Thirst

A DAZE

2025, THE CROWN ESTATE, OXSHOTT, SURREY

The English countryside was suffocatingly quiet.

Juanita stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, smoothing down the edges of a tailored, cream-colored trench coat. It was incredibly chic, undoubtedly expensive, and picked out entirely by one of her mother’s high-society friends. Everything in her life was like this: curated, safe, and heavily insulated.

"You look beautiful, darling," her mother, Jocelyn, said from the doorway, leaning against the frame with a soft, proud smile.

"I look like I'm auditioning to be a royal accountant," Juanita laughed, turning around and running a hand through her hair. "Are we sure people at university actually dress like this? I feel like I should be wearing sweatpants and carrying an iced coffee."

Jocelyn tutted.

“Sit, sit, let me do your hair.”

Juanita with a playful pout did as she was told.

Jocelyn took off the hair band holding Juanita's long, dark, full 4c hair similar to her mother's.

“I can't believe you're not going to be doing my hair anymore," Juanita said as her mother massaged expensive oils into her hair.

"Anymore? Baby you don't plan on never coming back, do you?" Jocelyn gasped dramatically and Juanita laughed.

"Of course not, Mama, I love you too much."

Jocelyn got a bit emotional hearing her daughter say that.

“I love you more, baby. So don't be a stranger when you leave, okay?”

"I would never. I know it isn't easy on you and dad to let me go like this…”

Jocelyn interrupted her daughter. "My love, this isn't about us. You're an angel thinking about how we feel. You've been cooked up in here your whole life. No matter how much your father and I want to keep you safe and within arms length, we know we can't do that forever. You deserve to discover and experience things and spread your wings and show the rest of the world what a beautiful, funny, kind woman you are. If anything I should be thanking you for being patient with us your whole twenty-one years. Especially with your father. We love you so much, Juanita."

“I know, Mama,” Juanita whispered and met her mother's eyes — a mirror of her own kaleidoscope of amber brown.

Jocelyn kissed her forehead and then returned to doing her hair — styling it pretty with gel into a slick back puffy bun.

"There, all done. You look so beautiful, baby. You're gonna do so great,” Jocelyn kissed her forehead again.

"Of course, she will. She's a Vaughn. She represents this family," a deep, warm voice came from the hallway.

Her father walked into the room.

“Hey, Dad."

Juanita got up and went to embrace her father in a warm hug.

"You look beautiful, my little viper," Dawson hugged his daughter protectively.

To the rest of the world, he was a ghost—a reclusive, ultra-wealthy CEO who ran multi-million-dollar corporations through frontmen and blind trusts. No one ever saw his face in business magazines; no one knew where he lived.

To Juanita — his little viper — he was just Dad. A fiercely protective, slightly intense man who had insisted on homeschooling her and keeping her shielded in their massive countryside estate for her entire life.

For twenty-one years, her life had been a peaceful bubble.

“Why'd you have to grow up so fast, huh? Wish you still used to curl up in my lap and ask me to protect you from the storm and monsters, but now you're all grown up. I'm going to miss you.”

"I know, Dad," Juanita said, breaking the hug. "But I'm twenty-one. It's time for me to see what London actually looks like outside of a car window."

Dawson's eyes flickered with a momentary fear that Juanita didn't quite catch.

Jocelyn nodded at him. He cleared his throat and embraced his daughter again.

He kissed the top of her head.

"The world is... unpredictable, Nita. Just promise me you'll stick to the campus. Keep your phone on. If anything feels strange, you call me or your mother immediately and ask Travis to pick you up and bring you back home immediately."

"I'll be fine," she smiled, pulling back. "I'm pretty sure college is pretty normal, Dad. But yes, I promise to call if anything goes wrong. But what’s the worst that could happen? I'm excited for this new chapter of my life, so please no more guilt tripping okay?"

Dawson chuckled and nodded.

“Come on, it's time to leave."

***

The campus of King’s Imperial College London was a stunning, imposing sprawl of Victorian gothic architecture mixed with modern glass facades.

As the car dropped her off, Juanita felt a physical jolt of excitement. The courtyard was buzzing with hundreds of students laughing, rushing to classes, and drinking coffee under the crisp autumn sun.

For the first time in her life, she was surrounded by people who didn't know her name, her wealth, or her family. She was just Juanita.

She was led to her dorm. She had a single room and was to share the living area — which linked the two single rooms — with a suitemate who had not arrived yet.

She was excited to know who her roommate would be and hoped they would get along and be friends.

By late afternoon, the initial rush of orientation had faded into a calm, golden hour. The sun was beginning to dip below the gothic spires of the main library, casting long, dramatic shadows across the stone courtyard. Juanita walked toward the old literature hall for her final seminar of the day, clutching her syllabus to her chest.

And then, she stopped dead in her tracks.

It wasn't a conscious decision to look up; it was a sudden, magnetic pull in her chest, like a compass needle snapping toward true north.

Standing on the steps of the literature hall, perfectly positioned where the warm sunlight faded into a sharp, dark shadow, was a young man.

Juanita felt her breath catch. He looked incredibly young—perhaps eighteen or nineteen—with a sharp, devastatingly handsome face and eyes that looked like they had lived through a hundred lifetimes. He was dressed completely in dark clothes, a sharp contrast to the bright, colorful college students swirling around him. In his left hand, he casually held a small, antique silver flask, taking a slow sip.

As if feeling her gaze, he turned his head. His dark eyes locked onto hers.

Juanita felt an instant, intoxicating rush of a crush—a dizzying pull toward him that she couldn't explain. She gave a small, nervous smile.

Samil D’Amadeo did not smile back. He capped his flask—the heavy potion that allowed him to stand beneath the torturous sun—and watched her.

And she watched him back, frozen in place.

He looked away first. Nodding ever so slightly at her before walking away.

Juanita had never felt so dazed in her entire life.