Chapter-2
1590 Words
Dear Diary,
Today is the day.
I look cute, don't I? I knew you would agree. Anyway, today I’m talking to him.
I can’t wait…
God, how I hate him!
In the campus bathroom, Troy stands before the mirror.
She corrects a few strands of out-of-place hair. She wipes at her eyes, making sure her mascara is perfectly intact.
Then, she practices. The way she's been practicing for years.
An innocent frown. Her signature Mona Lisa smile. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear with trembling fingers, looking down with a practiced, shy smirk.
She looks back up. It’s all perfect. Fake, but perfect.
Today, she looks better than usual, even though she hides her striking green eyes behind dark contact lenses.
Out of the five good outfits her poor ass owns, she chose a pink hoodie and tight denim shorts. It is cute, simple, and reveals her caramel-toned, slender legs enough to ensure she is seen.
Finally, she slides her dead mother's golden bangles onto her wrist.
She is twenty now. There is no way he will recognize her. Yet, she will never forget his eyes. Even though she had last seen him at the tender age of eight. Back then, his hair was short and dusty silver, his face just as dirty as hers. Only those pale grey eyes were visible.
Those eyes haven't changed at all.
She checks her watch. Two minutes until lunch. Time to move.
She straightens her clothes one last time and walks out, heading toward the dining hall.
The air feels freezing against her bare legs. The denim shorts are far too short for the weather, but they are necessary. She would rather freeze to death than swap them for something less distracting.
Students flood out of their classes, already forming a line in front of the food kiosk.
It isn't long before Dorian steps into the hall, flanked by a couple of guys. An easy, slanted smile plays on his face, as if he is thoroughly pleased with himself. He shakes his head, tossing out a joke that makes his friends laugh.
The group steers directly toward the long queue.
Troy digs her nails into her palms. Showtime.
Altering her pace, she cuts in to ensure she takes the exact spot right in front of him. It works flawlessly. She falls into line, and three seconds later, so does he.
She can literally feel his presence burning against her back. A faint smell of cedarwood surrounds him. His cologne. Her heartbeat drums violently in her ears. This is the closest she has been to him since he left her.
For a split second, she imagines turning around and driving her ballpoint pen directly into his throat. But the pain would be fleeting, and she would get expelled. So, maybe not.
She keeps her chin up, moving forward as he practically breathes down her neck.
“By the time we get to the front, there won't be any food left,” Dorian mumbles in a low voice. His friends chuckle.
Troy rolls her eyes, ignoring the goosebumps tingling down her arms.
When she finally reaches the kiosk counter, she waits until he is close enough to hear every word she says.
“Hey, can I get a soda and a muffin? Gosh, I'm so hungry,” she asks, flashing a bright smile at the server. Then, she opens her wallet. “Actually… just the soda. Seems I’m short on cash.”
She closes her eyes and shakes her head, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her fingers fake-tremble slightly.
In her peripheral vision, she can see his sharp eyes pin directly onto her.
“Are you sure?” the server asks, looking worried.
“Yeah… yeah… I’ll be fine,” she says softly, looking down with that innocent Mona Lisa smile.
Troy takes the soda and walks away at an agonizingly slow stroll. Behind her, she hears Dorian’s low voice: “A soda, a sandwich, and two muffins.”
She walks as slowly as humanly possible.
“Hey,” Dorian calls out from behind her. His tone is almost emotionless.
Troy turns around, painting a perfectly confused look on her face. “Hmm?”
“Your muffins,” Dorian says. With a completely expressionless face, he extends the food toward her.
“I didn't order them.”
“I did.”
Troy looks down at the muffins, frowning beautifully, before looking back up into his grey eyes. “I… you shouldn’t have. But thank you.”
“Yeah,” he says, dropping them into her hands. His gaze holds hers for two seconds longer before he turns on his heel and walks away.
Troy fights the urge to smirk in case anyone is watching, but absolute satisfaction settles deep in her stomach.
He took the bait.
She counts the seconds as he walks away. One… two… three… four… five… right on cue, Dorian turns his head and glances back.
His eyebrows dip low while his eyes thin into quiet slits, measuring her with unnerving precision.
She meets his glance with an unwavering one of her own. But inside her, a tiny hint of doubt settles.
Why does he look at her like that? That's not what she expected at all…
He looks ahead and walks to the table where his friends are waiting for him.
Troy has no choice but to follow. This isn't done yet. So, she tracks him to the seating area. At the table right next to his, a few chairs are still open, and she claims one, positioning herself to face him indirectly.
Dorian leans back casually now, crossing his foot over his knee as he pops open his soda. Almost too at ease.
But before she can focus on him, a group of students suddenly slides onto the benches around her. Something she hadn't planned for.
“Hey, are you a first-year?” A girl with deep tanned skin and lush black hair slides in next to her, nudging her shoulder.
Troy blinks, quickly flashing a friendly smile. “Yeah… and you?”
“So first-year I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing. I’m Trish.” She holds out a hand eagerly.
For a fraction of a second, Troy freezes. Her mind races. Then, she takes the hand. “Uhm… Poppy. My mom calls me Poppy. I don't really like my real name.”
Trish laughs, nodding in agreement. “Ugh, tell me about it! Sometimes I wonder what our parents were thinking. Well, Poppy, it's awesome to meet you.”
“Thanks, you too.”
“I hear everyone is going to the campus club tonight, are you?” Trish asks, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Uhm, no”
“Oh ok. That's a pity. Why?”
“I live pretty far, and I don't really have the cash for an Uber.”
“Oh, that makes sense.” She opens a soda herself and digs into the donut. Then starts scrolling on her phone.
Troy looks at her and frowns. Then quickly to Dorian. Then slowly back at Trish.
Wait.
“I wish I had stayed closer, though. Where do you stay, at the dorms?” Troy asks with a sweet smile.
“Oh, yeah. Why?”
“Just asking. Actually, what if I crashed at yours for the night, then I could join? Or do you think … we literally just met… That’s too weird, right?”
“Oh my god, yes. That's a good idea. It’s not like you're a weirdo stalker or something, right?” Trish laughs. “Then you can just go to class tomorrow from my dorm room.”
Troy laughs with her. Such a sweet girl. Naive… but sweet. “Wait, really? Oh, but come to think about it, I don't have anything else on me, except for the clothes I’m wearing.”
“No, you can just wear some of my clothes. You look like you're the same size as me.”
“I don't know…” Troy says, playing the hesitant girl with a careful glance. “I don't want to impose.”
“Oh, girl, you're not. Listen, we are both newbs. We might as well stick together!” Trish says with such overwhelming enthusiasm that Troy can't help but laugh.
For a moment, a genuine desire to just be a normal twenty-year-old on a night out flashes through her.
“So, are we doing this?” Trish begs shamelessly.
“Yeah… that actually sounds like fun. I’ll go to the club with you,” Troy says, raising her voice just enough to ensure it carries across the aisle. For him to hear.
In truth, she has only ever been to a couple of high school parties, and those were strictly to practice the art of seduction. Every single move has been training for this specific chapter of her life. The part where she seduces Dorian Vanderbilt, and then completely breaks his cold, f*****g heart.
“I hope you have really cute clothes,” Troy adds in a quieter tone.
“Oh, you have no idea! You’re gonna be so glad you met me.”
“I think I already am.” Troy smiles brightly.
She risks a glance over at Dorian’s table. Big mistake. Troy’s smile drops slowly.
Because he is studying her. His head tilted to the side.
And the look in his piercing eyes isn't that of a man in love or hooked, but a predator sizing up his prey.
- Writer
