Steam blurred the view, veiling everything in a tantalizing haze. Wet hair clung to the side of his face, and his tall, fair body was turned slightly away from Vivienne Cross. The stream of water glided slowly down his shoulders and chest like a scene from a slow-motion reel…
So pink—no, so white—no, ahhhhhhh!
Vivienne wrenched her gaze away from the direction of the bathroom in total despair.
It wasn't that the room's owner had forgotten to close the bathroom door—it was that the upper half of the shower door in this single dorm room was made of transparent material.
If you're wondering what the designer was thinking—
Perhaps they never expected military cadets to get so creative—that even in a private single-person dorm, there'd be a scenario where one person showers and another accidentally becomes a viewer.
The real question was: how the hell did things end up like this?
Vivienne clutched her messy hair, racking her brain for memories of the previous night.
…
"I'm about to head out… might as well skip the juice." Vivienne examined the options, then picked up a glass of pale pink fruit wine. "Does this one have a high alcohol content?"
"Not at all, trust me!" someone giggled. "I've got library plans tomorrow and I drink this too—I treat it like juice!"
Vivienne took a small sip. Sweet and tart—pretty good. "Thanks."
But by the time she stepped out, her vision had already started to double.
Branches wavered in the moonlight, and classmates wandered in small clusters…
…
"I'll take her back—we're in the same dorm building."
"Perfect," Tony Zane replied boisterously. "Saves us the trouble of going out of our way."
…
Vivienne, after being delivered to the wrong room: Another scheming peasant seeks to harm me!
Who wanted to set her up? What was their plan?
This was crucial intel—she needed to figure out what to do next!
If the room's owner was the schemer, then getting her drunk and dragging her here—then showering—was this an attempted seduction?!
If he wasn't the schemer… Vivienne twisted her head both ways. Could she still escape? Were there traps outside? No time to think—
The water stopped! He was done!
Vivienne turned and bolted toward the door—sneaky and silent, doing her best not to make a sound.
Murphy's Law: Whatever you fear most is exactly what will happen.
If the odds of something going wrong are 50/50, it'll always go wrong.
The chance of bumping into something while trying to sneak out? Happens.
So—tragedy struck.
"Clatter."
The man in the bathroom paused and glanced toward the noise, frowning in confusion. But the steam on the shower door made it hard to see clearly.
A flicker of suspicion crossed his brow. He dried off quickly and reached for his robe.
…
In her frantic escape, Vivienne's coat hem swept across the tabletop, knocking over a framed photo.
She grimaced and glanced at the photo—and when she saw the face in the picture, her brain just about short-circuited.
HaHa.
Not ugly—too beautiful!
God, he was gorgeous—it's Westley!
Vivienne practically lost her soul on the spot.
She'd promised herself to avoid him—and now she'd run straight into his bedroom!
Then it hit her: a Guide dorm! Tony Zane had mentioned this before—according to the school rules, Sentinels were absolutely forbidden from entering Guide dorms. Penalties ranged from disciplinary action… to expulsion?
Westley emerged from the bathroom, loosely wrapped in a robe. His neck and collarbones glistened with moisture. He was breathtaking—platinum-blond hair wet and clinging to his face, and even like this, he looked more ethereal than ever. Like a lotus rising from the water.
The young man walked straight to the desk, frowning at the photo frame on the floor.
How did that fall? Did I place it too close to the edge…?
He picked up the frame and, in the same motion, turned off the speaker that had been playing gentle background music. The stream of soft notes, like a babbling brook, came to an abrupt stop.
It was that very music that had masked Vivienne's earlier drunken moans—keeping her from being discovered by Westley while he was in the shower.
But now, Westley tilted his head, listening.
His gaze suddenly snapped toward the entryway.
—Crap, he's out! Who cares if I get expelled—just open the damn door! Vivienne grabbed the handle and pressed down hard.
"Who are you?!"
At the last second, Vivienne yanked a coat off the entryway rack, threw it over her head, and made a break for it!
This is life or death! She sprinted without aim or hesitation—every muscle screaming run.
Who would've thought—those grueling combat classes actually paid off in a situation like this!
"Stop!" Westley stood frozen for a second, stunned. But when the shock wore off, rage surged through him.
Someone had broken into his room—his room!
His normally composed voice cracked with fury: "Stop right there!"
"You can't escape!" came his voice from behind.
"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry—" Vivienne apologized in rapid whispers, keeping her voice low. She couldn't afford to attract more attention!
And just like that, a full-blown chase erupted inside the Guide dormitory!
Vivienne refused to uncover her face, even as the uniform jacket clung to her like a mask—her final act of stubborn pride. She wouldn't give up until the last second.
As Westley pursued her, he started to feel a strange sense of familiarity in her silhouette… yet it didn't match any of the usual people in his circle.
Who the hell is this?!
"Stop running!"
"This is all a misunderstanding!" Vivienne's internal defenses crumbled. She was being outpaced by Westley! Her brain couldn't keep up, but she kept shouting, "I swear I didn't mean to see you showering!"
Dead. I am so dead. Her attempt to explain only made it worse—like pouring gasoline on a fire.
"What the f—!"
Westley's face darkened. He said nothing more—just chased harder!
She fled, he chased. There was no escape.
Vivienne had never imagined she'd end up in such a humiliating situation.
A Sentinel. In the Guide dorm.
She had accidentally witnessed a Guide taking a shower.
And she'd even run in the wrong direction—down one more floor was the dorm supervisor's room.
She was about to be caught red-handed.
If she was going to die, Vivienne would at least prefer not to suffer a social death.
Now confined to the dorm supervisor's office, awaiting punishment, Vivienne's brain was still buzzing.
She replayed her recent chain of disasters:
Targeted by that bastard Galen Keyes.
Bounced around like a pinball in combat class by her overpowered classmates.
Just hanging out with friends and somehow waking up in a Guide dorm—fast-tracked to a disciplinary record or straight-up expulsion.
One mishap after another. If she wasn't being sabotaged by some secret underworld force, she wasn't buying it.
No way anyone could be this unlucky without help.
…
Creak— Milo pulled out a chair and slumped down with visible exhaustion. "Alright, spill. What happened?"
Vivienne spoke with tragic resolve. "Sir, I was framed."
A dual-S Sentinel sneaking into a Guide dorm—that was no small offense. But Milo remained unnervingly calm. "Mm. Walk me through how you got framed."
"Last night I got drunk," Vivienne began. "My head was already fuzzy. Then a classmate said he'd take me back—he said we lived in the same building—"
"He lied."