Axel had no idea why he was here in the library.

After the chaos of the previous night—flashing blue lights, the sterile stench of the holding cell, Diego pacing like a caged animal while Javi cracked half-hearted jokes to cut the tension—he should have been anywhere but a damn library.

Maybe he had intended to go home. Maybe he had planned to sleep off the pounding headache, ignore the bruises forming on his knuckles, and pretend none of it had happened. But instead, after getting bailed out by the family's lawyers, Axel found himself drifting through the city, his car weaving through familiar streets with no real destination.

His father had called. Twice.
He hadn't picked up.

The last thing he needed was another lecture about reputation or family dignity—as if the Valencia name wasn't already tainted beyond repair. As if Anthony himself hadn't made a spectacle of their family long before Axel ever threw his first punch.

At some point, he had parked outside the library. Maybe it was muscle memory, maybe it was because he had nowhere else to go. Either way, he had walked in, shoulders heavy with exhaustion, barely aware of what he was doing as he sank into one of the back booths.

His head hit the table.

For the first time in hours, his body gave in, dragging him under before he could even think.

Hours earlier, the police station had been a mix of bright fluorescent lights and muted frustration.

The three of them sat side by side on the cold bench, the weight of their reckless night settling in their bones. Axel, head tilted back against the wall, arms crossed. Javi, still buzzed enough to find amusement in the whole situation. Diego, on the verge of snapping.

The moment Diego's father arrived, the tension in the room suffocated.

Santiago Velasco didn't shout. He didn't need to. His silence alone was sharp enough to cut.

"You're an idiot," he said, voice low and precise as he turned to Diego. "Do you even understand what you've done?"

Diego's jaw clenched. "It wasn't my fault—"

"Not your fault?" His father's eyes darkened, his posture stiff with restrained anger. "You were drinking, Diego. In public. You were arrested. Do you know how that looks?"

Diego looked away.

"You can't afford this kind of stupidity." Santiago's words were measured, but the weight behind them was unmistakable. "If you think you can coast through life, wasting time with—" his gaze flickered to Axel and Javi, "—people who have no future, then you are more of a disappointment than I thought."

Axel didn't flinch. He was used to this.

Javi, however, let out a low whistle. "Damn. No need to drag us into it, man."

Diego shot him a glare, but his father barely acknowledged the exchange.

"You are not a child anymore," Santiago continued, voice cold. "This is the last time I will clean up your mess." He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Diego could hear. "You are my son. But that doesn't mean you are entitled to my patience."

Diego's hands curled into fists.

For a moment, it looked like he was going to say something—fight back, argue, prove he wasn't just another disappointment.

But then, his father turned, already speaking to the lawyer handling their case. And just like that, Diego wasn't worth his time anymore.

The sting of dismissal was worse than any insult.

The release process was quick after that. Paperwork signed, hushed conversations exchanged between the lawyers and the officers.

By the time they stepped out into the night, the cool air hitting Axel's skin like a slap, Diego was eerily quiet.

Javi shoved his hands into his pockets. "So... That went well."

Axel ignored him, rolling his shoulders as he walked toward his car. His phone vibrated in his pocket. Another missed call from his father.

He shut it off.

And now, hours later, he was here.

In the library.

Exhausted.

And trying like hell not to think.

The rhythmic clatter of a keyboard pulled Axel from the depths of sleep.

His head throbbed—a dull, insistent ache behind his temples, the remnants of last night's mistakes still lingering in his skull. He blinked, trying to piece together why the hell he was here, of all places.

The library. Right.

He barely remembered walking in. After getting bailed out, his headache had made the inside of his house unbearable. Somehow, his feet had carried him here, and exhaustion had dragged him under.

A dim glow from across the table caught his attention. A girl was sitting there, her fingers flying across the keyboard, brows furrowed in deep concentration.

Axel frowned slightly, still groggy, as a hazy thought surfaced.

Wasn't that the same computer I used earlier?

He had been mindlessly scrolling through emails and ignoring notifications before passing out. He must have forgotten to log out.

His phone buzzed on the table, snapping him from the thought. He reached for it lazily and unlocked the screen.

17 missed calls.
A flood of texts.

His father.

The usual. Call me back. Where the hell are you? Do you understand what you've done?

There were also messages from Diego and Javi.

Diego: Old man's fuming. Guess who got an early morning lecture on responsibility?
Javi: Bro, my dad just called. Thanks for that.
Diego: What the hell did Santiago say to yours?

Axel exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. Diego's father must have contacted Anthony. Fantastic. Another mess to clean up.

His headache worsened.

His gaze flickered back to the girl at the computer. She hadn't noticed him yet, completely immersed in whatever she was typing. He studied her for a brief second—she was dressed casually, nothing about her screamed trouble. She didn't look like the type to hack him. Maybe she had just logged him out and started working.

Either way, he didn't really care.

His headache pulsed, and his patience was running thin.

He checked the time. Too late to go home. Too early to do anything else.

With a sigh, he stood, slipping his phone into his pocket. His headache was getting worse, and he wasn't in the mood for another fight—not with his father, not with Diego, not with some random girl in the library who clearly didn't give a damn about anything except her work.

He thought about saying something to her—maybe some half-amused remark just to see if she'd react.

But she didn't even glance up.

Her fingers kept moving, her entire being locked in on whatever she was doing, like the rest of the world didn't exist.

Axel tilted his head slightly, watching her for a second longer than necessary.

She was cute.

Not in the obvious way—not the type of girl who wore flashy outfits or demanded attention. It was in the way she was completely lost in her own world, in how her lips pressed together in quiet determination, in how she didn't seem to care about anything except getting whatever she was doing done.

For a fleeting second, he wondered what kind of person she was.

Then, just as quickly, he dismissed the thought.

Without another word, he turned and walked away.

Leila let out a long breath as she finally finished the last of her assignments.

The entire semester's worth of physics problem sets, done. Every reading she could get her hands on, reviewed. Every advanced homework assigned, completed.

A deep sense of relief washed over her.

She leaned back, rolling her shoulders as she scanned her screen one last time. Everything was in order. No missed deadlines. No mistakes.

At least, she hoped.

Rubbing her tired eyes, she exhaled and stretched. How long had she been sitting here?

When she looked up, the guy who had been sitting across from her was gone.

Her brows furrowed slightly. When did he leave? She hadn't even noticed.

Glancing at the time, her stomach dropped.

It was so late.

The library, once bustling with quiet murmurs and rustling papers, was now eerily empty. The only light came from the desk lamps, casting long, quiet shadows along the rows of bookshelves.

Leila hurriedly packed up her things, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Thank God her apartment wasn't far from campus.

The cold night air greeted her as she stepped outside, her breath visible in the dim glow of the streetlights. The streets were quieter now, only a few students lingering at nearby food stalls.

As she approached her apartment building, she slowed.

Standing just outside the entrance was her sister, Amara.

And she wasn't alone.

A guy stood beside her, leaning in slightly as they spoke in hushed voices. He was tall, his posture relaxed, his hand casually resting in his jacket pocket.

Leila blinked. Since when did Amara have a boyfriend?

Not that it was any of her business, but still—her sister never mentioned anything about dating.

Leila considered calling out to her, but something about the way Amara was smiling—soft, a little hesitant—made her pause.

She shook her head, deciding against it. She'd ask when the time came.

For now, all she wanted was to sleep.

The next morning, Leila stared at her screen, her mind blank as she processed what she was seeing.

Zero.

One of her physics assignments—one of the ones she had worked on the hardest—had been marked with a failing grade.

Her stomach twisted. That's impossible.

"This can't be happening."

Her fingers trembled as she clicked on the notification, rereading the message from the system.

Unauthorized submission detected. Assignment credited to another student's account.

Confusion and panic warred in her chest. What the hell does that mean?

Had the system glitched? Did she submit it wrong?

Then, slowly, realization crept in.

The library. The computer.

Had she accidentally submitted the work under someone else's account?

Her heart pounded.

She had worked all night for that. It was supposed to be perfect.

And now—it was gone.

"All that work. Gone."