Killian Lancaster was used to attention. Whether he was walking across the campus quad, lounging at the café, or simply existing, people noticed him. He was the kind of guy whose presence filled a room before he even spoke— a mix of effortless confidence and charm that made professors nod in approval and students gravitate toward him.

Everyone wanted a piece of Killian.

Except Anastasia.

He first noticed her in their Modern Literature class, sitting by the window with her head resting on her hand as she scribbled in a notebook. Not a laptop, not a tablet— an actual, ink-stained notebook. While the rest of the class leaned forward whenever he spoke, hanging onto his every word, Anastasia barely looked up.

That was new.

At first, it was amusing. Maybe she was shy? Maybe she just didn’t care? Either way, it was a challenge, and Killian had never been one to back down from those.

A week passed. Then another. And Anastasia remained unfazed.

Killian wasn’t the kind of guy who sought validation— he didn’t need to. It came to him naturally, in the way people laughed too loudly at his jokes, the way they adjusted their posture when he entered a room, the way professors called on him as if his answers carried more weight. He existed in a world where his presence commanded attention without effort.

But Anastasia? She was a void. A quiet, self-contained enigma who seemed to drift through life without acknowledging the currents around her.

His gaze would always find her, whether he intended it to or not. It irked him how she never reacted to the noise whenever his group laughed too loudly in class, never flinched when his name was whispered in hushed conversations in the hallways. If she ever looked his way, it was purely coincidental— like he was just another face in the crowd.

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It was almost insulting.

No one ignored Killian Lancaster.

She never acknowledged the whispers about him, never glanced in his direction when people called his name in the halls. If she ever looked his way, it was purely coincidental—like he was just another person in the room. It was almost insulting. No one ignored Killian Lancaster.

But Anastasia wasn’t just ignoring him. She was completely unaware of him.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut on a random Wednesday afternoon. He had arrived early to class, expecting the usual small talk from his peers. Instead, his eyes were drawn to her again— head down, lost in whatever she was writing. A loose strand of hair fell into her face, and she pushed it back absentmindedly, still focused on the pages in front of her.

He had never seen someone so utterly absorbed in their own world.

He found himself wondering what she was writing. What kind of thoughts occupied her mind so deeply that the world around her ceased to exist?

What was so captivating that even he— the person everyone noticed— didn’t exist in her world?

For the first time in a long time, Killian felt something unfamiliar.

It wasn't attraction, though he wouldn’t deny that Anastasia was striking in an unconventional way. It wasn’t frustration either— he was used to people playing hard to get, and this wasn’t that.

No, this was something else. Something that curled in his chest and refused to leave.

Curiosity.

And Killian Lancaster didn’t do curiosity— not about people, at least. He never had to.

Yet here he was, watching Anastasia Hart like she was a puzzle that needed solving.

That night, as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her image was still in his head. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way her fingers moved swiftly across the pages of her notebook. He wondered what she had been writing, what secrets were locked in those ink-stained pages.

Anastasia Hart was different. And that made her dangerous.

Because for the first time in a long time, Killian wanted something he couldn’t easily have.