Emily
Viktor Cross.
The name echoed in my mind as I stared at him, still half crouched by the roadside like a complete disaster.
Three years.
It had been three years since I last saw him.
Back in college, Viktor had been my senior. We met during a Freshers’ party organized by the Sculpting Department—an event I had only attended because my roommates dragged me there, insisting I needed to “network with creative people.”
I had ended up spilling wine on someone within the first ten minutes.
That someone had been Viktor.
Instead of getting angry, he had simply handed me a napkin and said, “Next time aim for the floor.”
That was how we met.
After that, we became close.
Well… close enough.
If I were being honest with myself, it had been more than that on my end.
I had a little crus
