Alstroemeria Nyx Taylors walked through the crowded campus with an effortless grace, her ash-blonde hair shimmering under the morning sun. She had learned early on that her beauty commanded attention wherever she went. Her presence, like the delicate yet powerful Peruvian lily she was named after, seemed to captivate all who crossed her path, but it was a gift that often felt like a curse. No one saw past her appearance, and that weighed on her in ways that few could understand. But Alstroemeria had bigger things to worry about—her future, her studies, and the legacy of her family name.
Business Management was supposed to be a fresh start, a place where she could define herself for more than her looks. But today, like every other day, the cold, unapproachable Luca Zev Valerian appeared in her path. His silver eyes, filled with indifference and power, never failed to cut through the crowd. His name was as feared as it was respected—son of the Valerian family, and someone who made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with her or anyone else.
Luca's gaze lingered briefly on Alstroemeria, but he quickly turned away, as if she were nothing more than another student to ignore. To him, she was just another face in the sea of college-goers. To her, he was a reminder of the feud between their families, a silent war that stretched beyond the classroom walls.
But there was something in the air today, something that felt different.
Their families, the Taylors and the Valerians, were locked in a bitter business rivalry that had spanned generations. It wasn't just a competition; it was a war fought in boardrooms and courtrooms, a silent battle that echoed even within the seemingly neutral confines of Blackwood University.
Alstroemeria knew that Luca saw her as a symbol, a pawn in a larger game. He wouldn't be swayed by her beauty; he was far too astute, far too focused on the endgame.
Alstroemeria sighed, the sound barely audible above the low hum of conversation that followed her like a shadow.
The whispers, a constant murmur of admiration and awe, washed over her, a familiar yet unwelcome tide. "Stunning," one voice breathed. "Look at her hair," another murmured, enraptured. "She's like a goddess," a third whispered, awestruck.
The compliments, though intended as praise, felt like a suffocating blanket, smothering her individuality, reducing her to nothing more than a beautiful object.
She'd heard variations of these same words countless times, a relentless chorus that played on repeat, drowning out any attempt at genuine connection.
It was a burden, this beauty, a gilded cage that trapped her in a perpetual cycle of superficial admiration. She longed for a conversation that delved beyond the surface, a connection that valued her mind as much as her appearance.
But today, as every other day, the whispers served as a stark reminder that such a connection seemed impossible.
She pushed open the heavy oak door of the lecture hall, the whispers fading slightly as she entered, but still echoing in her mind, a constant, irritating undercurrent to her already complicated day.
Alstroemeria stepped into the lecture hall, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as rows of students glanced up, then quickly looked away—some out of admiration, others out of envy. She moved toward her usual seat near the center, where the view was optimal for focus, not distraction. Yet distraction always found her.
She exhaled slowly, smoothing the front of her pastel blouse, its delicate fabric whispering with her movements. Her notes were already in order, her pen poised. And yet, even the crispness of her preparation couldn't shield her from the tension that prickled at her skin the moment he walked in.
Luca.
Like clockwork, he entered three minutes before the lecture was set to begin, just as he always did—never early, never late. He strode past the rows with calm, deliberate precision, his dark eyes scanning the room but settling on nothing. Not even her.
Not that she expected him to.
He took his seat a row diagonally behind her, as usual—close enough to hear her answer a question, far enough to avoid direct interaction. She didn't know if it was intentional or coincidental, but the pattern had remained consistent since the start of the semester. A cold, silent rhythm neither of them acknowledged.
Professor Aldridge began the lecture, her voice steady and clipped as she introduced today's topic: "Mergers and Hostile Takeovers: When Business Gets Personal."
The irony wasn't lost on Alstroemeria.
She listened attentively, jotting down bullet points and strategies, her mind already dissecting case studies and possible exam questions. But halfway through the discussion, Professor Aldridge called on someone.
"Mr. Valerian. Your thoughts on the risks of merging with a hostile competitor?"
There was a beat of silence.
Then his voice, deep and even, cut through the room. "Hostile mergers are a gamble. You risk cultural clashes, internal resistance, and long-term instability. But if executed correctly, it can neutralize a threat before it grows too large."
A few students nodded, scribbling his words. Alstroemeria didn't move.
Professor Aldridge tilted her head. "Interesting. And what would you say is the greatest obstacle in that process?"
Another pause. Then, coolly: "Sentiment."
Alstroemeria's grip on her pen tightened.
She could feel the weight of his words behind her, deliberate and calculated, like a message dressed in academic language. He didn't need to look at her. He never did. And yet she felt it—the brush of unspoken things between them, hidden in a business metaphor.
Her hand shot up.
"Yes, Miss Taylors?" Professor Aldridge gestured.
Alstroemeria stood, her voice calm and poised. "Sentiment may be a risk in business, but it's also a tool. If used wisely, it can create loyalty, trust, and sustainable growth—things no hostile takeover can guarantee."
A ripple of murmurs spread across the room.
Luca didn't respond. He didn't need to. But when she sat back down, she didn't miss the shift in the air behind her—the barely perceptible pause in his breathing, the way silence wrapped around them tighter than before.
The war of words had begun.
And for the first time, it wasn't just about family legacies or boardroom battles.
It was personal.
The lecture ended with the scrape of chairs and the rustle of notes being shoved into bags. Alstroemeria lingered, gathering her things at a deliberate pace, refusing to rush. She could feel him behind her again—Luca Valerian, quiet and unreadable as ever.
As she turned toward the door, she found herself stepping directly into his path.
"Strategic sentiment," he said coolly, eyes flicking down to meet hers. "A romantic notion. Risky, though—especially when the heart gets involved."
Alstroemeria arched a brow, her tone deceptively light. "And yet somehow, colder strategies tend to fall apart when people start realizing they're not robots."
Luca tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "People are replaceable. Sentiment isn't scalable."
She smiled—sweet, almost innocent. Dangerous. "And yet here you are, still circling the same seat behind me every class. Must be some very scalable sentiment, Valerian."
A flicker passed through his silver gaze. Annoyance? Amusement? It was gone before she could catch it.
"I sit there for the view," he said simply.
Alstroemeria's lips curled into a smirk. "Then I hope you're taking notes. Because the view fights back."
She brushed past him, her perfume lingering in the air between them—light, elegant, and utterly unbothered.
Behind her, Luca didn't move. But his jaw tightened ever so slightly, and for a brief second, the great Valerian composure cracked.
And Alstroemeria smiled to herself.
Round one: hers.
Later that afternoon, Alstroemeria was flipping through her planner in the quiet corner of the university library, her focus broken only by the faint sound of tapping keyboards and the occasional rustle of pages. She had just penciled in her study group meeting when her phone buzzed with a notification.
Subject: Strategic Partnerships Project Pairings
From: Professor Aldridge
Please check the attached list for your assigned partner. Presentations begin in three weeks.
Her breath caught.
She opened the file, eyes scanning the names quickly—too quickly. Then she saw it.
Taylors, Alstroemeria — Valerian, Luca
She stared at the screen for a moment longer, almost expecting it to change. It didn't.
A quiet groan escaped her lips as she dropped her head against the back of the chair. Of course. Of course he would be her partner for the biggest project of the semester. The universe had a twisted sense of humor.
"Don't look so thrilled."
She glanced up—and there he was. Leaning against the bookshelf with that same infuriating calm, a hint of smugness playing at the corner of his lips.
"You must be used to people being excited to work with you," he added, "but don't worry. I won't let your sentimental strategies tank my grade."
Alstroemeria blinked slowly, exhaling a laugh through her nose. "Trust me, I'm not excited. I just don't like cleaning up after emotionally constipated control freaks."
Luca's brow lifted. "You mean people who think before they act?"
"I mean people who mistake apathy for intelligence," she shot back, standing to meet him at eye level. "But lucky for you, I'm very good at making difficult things work."
He stepped closer, the space between them charged.
"We'll see if that applies to partnerships."
She held his gaze, unflinching. "Just don't slow me down, Valerian."
His smirk sharpened, just slightly. "Wouldn't dream of it, Taylors."
They stood there for a beat too long, the silence heavy with unsaid things and mutual irritation… or something that felt dangerously close.
Then she brushed past him again, the same way she had earlier that day—but this time, she glanced back.
"Library. Tomorrow. Four o'clock," she said over her shoulder. "Don't be late."
Luca didn't respond.
But he was there at 3:55.
Blackwood University Library — 4:03 PM
Alstroemeria was seated at the far end of the library's second floor, surrounded by books, color-coded notes, and her usual aura of calm determination. She didn't look up when he arrived—because of course, he was three minutes late.
"Valerian," she said without glancing at him, "Punctuality is a basic requirement in business."
Luca slid into the chair across from her with maddening ease. "Three minutes isn't late. It's fashionably efficient."
She finally looked up, brows arching delicately. "You're not here to model a wristwatch ad, Luca. We have work to do."
"Trust me," he said, pulling out his laptop, "this isn't my idea of a fun afternoon either."
They worked in silence for a few minutes, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Pages turned. Keys clicked. Alstroemeria scribbled down a proposed framework, then slid it across the table.
"Here. It's a rough layout for our pitch. I figured we'd open with market analysis and then—"
"Too soft," Luca interrupted, scanning it quickly. "You're leading with sentiment again."
"And you're still mistaking impact for cold detachment." Her eyes narrowed. "A business pitch that ignores human behavior is destined to fall flat."
He leaned back in his chair, watching her. "And yet emotions make people sloppy. You should know that better than anyone."
She froze for a split second. Just long enough.
There it was again—that sharp, deliberate jab wrapped in a smooth voice.
Her gaze darkened. "Careful, Luca. You're confusing depth with weakness. It's a common mistake among men who think walls make them strong."
He tilted his head. "And you mistake empathy for strategy. But maybe that's just a Taylors thing."
Something in her flared at the name.
"Is this about our families, or are you just scared I'll outshine you?"
He smiled—cool, quiet, annoyingly charming. "You'd have to get close enough to try."
She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Don't tempt me."
For a breath, the air between them sizzled with something far from academic. His silver eyes held hers, something unreadable flickering behind them.
Then Luca blinked, breaking the tension with a quiet scoff as he returned to the spreadsheet. "We'll do it your way. But if it flops, I'm blaming your pastel powerpoints."
Alstroemeria smirked. "Don't worry. I never flop."
They worked until the sun dipped low through the tall windows—still sharp, still sparring—but somehow… synchronized. Not partners, not quite allies, but something in between.
A beginning.
Blackwood University Courtyard – Friday, 6:47 PM
The campus had mostly emptied out for the weekend, leaving behind golden light spilling across stone walkways and the quiet hush of early evening. Alstroemeria usually liked this time of day—when everything slowed, when no one was watching. She sat on a bench tucked beneath a jacaranda tree, the petals softly drifting around her like lilac snow.
She had her phone in one hand, but her thoughts were far away—too far. She'd just gotten off a call with her father. Another reminder of expectations, of legacy, of how this project wasn't just about school—it was a test. A performance. A stage she wasn't allowed to fall from.
She didn't realize someone had approached until she heard a familiar voice, low and careful.
"You look like you're thinking about throwing that phone into the fountain."
She blinked and looked up. Luca. No blazer this time—just a dark sweater, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, hair tousled like he'd run a hand through it too many times. He wasn't smirking. He wasn't cold. He was just… there.
"And here I thought you didn't notice anything unless it came with a profit margin," she said, voice softer than usual.
Luca didn't answer right away. He just sat beside her, leaving a respectful space between them. Unusual.
"I notice more than you think," he said finally, eyes fixed on the horizon. "Especially when someone looks like they're about to break."
Alstroemeria gave a soft laugh, bitter at the edges. "Don't worry, Valerian. Taylors don't break. We just—bend quietly. Then build empires out of the wreckage."
"Sounds exhausting."
She turned to look at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone. "You would know. Your entire brand is built on pretending you don't care while carrying the world on your shoulders."
A silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable.
Then, in a rare moment of vulnerability, Luca spoke again—quietly.
"They said this project would test us. Not just the grade. Our families. Our loyalty." A beat. "I don't think either of us got paired by accident."
Alstroemeria's expression sobered. "You think they're watching?"
"I know they're watching."
She let out a long breath, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Then I hope they're terrified."
A breeze rustled through the leaves. For the first time, there was no pretense between them. Just two people, sitting in the silence of their inherited war.
Finally, Alstroemeria stood, brushing petals from her lap.
"Don't get used to the heart-to-heart," she said lightly, though her eyes were soft. "We've got a presentation to crush."
Luca stood too. But this time, he didn't look away.
"I never get used to anything."
Their eyes met for one more lingering second.
Then she turned and walked away—head high, shoulders steady.
And behind her, Luca watched just a moment longer than he should have.