The dorm hallway was quiet when Daphne slipped back in, heels in one hand, her heart still somewhere up in the clouds. Her lips tingled from the kiss, and her thoughts were spinning faster than the ceiling fan back in Room 30B.
She crept into the room—but Mandy and Jane were both wide awake.
Mandy gasped the moment she saw her. "Oh. My. GOD. You're glowing."
Jane, half-asleep and sprawled on her bed, cracked one eye open. "So… tell me it happened!
Daphne flopped onto her bed dramatically, a grin stretching across her face. "He kissed me."
Mandy screamed into a pillow.
"No—listen," Daphne said, sitting up, voice full of breathless disbelief. "The way he looked at me? Like he was starving. I caught him literally staring at my thighs like they held the answers to his final exam."
Jane smirked. "That man was practically drooling when you left. I'm surprised he even made it through dinner."
"And then… it just happened," Daphne continued, eyes dreamy. "The lights, the rooftop, the music. It was so romantic. Slow. Gentle. But intense. Like… he was memorizing me."
Mandy put a hand on her chest. "Okay. I need a man. Immediately."
Just as Daphne was about to say more, she paused.
Something hit her—like a cold slap of reality.
"Oh my God."
"What?" both girls asked at once.
"I have a math test tomorrow. At eight. A.M." Daphne's eyes widened. "And I haven't even cracked the textbook open. I've been too busy—flirting, fantasizing, and letting Bradley Oxley turn my brain to soup."
Mandy cackled. "Romantic soup."
Daphne shot out of bed like the fire alarm went off. "No no no—I can't fail. I refuse to be hot and academically hopeless."
Jane tossed her a notebook. "Then you better get to work, Juliet."
As Daphne started flipping through pages and muttering formulas, Mandy leaned in closer to Jane with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.
"So… about you, Miss Dorm Monitor."
Jane groaned. "No speeches. No drama. No tiaras."
"Too late," Mandy whispered. "We're throwing you a surprise party tomorrow night. At the diner. I already texted Dave. It's happening."
Jane blinked. "You texted Dave?"
Mandy shrugged, smug. "Everyone loves a winner. Especially one with killer sarcasm."
Daphne looked up from her notes, half-smiling despite her panic. "You two are ridiculous."
"No," Jane said, falling back on her bed. "You two are dangerous."
"Thank you," Mandy said sweetly. "We try."
In the morning The diner had been transformed—streamers, cupcakes, and a handmade sign that read "Dorm Monitor, But Make It Sexy – Congrats Jane!" hung across the back booth. Mandy was already halfway through her third soda. Dave was flirting with the ladies across the room, and Jane was pretending she didn't love every second of the attention.
"Okay, but real talk," Mandy said, raising her cup like a toast. "I voted for you because you haven't killed me yet"
"You voted for me," Jane said, raising an eyebrow, "because Wendy terrifies you and I bribe with snacks."
"Also true," Mandy laughed.
Just then, the diner door opened—and Daphne walked in.
Her glow from the night before? Gone. Her skin looked pale, her eyes wide and dim. Even her walk seemed off—like her usual strut had been swapped for a quiet, stunned shuffle.
"Whoa," Mandy said, sitting up. "What happened?"
Daphne sat down slowly. She didn't speak for a moment. Then:
"I failed," she said softly.
Jane leaned in. "Failed what?"
"My math test. I got an F."
Mandy gasped. "No. Nooo. What?"
"I was so caught up in last night… I didn't even study properly." Daphne stared at the table like it had betrayed her. "But my professor said I can do a make-up test. On one condition—I get a tutor."
"Well, that's something," Jane said. "That's not the end of the world."
Then Dave walks up to their table What's wrong, Daph? You look like you've just seen a ghost."
Before Daphne could respond, Mandy jumped in. "She failed her math test. Big, fat, tragic F."
Dave blinked, then let out a low whistle. "Damn. You okay?"
Daphne sighed, tucking her phone away. "I'll survive. I've got a second chance—make-up test. But I need a tutor."
Dave's eyes lit up like someone had just offered him front-row tickets to her heart.
"Well," he said, setting down his drink and leaning in, "you are so in luck."
"Oh God," Jane muttered under her breath.
"I happen to be amazing at math," Dave continued, ignoring her. "Truly. Especially when I'm sitting next to you. Around you, I'm practically a genius. Numbers just surrender."
"No thanks," Daphne replied instantly.
"Really? Well call me if you change your mind." Then he left
All smooth and charming, like, 'I'm practically a mathematical genius when you're around, Daph.'" She imitated his voice, lips curling. "But I know him. He just wants an excuse to be near me again."
Jane smirked. "He's not subtle."
"He's not serious, either," Daphne sighed.
Just then, a shadow fell across their table.
Wendy.
"Hi Jane," she said, her voice like iced honey. "Congrats on winning dorm monitor. So proud of you."
Jane didn't move. "Thanks, Wendy. So sincere of you."
Wendy turned to Daphne, her smile sharpening. "I couldn't help overhearing. You're struggling with math? I happen to be an excellent tutor."
"No thanks," Daphne replied instantly.
Wendy blinked. "Oh? Just offering help."
"You always are," Jane muttered.
Wendy didn't rise to the bait. She flipped her hair, smiled too sweetly, and walked away like she owned the room—even though she didn't. Not anymore.
Daphne pulled out her phone, ignoring the knot in her stomach.
"I'll find someone else," she muttered.
She scrolled through a tutoring site. Profiles, names, ratings, schedules. She clicked on one.
But Daphne wasn't really focused when she scrolled through the tutoring site—she just clicked someone randomly, desperate to fix the mess. Later that day, she sat alone in the study room, waiting for her tutor to arrive… unaware of who she'd actually chosen.
Later that afternoon Daphne was already at the study room waiting for her tutor. Then there was a knock at the door.
"Come in," Daphne called, barely looking up from her notes.
The door creaked open—and there he was.
Dave.
She groaned. "Oh, come on. Dave, what are you doing here? I'm waiting for my tutor. He's supposed to be here any second, so please—leave."
He strolled in like he owned the room, that signature smirk lighting up his face.
"Calm down, baby. Your knight is here."
Daphne blinked. "Okay. Nope. You're out of your mind. What is this? Some kind of joke? What happened to my actual tutor?"
Dave clutched his chest, fake wounded. "Daphne, I'm hurt. Truly. What kind of man do you think I am?"
She crossed her arms. "You're the kind of man no woman takes seriously because you flirt with literally anything that breathes."
Dave paused, then grinned. "Okay… fair. But you also happen to be looking at a math genius. Wanna test me?"
Daphne narrowed her eyes. "Fine. Solve this."
She rattled off a problem.
Without missing a beat, Dave answered.
She blinked. "That was probably a fluke. Try this."
She fired off another question—harder.
He answered again, smooth and exact.
Then he handed her his phone. "Here. My tutoring profile. Five-star ratings, verified background, glowing reviews. You picked me, Daph. Random scroll, desperate tap, divine fate."
She took the phone, read the name.
It was him.
It was really him.
Dave leaned against the desk, suddenly softer.
"You know," he said, voice lower, steadier, "I'm honestly surprised you're surprised. Beneath all this handsomeness, I'm a smart guy. I just wish sometimes… you girls would look past my body."
Daphne snorted—but her laugh cracked just a little too warmly.
She looked up from the phone, eyes narrowing.
"Fine," she said. "Impress me, tutor."
He grinned. "Gladly."
Later that afternoon , while Daphne and Dave were still in the study room, Jane stood in front of the mirror holding up two different heels like she was about to walk a runway or a battlefield. Possibly both.
"You don't think this screams 'I care too much,' do you?" she asked, turning slightly to catch her profile.
"It screams hot girl with trust issues," Mandy chimed from behind her, lying belly-down on the bed with her legs in the air. "Which, let's be honest, is your entire brand."
Jane tossed a pillow at her.
Mandy sat up with a grin. "Okay, no seriously—let's go shopping. You need a look that says 'I'll kiss you but I'll also vanish by morning.'"
Jane smirked. "Perfect. I love emotional contradictions."
They headed downtown to the boutique strip near campus, trying on everything from silk slip dresses to leather boots that looked like they belonged in a music video. Mandy made Jane try on something ridiculous—a neon pink feathered number—just for laughs, and Jane nearly cried from laughing when Mandy fake-modeled down the fitting room hallway.
Eventually, they found the outfit.
A body-hugging dark wine-colored dress that shimmered subtly under the light. It wrapped around Jane like it had been stitched for her sins—low neckline, high slit, soft silk.
She looked… lethal.
Mandy whistled. "Douglas is going to pass out when he sees you."
Back in Room 30B,Jane was already preparing for her date.
Then Jane's phone rang.
She looked at the screen. Her pulse skipped.
Douglas.
She picked up. "Hey."
"Hey," came his smooth, low voice. "I'm outside."
Jane stared at her reflection in the mirror for a beat. "Be right down."
In just a few minutes, she was ready. Lip gloss, subtle eyeliner, silver hoops, a tiny clutch in hand. Her hair was in loose waves. Her nerves? Tucked under sarcasm and just a dash of perfume.
She stepped out of the dorm, heart thudding softly—and saw him.
Douglas, leaning against his sleek black car, stood up straight when he saw her. His lips parted—like she'd stolen the words right out of him.
"Wow," he said after a moment. "You're… dangerous."
Jane lifted one brow, lips curving. "Is that your idea of a romantic compliment?"
"It's my idea of the truth," he replied, walking toward her. "You're stunning. I'd write poetry about you if I wasn't already speechless."
She laughed softly—and for once, it didn't sound guarded.
He opened the car door for her, and she slipped in with a graceful ease, the slit in her dress giving just enough to catch his breath.
He rounded the car, slid in beside her, and with one last glance that lingered a little too long, he said:
"Let's make tonight unforgettable."
And they drove off into the golden hour—toward a night that would break walls neither of them knew.
The restaurant shimmered like something out of a dream.
Soft lighting glowed from hanging lanterns. Each table was separated by sheer, floating curtains that swayed gently, like the whole space was breathing. Water trickled in a nearby fountain, and the scent of jasmine tea hung in the air like a whispered promise.
They sat. And then time… blurred.
The conversation wasn't surface-level. He didn't ask about her classes. He asked what broke her heart. What healed it. What she dreamed of when she wasn't afraid.
And she told him.
More than she meant to.
About her past. About the guilt. About the walls she built because trusting people had once cost her everything.
Douglas didn't flinch.
He reached across the table and took her hand—not to pull her closer, but to hold it still. Like he knew it had been shaking, even when no one else could see.
"You're quiet," Douglas said, his voice barely more than a breath against the clink of silverware and the hum of soft jazz in the air.
"I'm not good at… this," Jane replied, her gaze fixed somewhere just past his shoulder. "Dinner. Eye contact. Intimacy. Letting people in."
Douglas tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle he wanted to understand, not solve. "Good," he murmured. "Because I'm not here for the food. I'm here for you."
Jane's breath caught in her throat. The way he said it—not like a line, not like a flirtation, but like a confession—disarmed her completely.
She looked at him, finally meeting his gaze, and something in her chest quivered.
He stood slowly, never taking his eyes off her, and extended his hand. "Come with me."
She didn't ask where. Didn't need to. Her body moved before her mind caught up.
He led her upstairs, through a velvet curtain and into a private lounge. It was dimly lit, cloaked in midnight blue and candlelight. A low couch sat beneath a grand skylight, where the moon spilled down in beams like liquid silver, soft and ethereal.
Time slowed.
The music faded to a distant hum.
They sat.
He didn't speak. Didn't move. Just watched her. The silence between them was thick with tension—not awkward, but electric.
"Do you always stare like that?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Only when I'm trying to memorize someone."
That made her laugh—a low, uncertain sound—but it faded as he leaned in.
And then…
He kissed her.
Not playfully. Not cautiously.
It was a kiss full of ache, of restraint being let go, of hands that had been waiting to touch something real. It was a kiss that didn't ask for permission, because her breath already answered it.
Jane melted into him.
His hands moved down her back, over the curve of her waist, gripping her hips like she was something fragile and powerful all at once. He kissed her like he wanted to erase her doubt and ignite every buried feeling she didn't know she still had.
His hands slid lower, over her thighs, pausing at the slit in her dress. She gasped into his mouth when his fingers gripped her ass—firmly, confidently—pulling her closer until she was straddling his lap, the thin fabric of her dress offering no protection from the fire building between them.
"You feel that?" he whispered against her lips. "That's not just want. That's every part of me saying finally."
Jane clutched his shoulders as he began kissing down her throat, his lips dragging slowly, reverently across her skin like he was worshipping her.
Her heart thudded wildly. She'd never been kissed like this. Never touched like this.
Not with greed, but with intention.
His hand trailed up her thigh again, this time slower. Slipping beneath the hem of her dress, fingertips brushing over her soft skin with maddening delicacy.
She shivered. Her body responded before her brain could form thoughts.
He paused, sensing the shift in her breath.
"I'm not going to rush you," he said, his voice husky and grounded. "But I'm going to love every second of this."
She looked into his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, Jane didn't feel the need to hide.
"I should be scared," she whispered.
"But you're not," he finished.
"No," she said, her voice steady now. "I'm not."
Douglas leaned in again, slower this time. Their mouths met with a sweetness that burned hotter than any wild kiss could. His hands stayed on her, anchored in reverence, like he was reminding her she was real—and worth holding on to.
And in that moment, the world slipped away. It was just his breath, her heartbeat, and the silence between them—sacred and infinite.
The kiss deepened.
And when he whispered her name into her mouth like a prayer, Jane realized something:
This wasn't a night to escape from.
This was a night to remember.
The kiss deepened. Their bodies pressed close. Her dress whispered around her thighs, the fabric sliding up slowly as she climbed onto his lap, straddling him, grounding herself in the tension that had been burning between them all night.
Her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels falling to the floor with a soft thud.
His hands moved to her hips again—firm, strong—and then lower, gripping her ass as if he couldn't get enough. She could feel him beneath her, hard, aching through his slacks, and the sensation only made her pulse quicken.
But he didn't rush. Douglas wasn't just touching her—he was learning her.
His lips returned to her neck, dragging heat along her skin with every kiss. His breath was warm, and when he whispered her name into her throat, it was like a vow.
Then—his hands moved up. Slowly. Reverently.
He reached her chest, cupping her gently, his thumbs grazing her breasts through the silk of her dress. Her nipples hardened beneath his touch, and she gasped—soft and quiet—her head tipping back as her fingers tangled in his hair.
Every inch of her burned. Not just from desire, but from the way he made her feel seen. Revered. Wanted without expectation.
She looked down at him—his lips swollen, his eyes dark with need but shining with control.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice hoarse, steady.
She nodded. "More than okay."
He kissed her again—this time slower. Less fire. More gravity. Like he wasn't trying to devour her, just hold her together.
They stayed like that, tangled in each other, for what felt like hours. Kissing. Touching. Exploring. No rush. No pressure. Just them, suspended in time.
Eventually, the moonlight shifted, reminding them that the world outside still existed.
Douglas gently helped her off his lap, brushing her hair from her face with a look so tender it made her chest ache.
"We should go," he said. "Or I'm not going to be able to stop."
She smirked, cheeks flushed. "Maybe I don't want you to stop."
He smiled—slow, dangerous, and filled with restraint. "Then I'll stop for both of us."
They left the lounge quietly. The city had gone quiet too—like it knew to hush for what had just happened.
In the car, the silence between them was different now.
It was full of memory.
Of fire.
Of unspoken understanding.
Douglas drove with one hand on the wheel.
The other?
It drifted to Jane's thigh. His fingers stroked slow, lazy circles just above her knee, then higher—up the silk of her dress, to the soft warmth of her inner thigh. His touch didn't demand. It teased. Explored. Gently playing along the edge of her heat, drawing shivers down her spine.
She looked at him—but he kept his eyes on the road, calm as ever.
His thumb brushed her skin again, this time just a little higher.
"Do you always drive like this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Only when I'm this close to losing control."
She bit her lip.
And let him touch her.
Not because she was trying to prove something. But because with him, she didn't have to pretend she wasn't hungry. Brave. Human.
When they reached the dorm, the car idled for a moment, neither of them moving.
Jane turned to him. "Thank you."
He looked at her like she was something rare. "For what?"
"For… not treating me like a secret."
Douglas leaned in, kissed her one last time—gentle, meaningful, slow. "You're not a secret, Jane. You're a chapter I've been waiting to read."