Isabelle sat upright, her pen gliding in practiced strokes across the page, the soft sound of ink barely audible beneath the murmur of the lecture. Her gaze flicked between the board and her notes, eyes sharp, posture perfect—she was always like this. Focused. Efficient. Controlled.
But today… her concentration wavered.
Because at the backest, Damien Elford had once again lowered his head onto his desk, arms folded like a makeshift pillow, eyes closed like he hadn't a care in the world.
He's sleeping again.
Her pen stilled for half a second, brows drawing ever so slightly together. Her eyes narrowed.
This was the boy who had made a bet with her. Who had spoken so boldly, so confidently, swearing he would rise to the top twenty-five in the next round of exams. He had made that wager not just with pride—but with intent. She had seen it in his eyes.
So why… was he acting like this?
Arrogant.
