The dorm director, Stacy, stepped out of her office and immediately froze.
Her eyes narrowed.
The dorm parlor was an absolute mess—students slumped across the couches like forgotten dolls, plastic cups and chip bags littered the floor like confetti from a riot. The air smelled like regret.
Disgust bloomed on her face like a storm cloud.
Just then, Daphne and Jane came down the stairs, laughing—carefree, unaware, glowing from the kind of inside joke that only real friendship builds.
Stacy turned to the half-awake chaos and began nudging the closest student.
"Rise and shine, ladies. This isn't a crime scene, but it sure looks like one."
Groggy groans echoed as the girls stirred, blinking under the weight of daylight and hangovers.
"Well," Stacy said, gathering some wrappers into a trash bag, "looks like you girls had yourselves quite the party last night."
"I'll help," Daphne offered quickly, stepping forward.
"Me too," Jane added.
Stacy gave them both a long look. "Word of this wouldn't surprise me from Jane," she said with a sly grin. "But you, Daphne? Color me shocked."
Daphne gasped, pretending to clutch her pearls. "Rude!"
"Appreciated," Stacy said anyway. "Thanks, girls."
Jane smirked. "Now I see where Daphne stores all her trash."
"Heyyy!" Daphne laughed, nudging her.
The three of them stood closer now, the tension softened by trash bags and teasing.
Stacy sniffed the air, raising a brow. "Mmm… smells like you two have a date. That perfume is committing crimes."
They all laughed.
"Well, I would stay and continue saving the world," Daphne said dramatically, "but I've got to get to Chemistry."
Stacy's grin curled like a secret. "Chemistry? Is that the name of the boy?"
Daphne's face lit up with mock innocence. "If you must know, his name is Bradley Oxley. He's sweet. He's funny. He's smart. And he's very… gifted with hand placement."
"She hasn't even met him yet," Jane muttered dryly.
"I plan on sitting next to him," Daphne said proudly, "and bumping into him 'accidentally' after class. You know… fate."
"Go get him, Cupid," Stacy chuckled.
"See you later!" Daphne called, flouncing toward the door.
"Yep, byeee," Jane and Stacy echoed.
Suddenly—
"Ugh. What is that foul odor?" a voice rang out like perfume laced with venom.
Wendy glided down the stairs as if she'd been born on a runway, her hair perfectly curled, her expression full of disdain.
"It smells like garbage and… cheap perfume," she added, glancing toward the recovering party casualties.
"Good morning, Wendy," Stacy said, voice flat and diplomatic.
Jane caught one glance at Wendy and turned on her heel. "Can't ruin my morning," she muttered, leaving without another word.
Wendy sauntered over to Stacy, her tone suddenly syrupy.
"I just don't understand these girls," she said, surveying the mess like a queen disapproving of her kingdom. "Throwing parties like animals… look at this parlor. It's practically a pigsty."
She flipped her hair. "You know what Rosewood needs, Stacy?"
"I'm listening," Stacy replied, though her tone was knowing.
"A dorm monitor," Wendy announced with dramatic flourish. "Someone responsible. Disciplined. Someone who truly cares about this campus."
Stacy raised a brow. "And you have someone in mind, I assume?"
"Well…" Wendy shrugged demurely, though her eyes sparkled with self-interest. "A trustworthy dorm director such as yourself could easily appoint someone qualified. Someone like… me."
Stacy offered a tight smile. "Wendy, I appreciate your… enthusiasm. But there are procedures. We'll be holding an election tonight. At the dorm meeting. 7 p.m. I'll see you there."
Wendy blinked. "An election? Is that… really necessary?"
Stacy was already turning back to her office. "See you tonight."
Wendy exhaled through her teeth. "Fine. I have class anyway."
And with that, she stalked off, the scent of designer ambition trailing in her wake.
Daphne rushed into Chemistry with a flutter in her chest and a notebook she wasn't planning to write in. She had touched up her lip gloss three times in the hallway mirror. Just enough shine—not enough to look like she was trying.
She scanned the room the moment she stepped in.
Left side—no. Back row—definitely not. Front? God, no one cute ever sat in the front. Her eyes danced from face to face, breath catching at anyone remotely tall, slightly handsome, or even wearing gray.
But… no Bradley Oxley.
She hovered by the door for a moment longer than necessary, pretending to look at the seating chart like it mattered. But None of it mattered.
Because he wasn't there.
She took a seat near the window—just in case he came in late. She watched the door like it held the rest of her day in its frame. With every second that passed, her hope dimmed like a dying sparkler.
The professor began. Slides lit the board. The periodic table mocked her from every corner of the room.
Still, no Bradley.
She sighed, opening her notebook and scribbling absolutely nothing about chemistry. Her eyes flicked toward the door one last time.
But it didn't move.
And Chemistry ended, but nothing chemically happened.
Daphne packed her untouched notebook with a sigh that echoed louder than her chair scraping the floor. She left the building with the heaviness of unmet expectation hanging over her like a cloud of Chanel and crushed hope.
Bradley Oxley. The myth. The man. The no-show.
She headed for the diner, hoping for fries, forgiveness, and her roommates' sass to pull her out of it.
Just as she turned the corner—
"DAPHNE!"
The voice rang out like a romantic battle cry—dramatic, overdone, and undeniably Dave.
"Damn, baby," he called, hand over heart. "I could smell your perfume from across campus. You've got that new car scent. Fresh. Addictive. Maybe slightly dangerous."
Daphne blinked. "Wow, Dave. That's exactly the type of compliment I've been dreaming about."
She breezed past him without slowing down, sarcasm trailing in her wake.
She slid into the booth across from Jane and Mandy, their trays already stacked with late lunch and early gossip.
"Hi, roomies," she greeted, a dramatic flop of defeat in her voice.
"Oh hey," Jane said. "So? Did you accidentally bump into Bradley? Or did he finally catch on that you've been stalking him?"
"No," Daphne groaned, burying her face in her hands. "He skipped class."
"Well," Jane said, smirking. "Maybe he found out you were tracking his star sign and memorizing his class schedule."
Mandy snorted. "I told you not to Google his sister's LinkedIn page."
Daphne groaned louder. "You guys are awful."
"No, we're real," Mandy grinned. "Why don't you just walk up to him and say hi? Or I don't know… call him?"
"Are you insane?" Daphne gasped. "I don't even know him! And isn't the man supposed to make the first move? I mean—look at me. Slim waist. Soft ass. Nice breast. Cute face. Good vibes. I am the prize. He should chase me."
Jane sipped her drink. "You sound like a horoscope poster."
"I'm serious!" Daphne insisted. "I'm everything a man could want."
"Maybe he's just shy," Mandy offered gently. "You might be too intimidating. Some guys don't know what to do with all that… sparkle."
Jane shrugged. "I once made the first move by calling a guy."
"Oh yeah?" Daphne said, raising a brow. "And how'd that turn out?"
Jane smiled like a punchline was brewing. "I got tried for killing him."
There was a pause. Then laughter exploded from the booth.
"Okay, wow," Daphne said, wiping a tear from her eye. "Room 30B is unhinged."
"Well," Mandy said between giggles, "you don't want him to think you're obsessed—"
"But you ARE," Jane and Mandy chimed in unison.
"Yes, I know," Daphne said, throwing her hands in the air. "But he doesn't have to know that."
"You'll never know if he's the one unless you try," Mandy said gently.
Daphne groaned into her milkshake. "Fine. Okay. I'll… think about it."
"Good girl," Jane smirked.
"But if I make the first move and he turns out to be weird, you're both paying my therapy bill."
"Deal," they said together, raising their fries in solidarity.
Mandy popped a fry in her mouth, watching Jane like she was unwrapping a particularly juicy secret. "Sooo… how's the date prep going, Miss Victor?"
"Oh right! Douglas," Daphne chimed in, smirking. "Voice like sin, right?"
Jane flushed. "We've been talking. A lot. And oh my God… his voice in the morning? It's illegal. Deep. Raspy. Slightly sleepy? I swear it should come with a warning label."
"Who knows," Daphne teased, "you might get lucky on Wednesday night."
Jane shot her a look. "No! I don't want to rush anything. It's our first time meeting—I just hope I can control myself. Honestly… when he talks? I—ugh, my thighs do this thing and—"
"Okay!" Mandy cut in, laughing. "Too many details. I'm trying to eat!"
While Jane and Daphne laughed, Mandy picked up her phone to scroll—until her smile dropped instantly.
"Oh hell no."
"What?" Daphne and Jane asked in perfect sync.
Mandy held up the phone like it was evidence in a trial. "Miss Pampered Princess herself—Wendy—is running for dorm monitor."
Daphne choked on her soda. "WHAT?! No. Absolutely not. If Wendy gets power, we're all doomed. She'll invoke curfews and boys wouldn't be allowed in the dorm. I refuse."
"She'll turn the parlor into a throne room," Jane added. "And we'll be her peasants."
"Nope," Mandy said, folding her arms. "Not on my watch."
She turned slowly to Jane.
"Oh no," Jane said immediately. "Whatever that look is—don't aim it at me."
"Jane," Mandy said with a grin. "Can't you run? You're wise, respected, emotionally dead inside. Plus—you're old."
Daphne burst out laughing. "Right? She's basically the dorm's cool aunt with a tragic backstory."
Jane groaned. "You people are relentless. I can't babysit the dorm and work my shifts and emotionally manage two chaotic Gen Z soulmates."
"Please!" they both begged in unison.
Jane stared at them… then let out a long sigh. "Fine. But if I win, you two are in charge of printing flyers and bribing people with snacks."
"Deal," Mandy and Daphne cried, high-fiving across the table.
But just as the laughter calmed, the diner door opened—and the air changed.
Time. Slowed.
And there he was.
Bradley Oxley.
He walked in like a movie scene—sunlight from the windows catching the lines of his jaw and the soft brown waves of his hair. His shirt clung just right, showing off sculpted abs that threatened to break through the cotton. Girls turned. Guys stared. And the universe tilted just a little.
Daphne froze.
"Guys…" she whispered. "Guys. It's him."
"Who?" Jane and Mandy asked, mid-sip.
She leaned in, whispering with reverence. "That is Bradley Oxley. From my Chemistry class."
Mandy's mouth dropped. "No. Freaking. Way. That boy is fine."
Jane nodded. "I want to put him in a museum. Or a calendar."
And then—
He started walking toward them.
Daphne's heart flatlined. "Oh my God, he's coming over. What do I do?"
"Play. It. Cool," Jane hissed.
"Don't look him directly in the abs," Mandy added.
Bradley stopped at their table, eyes warm and smile disarmingly soft.
"Hey… Daphne, right?"
Daphne blinked. "Uh… yeah?"
"I'm Bradley." He offered his hand.
"I—I know who you are," she muttered. "I'm Daphne. And these are my roommates—Jane and Mandy."
"Nice to meet you," he said smoothly, shaking each of their hands. "So… Daphne. Would you maybe… want to go on a date tonight?"
Jane's soda hit the table with a clunk.
Mandy choked on her straw.
Daphne, trying desperately to not explode, swallowed her shock and said with the coolest smile she could fake, "Sure. I'd like that."
"Great. I'll pick you up around 8?"
She nodded. "Yeah. That's fine."
And just like that, he smiled, nodded politely to the others, and walked away—back into his sunlight.
The moment he was gone, Mandy screamed into a napkin.
Jane fell forward, dramatically dead on the table.
And Daphne? She stared ahead, stunned, lips parted in disbelief.
"Oh my God," she whispered. "I think I'm gonna faint."
Later that night, the trio returned to the dorm, riding the high of a diner-filled day full of gossip, boys, and scandal.
They arrived just in time for Jane to throw her name into the running for dorm monitor.
Stacy raised a brow when Jane handed her the form. "You're serious?"
Jane gave her a dry look. "Unfortunately."
Mandy and Daphne cheered like she was signing up for the Olympics.
But Wendy? Wendy was less than thrilled.
The moment she saw Jane's name on the candidate list, her lips twisted into something bitter—and expensive.
"Oh," Wendy said, her voice sweet as poison, "you're running?"
Jane didn't even flinch. "Better me than a plastic dictator with a perfume addiction."
And just like that… the war began.
Over the next twenty-four hours, the dorm turned into campaign chaos.
Wendy passed out custom-printed flyers in glittery envelopes and bribed girls with samples from her personal skincare stash.
Jane? She played it cooler—quiet strength, dry sarcasm, and an actual plan to fix the broken laundry machines. Mandy and Daphne became her campaign managers, bribing students with snacks, homework help, and their combined charm.
There were whispers. Rumors. Stickers.
Wendy even tried to give out personalized lip gloss.
Jane offered free silence and sanity.
By the time the dorm meeting rolled around at 7 p.m., the lounge was packed with girls buzzing like it was the Met Gala.
Stacy stepped to the front. "Alright. It's time to vote."
One by one, students cast their ballots.
Wendy stood tall, smiling like a pageant queen.
Jane leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, calm as ever—like she couldn't care less, but her eyes? Her eyes were locked in.
Stacy finally counted the last slip of paper.
She looked up, and her voice cut through the chatter.
"By majority vote, the new dorm monitor for Rosewood Hall is… Jane Victor."
Applause exploded.
Mandy jumped up and screamed. Daphne hugged Jane like she'd just won a Grammy. Even Stacy cracked a grin.
But Wendy?
She didn't clap.
She just stood there—perfect posture, perfect hair, and a smile so tight it could've snapped.
"Oh," she said through her teeth. "How… cute."
Jane turned toward her, unfazed. "Guess you'll have to rule from your Instagram stories now."
Wendy's eyes narrowed, but she didn't reply. Not with words.
She just walked away, heels echoing across the hardwood floor—like she was already planning her next move.
The hallway of Rosewood hummed with the usual late-night noise—footsteps, laughter, the distant hum of someone microwaving something tragic.
Then came the knock.
Sharp. Sure. Intentional.
A few girls near the lounge paused their conversation and exchanged glances. One opened the door.
And there he was.
Bradley Oxley.
Perfect posture. Crisp button-down. Jawline sculpted by angels and good lighting.
"I'm looking for Daphne," he said, voice smooth as velvet draped in charm.
Within seconds, the dorm turned into a live wire. The girls were practically flying down the hallway. "DAPHNE! He's here! He's here!!"
Mandy and Jane nearly tripped trying to shove her out of the room in time.
And then… she stepped out.
Daphne.
Wearing a body-hugging midnight-blue gown that kissed every curve like it was tailored by desire itself. Her skin shimmered under the soft hallway lights. Her chestnut curls were pinned half-up, cascading like silk over bare shoulders. The neckline dipped just enough to suggest danger, and her smooth thighs teased the slit of the dress with every step.
Gasps floated through the hallway like perfume.
Bradley turned—and froze.
For a moment, all he could do was stare. His breath hitched. His eyes drank her in with slow reverence. He wasn't smiling yet. He was stunned.
"Wow…" he said, his voice quiet, almost reverent. "You look… absolutely breathtaking."
Daphne tilted her head, her glossed lips curving into a knowing smile. "Thank you," she said softly. "You clean up nice yourself."
Bradley chuckled, a little dazed. "I'm gonna be honest. I don't even remember where I parked."
She laughed lightly, then slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.
"Shall we?"
"We shall," he said, eyes never leaving her.
And just like that, they walked down the hallway—her heels clicking with poise
"You look…" he hesitated, smiling again, "…like trouble."
Daphne raised an eyebrow. "And you look like you'd enjoy it."
He laughed. "Not denying it."
They drove with the windows cracked, wind dancing through her hair, his playlist soft and slow. The silence between them wasn't awkward—it shimmered, full of possibility.
They arrived at a quiet rooftop restaurant—dim lights, string lanterns, and soft jazz drifting through the air like a secret. No students. No noise. Just the two of them.
"I figured you'd appreciate a view," he said, pulling out her chair.
She did. The skyline blinked like stardust. She couldn't tell if it was the wine or his gaze making her dizzy.
Conversation flowed like they'd known each other longer than a day. He asked questions—real ones. About her art. Her childhood. Her fear of failing.
"I don't usually open up," she admitted. "But with you… it's like I don't have to try."
Bradley leaned in, voice low. "Maybe it's because I see you. Not the version you show everyone. Just… you."
Her breath caught.
She let her fingers drift toward his on the table—just a brush, then a gentle hold. The moment was quiet, warm, electric.
Then he looked at her, really looked, like he was memorizing every line of her face before the moment disappeared.
"Can I tell you something?" he asked softly.
"Yeah."
He moved a little closer. "You talk like you're trying to be careful. But your eyes? They don't lie. They want to be reckless."
Her breath hitched. "Maybe I do."
He reached up, slowly, his hand brushing against her cheek. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't planned. It was instinct—the kind of moment that happens when the noise of the world finally falls away.
"Then let me be the first thing you're reckless about."