Tell me I'm wrong

I never wanted to speak on my first day. Not in a lecture hall packed with overconfident upperclassmen, and definitely not in front of him. The boy everyone seemed to orbit around like he was the sun—Dante Valtieri. He sat there in the third row, sprawled back like he owned the air, ankle resting on his knee, a silver ring glinting on his finger as he twirled a pen without looking at it. His dark hair curled carelessly over his brows, his jaw set like he was bored of us all. Girls leaned forward in their seats, laughing too loudly at things he didn’t even say. Professor Allen clicked to the next slide. “Let’s talk control. Why do humans seek it? Anyone?” Of course, Dante spoke. His voice was low, casual, British-Italian, like he wasn’t trying but still made people shut up just to listen. “Because power tastes better than truth. People don’t want the facts, they want control over how the facts make them feel.” Laughter. Agreement. Even the professor nodded. I rolled my eyes. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. “That’s a really romantic way of ignoring the truth,” I said. The room stilled. I didn’t even stand up, just sat there with my legs crossed and eyes on him. He turned to look at me. And for the first time—I felt it. The weight of someone’s full attention. Cold and curious. Amused. Dangerous. “And you are?” he asked, like my name was the punchline to some joke. “Someone who thinks your statement is emotionally immature and intellectually lazy.” A few gasps. Nervous laughs. His brows lifted just slightly, and for a moment, I thought he was going to throw a witty insult at me. But instead… he smiled. Not kindly. Not cruelly. Like a wolf finding another predator. “Freshman?” he guessed. I didn’t answer. He already knew. “Then welcome to reality,” he said smoothly. “You’ll learn soon enough—control is everything.” After class, I packed my books fast, not looking at anyone. Not at the girls whispering about me, not at the professor who gave me an impressed nod. Just out the door. Fast. “Hey, Emily.” I stopped. My name sounded different in his voice. I turned. He stood behind me, not smiling now. Just watching. Curious. Calculating. “You’re braver than most,” he said. “Or just really stupid.” “I’d say the same about you.” He tilted his head. His eyes were a kind of dark I didn’t recognize. Not brown. Not black. Just sharp. “You think you understand people, don't you?” “I understand enough to know when someone’s hiding behind their ego.” His mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh—but didn’t. “We’ll see how long that lasts.” And then he walked away, just like that. Not looking back. But I stood there for a moment longer… …feeling something stir in my chest that I hadn’t expected. This wasn’t attraction. It was war. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t scared of losing.