Chapter Text
The wind cuts through the early morning air, biting at my exposed skin and slipping past the layers of my coat. I shift my weight from foot to foot, rubbing my hands together to generate some warmth.
The entrance to Royal Elite University looms behind me, its grand columns and intricate stonework stark against the pale dawn sky. Students haven’t started arriving yet, and the only people walking through the gates are faculty members and staff, their murmured conversations floating through the crisp air.
I should’ve stayed in bed.
But no. I’m here.
Because unlike a certain someone, I actually take my responsibilities seriously.
Where the hell even is Remington?
I tug my coat closer, scowling at the empty spot beside me.
Co-president of the student committee, my ass.
I bet he’s still in bed, probably hungover from whatever underground fight or illegal poker game he got himself into over the weekend.
Meanwhile, I’m out here freezing my ass off because it’s our duty to welcome the new students on their first day. A duty Remington conveniently forgot about.
Typical.
I glance down at my phone, scowling at the absence of messages from Remington. (Whilst trying not to be bothered about not seeing any messages from my boyfriend, either.)
I should have expected as much. Remington always had a talent for disappearing when responsibility knocked.
I stuff my phone back into my coat pocket and cross my arms, exhaling sharply as frustration bubbles under my skin. I could be anywhere else—preferably with my boyfriend, who I haven’t seen since the break. Instead, I’m here, freezing my ass off while my so-called partner ditches his duties.
My thoughts are cut off by the deep, unmistakable roar of an engine.
My eyes shut on instinct. Because of course.
Of-fucking-course.
I knew who it was before the custom McLaren even rolled into view.
Because if there was one thing that could make my morning worse, it was Landon King. And why wouldn’t the first person I see on my first day back be him?
The universe hates me.
The car screeches to a stop right in front of me, I straighten my posture, rolling my shoulders back as I lift my chin.
Indifference. That’s the key.
I refuse to let him ruin my already sour mood.
The door lifts, and Landon steps out, effortlessly graceful in the way only he can be. He’s dressed in a fitted black coat, dark jeans, and a sharp smirk that I already want to slap off his face.
Then—
“Oh.”
The word drips with mockery, so much forced amusement that I almost roll my eyes before even looking at him.
Landon King stands in front of me, tall, broad, and the exact brand of smug that makes me want to commit murder at seven in the morning.
His dark hair is tousled like he just rolled out of bed, his clothes crisp and effortless, and his hands tucked into the pockets of his black coat.
“I didn’t know you started working as a valet for the school.”
I inhale through my nose, letting my gaze flicker past him to the tree in the distance.
Focus.
Do not engage.
His chuckle is low, amused. “But I have to say, the school’s doing a terrible job with their hiring. No driving skills, no respect for customers… disappointing, really.”
I press my lips together so tightly it hurts.
“Guess I’ll have to talk to the student committee’s president and file a complaint.”
That’s it.
I snap my gaze back to him, annoyance simmering in my veins. “What are you even doing here this early?”
I know breaking my silence is a victory for him, but I refuse to just stand here and let him run his mouth.
Landon’s smirk stretches wider, the amusement in his gaze darkening into something more challenging. I haven’t seen him since summer started, but unfortunately, time hasn’t made him any less infuriating. If anything, he looks even more irritatingly good. Same sharp cheekbones, same perfectly tousled hair, same aura of smug arrogance that makes me itch to punch him.
Not that I would ever find him attractive. No. Absolutely not.
His twin brother, Brandon? Maybe. But Landon? Never.
“What? I can’t show up early to the university I’m enrolled in?” he says, tilting his head slightly, watching me like I’m something to be dissected. Bitch.
I narrow my eyes. “You don’t live in the dorms, so you have no reason to be here this early.”
He lifts a brow, faux innocence written all over his face. “Didn’t realize there was a written rule about that.”
God, he makes me want to stomp my foot like a child.
Which, to my dismay, I have done in front of him before.
And, of course, he hasn’t let me forget it. I can still remember the way his eyes had lit up, like he’d just been given the greatest gift in the world.
Not today. Not again.
I exhale slowly, adjusting the lapels of my coat as I force a bright, professional smile onto my face. “Of course not, Mr. King. You’re more than welcome to Royal Elite University. I sincerely hope you have the smoothest year possible.” I said, intentionally dragging my words.
Landon watches me closely, eyes flickering with something unreadable before he grins. “Now that’s more like it.” He steps closer, too close, and flicks a strand of my hair from my face. “And if I do run into any difficulties, I know I can count on our perfect president for help.”
I swat his hand away, making him laugh.
“Of course, you can always count on our student committee if you ever run into any difficulties,” I say through clenched teeth. “But since I’m apparently just the valet, I’m sure Remington would be more than happy to assist you.”
Landon looks like he’s about to respond, but before he can, the actual valet arrives.
About damn time.
With a single, smooth motion, Landon hands over his keys. The shift in his demeanour is almost unsettling—gone is the amusement, replaced by something colder, more indifferent. He looks like a completely different person as he nods at the valet, then turns his gaze back to me.
I should be relieved that he’s finally done with his childish taunts, that he’s shifting his focus elsewhere. But that fleeting moment of detachment, of absolute control, tightens something in my chest. Like I’ve just witnessed him slipping into a mask he wears for the rest of the world—one that doesn’t concern itself with teasing remarks or cheap entertainment.
It’s unsettling how easily he switches. Like flipping a goddamn switch.
Before I can dwell on it, the valet—a whole-ass valet—steps forward to take his keys, dressed in a crisp uniform, every bit the professional.
I still can’t believe our university has a valet service.
Even after all this time at REU, the over-the-top wealth of this place never fails to throw me off.
Who the hell needs a valet for school?
You’d think parking your own million-dollar car would be part of the luxury experience. But no, apparently, that’s too much effort for people like Landon King.
I inhale sharply, reminding myself that I’m here on a scholarship, that my life operates on an entirely different reality from his. My world is textbooks and balancing my budget; his is custom McLarens and people waiting on him hand and foot.
And right now, that includes this poor valet, who’s probably sees more sports cars before noon than I have in my entire life.
Landon moves with practiced ease, handing over his keys like it’s second nature, like the idea of parking his own damn car never even crossed his mind.
I exhale slowly, forcing my attention to anything but him. My gaze lands on the McLaren as it pulls away, and despite my better judgment, I can’t help but watch the sleek machine glide down the path.
I won’t lie. I actually like McLarens.
Hell, Formula One in general is a soft spot.
There’s something mesmerizing about the raw speed, the roar of the engines, the science behind every turn. A perfect balance of precision and recklessness.
But Landon having a custom one? That just added a fresh layer of hate I didn’t know I could possess. (Not to mention, he also shared half of the name of one of the McLaren drivers! Which just added the fuel to already burning hatred in my heart for him.)
Sometimes I wondered if he got the car just to spite me—as if he somehow knew I liked McLaren and wanted to ruin that, too.
But for that to be true, he’d have to know about my obsession with Formula One, and if I knew anything about Landon King, he couldn’t care less about what I liked or didn’t like.
So that idea disappeared just as fast as it came.
I straighten my shoulders, exhaling another breath as if I can shake off the lingering tension he always manages to leave behind. It’s only the first day back, and I refuse to let him ruin it for me.
Landon moves past me without another word, his presence cutting through the crisp morning air like a shadow that refuses to lift.
But then—
“Do you know?”
His voice, low and amused, makes my spine stiffen.
I turn, narrowing my eyes. “What?”
He studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable. It’s infuriating, the way he just stands there, soaking in whatever invisible thought amuses him so much. And then—he smirks.
Not just any smirk. The kind that says he knows something I don’t.
The kind that makes my stomach twist, not in nerves, but in the kind of irritation that boils over into rage.
With a small shake of his head, he turns and starts walking away, like I’m not even worth the answer.
“Know what?” I snap, taking a step forward. “Landon!”
Nothing. Just that smug amusement radiating off of him as he puts more distance between us.
“You son of a bitc—”
“Excuse me?”
The voice comes from my side, cutting through my frustration. I blink and turn, coming face-to-face with a younger-looking boy, no doubt one of the new students.
Right. My job.
I bite back my irritation and force a smile, even as the urge to chase after Landon and wring the answer out of him burns beneath my skin.
He’s not worth it. Not today.
I refocus on the student in front of me, shoving all thoughts of Landon King and his insufferable games to the back of my mind.
For now.