The Langley estate was quiet that Saturday afternoon, the kind of poised silence that filled its halls like perfume—expensive, curated, and cold. Victoria's room was no different. The only sound was the faint scratch of pen against paper, the rustle of textbook pages, and the soft hum of the wall-mounted lamp beside her.
She was studying.
Not for a test. Not for review. Not even for any particular subject.
She just needed the noise.
The structure.
The distraction.
Her pen glided across the page as if it had purpose, but her thoughts weren't on the formulas, or the annotated political theory notes she was recopying by hand. Her eyes flicked to the side of the desk where her tablet sat, dark screen showing a faint reflection of her pinched brows and too-tight lips.
Because something wouldn't leave her alone.
Something she couldn't process.
Damien Elford.
Ranked 23.
Top 25.
It wasn't possible.
Not for him.
