It had been 21 months since that infuriating idiot stole my first kiss—21 long months since I saved his life on that cold, snowy night.

It had been 21 months since that maddening idiot stole my first kiss—21 long months since I'd saved his life on that frigid, snowy night.

I stared into my coffee, absently swirling the dark liquid. He had disappeared without a trace: no name, no phone, no ID. Just his reckless grin and the ghost of his lips on mine, a memory I couldn't shake no matter how hard I tried.

And yet…

Why was he still in my head? Rent free, no less.

I sat up straight in my seat. It wasn't today about him. It was my day. My first lecture as Assistant Professor Amy Anderson at Arora University.

"Ms. Amy Anderson," a smooth voice interrupted my thoughts. "Pondering the mysteries of life, or just distracted by the weight of your brilliance?"

Surprised, I looked up to see Dr. Charlotte Kingsley sliding into the chair across from me.

Dr. Charlotte Kingsley, head of the Business Department, her sharp green eyes sparkling with amusement. A vision of elegance and confidence, she was the kind of woman who turned heads wherever she went. Her rich ash-gray hair was impeccably styled, her makeup subtle but flawless.

No one ever would have assumed she was somewhere in her early-forties. Even in class, she was still distracting the male students who passed close to her classroom.

"Morning, Dr. Kingsley, I was, uh, reorganizing thoughts before class just started," I addressed, sitting more upright.

Her brow arched, and her mouth curled into an amused smile. "Recollecting your thoughts? You sound like someone restaging a very tragic romance drama. Should I concerned?"

I managed a small laugh, my cheeks burning. "No tragic romance here, just pre-class nerves." I said, glancing around the cafeteria. It was bright and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows that bathed the space in natural light. Sleek wooden tables and plush chairs were scattered throughout, but I'd chosen a small, two-seater table tucked into the corner—perfect for avoiding attention.

"Good. Because tragic romances have no place on your first day," she quipped, leaning back in her chair with effortless ease. "You're about to face a room full of students who think they're smarter than you. Fun, isn't it?"

I smiled faintly, pushing my glasses up my nose. "I think I can handle them. Probably."

Her smirk spread. "Probably? That doesn't sound very professor-like. Come on, Ms. Anderson. Where's the confidence that got you hired here in the first place?"

I responded quickly, but my voice still quivered. "I have confidence. It's just… I'm not sure how I'll manage at Arora University."

"Look," she said, tapping the table with her manicured nails. "You're the youngest assistant professor in this university's history. You don't have a PhD, yet you're sitting here, about to teach some of the brightest—and occasionally most insufferable—minds we've got. You've already proven you're exceptional. Now you just need to act like it."

Her words sent a spark of reassurance through me. "Thank you, Dr. Kingsley. I'll try to keep that in mind."

"You've already proven you're exceptional," she continued. "Now you just need to act like it. Confidence is everything."

I bit my lip, fiddling with the cup's handle. "You mean… like being strict?"

"Exactly," she said with a nod. "Be firm, set clear expectations, and don't let them see you doubt yourself. That doesn't mean you can't be approachable or kind, but you need to show them you're in charge. Once they respect you, you'll find your rhythm."

I let her words sink in, replaying possible classroom scenarios in my mind.

I smiled, some of the weight lifting. "Thanks, Dr. Kingsley. I appreciate it."

Her chuckle was warm. "One more thing—be careful. Some of the guys here might look sharp on paper, but they're still… well, guys. Persistent, annoying, and occasionally clueless."

I managed a weak laugh. "Noted."

She leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharpening. "So, what's your first class today?"

"Business Strategy for sophomores," I replied, grateful for the shift in topic. "It's my first lecture, and I'm… a little nervous."

Her brows lifted. "Oh, sophomores? Quite the group for your first day."

I frowned, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

She gestured subtly toward a nearby table. "See for yourself."

Two students sat there. One was a cheerful girl chatting animatedly, her energy contagious even from a distance. Across from her sat a boy with dark hair and a brooding expression, slouched as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

"That's Marcus," Charlotte said, nodding toward the boy. "One of the most feared students at Arora."

"Feared?" I echoed, my brow furrowing. "Why?"

"You'll find out soon enough," she said cryptically, a hint of approval in her tone. "But don't worry—he's brilliant. Second place in the entrance exams."

I glanced at Marcus again, studying his aloof demeanor. "That's… surprising."

"And he's not the only one you'll find interesting," she added, her gaze shifting to another group nearby.

My eyes followed hers to a trio of students seated at a bench. One had silver-white hair and hazel eyes, focused intently on a laptop. Beside him, a girl with jet-black hair flipped through a thick book.

Then there was the third student, sitting with his back to me. He wore a white hoodie, his black hair catching the light.

No.

Charlotte kept talking, oblivious to my sudden tension. "The one in the hoodie? That's Billy. Top scorer in the entrance exams. Brilliant, but an enigma. He keeps his distance, but somehow always has a group of admirers around him. A playboy, they say."

My stomach twisted. "Playboy?" I asked faintly.

"Mm-hmm," she said with a shrug. "But don't let that fool you—he's sharp. Has a knack for disappearing right when people need him."

I stared at the boy, my heart racing. Billy. That name. That hair. Could it really be—

Before I could think further, a blonde girl ran up behind him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. "Billy!" she squealed. "Why'd you leave so early last night? You always walks away at best part!"

My stomach churned. What does she mean by that?

The boy shifted in his seat, and his face was still not visible to me. My heart pounded against my ribs in my head, racing with a thousand different thoughts. Billy. That name. That hair. Could it really be… him?

Ms. Charlotte chuckled softly. "See what I mean? Always surrounded by girls."

Her words barely registered. My mind was consumed with a memory I'd buried deep, a night almost two years ago. A freezing, snowy evening. A reckless grin. And the unforgettable weight of his lips against mine.

No. There's no way. This world is far too big for me to run into that guy again.

I sighed, blowing gently on my coffee, forcing myself to focus on reality. He was just a memory now, a distant one. Someone who had vanished as quickly as he'd appeared in my life.

But no. I was so wrong.

The revelation hit me like a truck train after my first class.

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The hallway buzzed with students surrounding me mummering watching us, but my world had narrowed to the boy standing before me.

Billy leaned back, a slow grin spreading across his face as he touched his lips with my lipstick marks on it—the same reckless grin I'd thought I'd never see again.

"Now you remember, Angel?" he drawled, his voice low and taunting.

My mind froze. Around us, the murmurs grew louder as students stopped to watch.

"You…" I choked out, my vision blurring with disbelief and anger.

And before I could think, my palm connected with his cheek in a sharp, resounding slap.