Page 4 of Lunar Crest University

And quite possibly a bad one.

“I don’t know how long this will last,” I whisper, throwing the rag into the sink. Trails of crimson bleed from the cloth down the drain. “You’re bleeding too much, and I’m not a doctor.”

“Sit.”

I hum in confusion as I gawk at him.

He nods his head to the spot between his legs where I once was. “Sitdown.”

The red flags are looking so green, disguised as a hot, brown-eyed man with muscles that belong in an art museum.

It’s humiliating how fast I sit on the floor between his large thighs and crisscross my legs before I peek up at himexpectantly. My heartbeat thuds in my ears as he extends his hand to me.

“Your hand,” he says gruffly.

Oh.

Gently placing my palm into his, I swallow as I hand him some gauze before he can snap any more orders at me. My eyes train on our hands, determined not to make eye contact with him while I’m waist-deep in vulnerability land. He dabs at my cut, making me grind my molars, hoping to squash the lolling nausea in my stomach.

“Does it hurt?”

I nod.

He grunts. “What were you doing in an alley at night?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

He mumbles another word I don’t understand under his breath, making me frown at him as I plop another bandage into his open palm. We sit in silence as he wraps my hand carefully, his eyes focused—giving me the faintest opportunity to examine him.

The space between his brows is wrinkled, as if he scowls a lot. My assumptions are confirmed as he knits his eyebrows while bandaging me up. That only brings me back to his eyes. Dark, speckled with gold, mysterious as ever. They look like they hold a million thoughts and nothing simultaneously, but they are soft. Teddy bear eyes. That could be somewhat believable if he wasn’t a grump.

“Thank you,” I mumble as he tapes the bandage in place.

He nods silently.

I stumble backward as he stands, whisking his jacket from the ground and slowly putting it back on. Pulling myself up from the bathroom floor, I fidget with the hem of my cashmere sweater as I watch him turn to leave the room.

“That’s it?” I chirp.

He stops to glance at me over his shoulder.

“You’re going to leave without telling me your name?” I stammer, rubbing my arm. “Without even so much as a thank you?”

He blinks, and those hardened eyes soften just a smidge before he swallows.

“Thank you,Princesa.”

Chapter One

FINLEY

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 25TH, 2023

Stupid.

Stupid hair.

Even at twenty-four, I still can’t manage to tame my hair into submission to feel the slightest bit pleased. It’s my fault for waking up late, I’ll admit to that, but the least my hair can do is cooperate, especially on the first day of fall classes.

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