation for being a pompous ass?"

He stepped closer, the umbrella shielding them both. Raindrops clung to his lashes. "You fascinate me, Moreau. All that rage? What's it hiding?"

She laughed, bitter and brittle. "What's yours hiding? Mommy issues? Daddy issues? Or just a hollow trophy case where your soul should be?"

His jaw tightened. For a heartbeat, his facade cracked - eyes darkening, breath hitching - before he closed the distance between them. "You think you're the first to try and cut me?" His voice dropped, low and lethal. "I eat idealists like you for breakfast."

She shoved him, her palms slamming against his chest. "Stay. Out. Of. My. Head."

He caught her wrist, his thumb brushing the scar on her inner arm - a relic from her mother's shattered vodka bottle. Lucia froze.

"You first," he murmured, his breath hot on her ear. "Why do you hide these?"

She yanked free, trembling. "Why do you care?"

"Because you're the first person in years who hasn't bored me." His gaze dropped to her lips. "And I hate that."

Before she could retort, he turned and vanished into the rain, leaving her soaked, furious? and undeniably intrigued.

---

The Viper's Nest | 11:32 PM

The underground poker den reeked of cigar smoke and desperation. Liam - Lucky to the regulars - slid into his usual seat, the weight of his family name shed like a second skin. Tonight's game was high-stakes: mob ties, a million on the table, and a hunger in his veins he couldn't outrun.

Across the room, a familiar laugh cut through the haze.

No. It can't be.

Lucia leaned against the bar, her waitress uniform hugging curves that made his throat dry. She flirted shamelessly with a grizzled dealer, her laugh too bright, her smile too forced. When their eyes met, her facade faltered.

What the hell is she doing here?

He tossed his cards down and stalked over, gripping her elbow. "You shouldn't be here."

She wrenched free, eyes blazing. "Says the prince slumming it with the peasants?"

"This isn't a game, Lucia. These people will chew you up."

"Like you do?" She stepped closer, her perfume - vanilla and defiance - drowning the stale air. "Or is that offer exclusive to your charity cases?"

His control snapped. He backed her against the bar, caging her in. "You think I'm playing? One wrong move here, and you disappear. Poof."

She tilted her chin up, lips inches from his. "Then why do you care if I do?"

The air crackled. His gaze dropped to her mouth. "I don't."

"Liar." Her whisper seared his skin.

A dealer slammed a tray nearby, breaking the spell. Lucia shoved a whiskey into his chest, liquid sloshing down his shirt. "Enjoy the game, Lucky."

He watched her stride away, hips swaying like a challenge. For the first time in years, Liam Sterling wanted to lose.