Ava Sinclair came to Hartley School of the Arts to escape. To lose herself in colors, silence, and the safety of solitude. Haunted by her past and burdened by quiet pain, she keeps to herself—low-profile, unnoticed, untouched.

Until he touches her.

Adrian Blackwood is everything she avoids—wealthy, untouchable, older, and dangerously quiet. A final-year student with a flawless mask and secrets too dark for daylight. No one sees the shadows behind his sharp smile. No one knows what he’s watching.

Except Ava.
Because now he’s watching her.

He sees the way her hands tremble while painting. The way she bites her lip when she’s lost in thought. The way she leaves her blinds half-open at night.

And Adrian? He wants all of her.

Not just her body. Not just her time.
Her scent. Her sketchbook. Her life. Her soul.

And when they collide in a quiet hallway, that invisible line between obsession and possession begins to blur. Ava starts to feel it—that shift in the air, the sense that someone’s always there, just out of sight. A pair of eyes that don't just watch but devour.

She doesn’t know his name yet.
But he knows everything about her.

And he’s not going to let her go.


---

I had passed that spot a dozen times since the collision, yet every time, my steps slowed. My breath shifted. My eyes searched.


Even his name felt like a forbidden brushstroke—dark, deliberate, impossible to erase. I hadn't told anyone about that moment, hadn't said a word about the way he touched my arm or the way his voice curled around my name like silk dipped in fire.


I painted three pieces since Thursday and all of them—all—had his eyes.


Eyes I had barely seen but couldn't forget.


It was more than attraction. It was a hum in my bones. A tremor under my skin. The kind of pull that makes you question yourself, like stepping into a dream you know you should wake up from—but don't.


In the way I hesitated before undressing near my window.


In the way I turned quickly in the cafeteria, sure someone had just looked away.


In the way I kept the pepper spray in my pocket even when the sun was out.


I hated how my heart raced from not seeing him.


And worse—I hated that a part of me wanted to.


Friday night. The studio was dim. I'd stayed late, trying to finish my portfolio submission. It was quiet—too quiet. The only sound was the scratch of charcoal on canvas.


Just a soft sound. Floorboards shifting.


My hand tightened on the charcoal stick. My eyes scanned the reflection in the window. Nothing. Empty hallway. Shadows.


I turned back to my sketchpad. Tried to breathe. Tried to forget him.


But the outline I'd drawn looked nothing like the model in my head.


She doesn't know that down the hallway, beyond the double doors, Adrian is sitting on a stool in the unused photography darkroom—watching the soft flickers of light under her studio door.


Chapter 6 - Chapter Six: His Eyes Never Left Me