If she could forget the pain her family had carved into her from childhood, then surely she could forget the flutter of her heart for one person.


    M had always been good at shutting the door on her feelings.


    ...


    After that night, M decided to quit her job as a court assistant.


    When she went to hand in her resignation to the court manager, Lysander happened to be there, deep in conversation with the manager. He didn''t even nce her way, his expression as unreadable as ever.


    Thankfully, having already performed a sort of emotional amputation, M felt nothing but numbness as she handed over the letter.


    The manager looked surprised, instinctively ncing at Lysander''s impassive profile before quickly looking away.


    After a brief attempt at persuasion, M insisted she was too busy with her studies, and that was that.


    From that day on, she never set foot on the court again, never asked about Lysander, forcing herself to cut him out of her lifepletely.


    The truth was, M never cared much for sports. She wasn''t passionate about the game. She only ever went to the court because of the person who yed there. Now that she''d made up her mind, there was no reason to look back.


    She threw herself into her studies like a woman possessed, diving so deep into textbooks and programming projects that she sometimes dreamed of the cking of keyboards and the blur of colorful code on her screen. She worked even harder than before, burning all her energy just to keep her mind off everything else.


    Eventually, her best friend Miranda had seen enough.


    "At this rate, you''re going to turn your brain to mush," Miranda dered. "You''ve already jumped up several ces in the ss rankings, your schrship''s been approvede on, you need a break. My treat!"


    Without waiting for a response, Miranda shut M''sptop, pulled her up, and dragged her out to a bar.


    "But my code! I haven''t even saved-" M protested, frantic.


    "Rx, it''ll be fine," Miranda waved her off.


    ...


    Miranda took her to a cozy lounge bar—quiet, tasteful, and nothing like the rowdy student haunts.


    As soon as they sat down, Miranda rattled off a list of drinks and had them lined up in front of M, grinning. "Drink up! I''m buying, and we''re not leaving till we''ve unwound!"


    M just pushed the drinks away, silent. She didn''t mind alcohol, but her tolerance was terrible-one cocktail and she''d flush bright red, two beers and she''d be under the table. Ever since the night she cked out, she''d sworn off drinking altogether. She hated the feeling of losing control.


    "Don''t worry, I only ordered stuff with a low ABV. Even if you get tipsy, I''m right here to get you home safe, promise." Miranda gave her a reassuring look, then sighed. "Honestly, you need to rx. You''ve been wound so tighttely. Did you know you''ve been shouting academic jargon in your sleep? You''ve startled half the girls in the dorm awake more than once."


    M blinked, embarrassed. "Seriously? Why didn''t you guys tell me?"


    "We know you''re hustling for that schrship. It''s just for a while no big deal. We''re all friends, we get it." Miranda shrugged, but her concern lingered. "But now you''ve made the cut, you''re still going full throttle. What gives? Is something going on that you can''t tell me?"


    M had never confided in anyone about her first crush. And once things fell apart, she had even less reason to talk.


    Now, with Miranda''s question hanging in the air, she felt a rush of difort. She grabbed a drink and knocked it back in one go, not even noticing how it burned until her eyes watered.


    "Whoa, slow down!" Miranda quickly handed her a napkin. M shook her head, dizzy from the sting, and headed for the restroom to ssh some cold water on her face.


    The icy water jolted her awake. When she looked up, she froze.


    In the mirror, reflected by the door, stood a tall young man, leaning casually against the frame, his sharp gaze fixed directly on her.


    She wasn''t sure how long he''d been there.


    She never expected to run into Lysander here. M grabbed a paper towel, wiped


    her face, and kept her head down, intent on walking past without a word.


    But as she brushed by him, Lysander''s hand shot out and caught her wrist.


    His palm was dry, hot against her skin.


    M flinched, ready to pull away, but his low, gravelly voice stopped her.


    "Let''s make a deal."