Chapter 3
1406words
Luna entered wearing her finest dress—which still stood out painfully among the designer gowns surrounding her.
Every eye in the room subtly tracked her entrance.
Those gazes mixed curiosity, assessment, and undisguised disdain.
She felt like an ugly duckling that had stumbled into Swan Lake, each step as precarious as walking on cracking ice.
Asher, the evening's undisputed star, held court amid a crowd of admirers at the room's center.
He spotted Luna, and those garnet eyes—always containing some hidden amusement—suddenly brightened.
He cut through the crowd, moving directly toward her, and the room's chatter instantly died at this unexpected movement.
"You came," he said, standing before her with unmistakable pleasure in his voice.
Luna's palms slicked with nervous sweat. Summoning every ounce of courage, she extended the paper rose: "Mr. President... happy birthday."
Against a backdrop of audible gasps, Asher solemnly accepted the paper rose—pathetically modest compared to the mountain of luxury gifts nearby. Rather than setting it aside, he brought it to his nose, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply, his expression one of pure enchantment.
"A beautiful rose with... a most unique fragrance." He opened his eyes, his smile outshining the room's chandeliers. "This is the most extraordinary gift I've received tonight. Thank you, Luna."
Before the entire assembly, he tucked the paper rose into his breast pocket.
"Hmph, he's just being charitable. After all that forum drama, he obviously feels responsible for the poor girl's troubles. He's just giving her an out—helping her save face."
"Exactly. He's always been compassionate. He'd do the same for any bullied girl on campus. Pity and romantic interest are entirely different things."
Indeed... For someone so perfect and kind, wasn't it natural to help a girl facing backlash because of him? His words about "looking forward to her gift" were likely just encouragement—helping her find the courage to attend rather than be crushed by rumors.
This had nothing to do with genuine interest.
This was merely another example of Asher Blackwood's legendary chivalry.
Luna sadly acknowledged this was probably the truth.
After the party, rather than distancing himself because of the rumors, Asher began appearing in Luna's orbit with startling frequency.
When she nibbled dry bread while studying in the library, he'd materialize across from her, offering half his gourmet sandwich; when she worked her café job off campus, he'd appear to order coffee, reading quietly by the window until her shift ended.
Each encounter was fleeting yet tender, like spring breezes against her skin—tangible but impossible to capture.
Friday night arrived.
Luna finished her shift well after the last bus had departed.
As she stood at the deserted stop, mentally calculating whether she could afford a taxi, familiar headlights cut through the darkness.
Asher's car, once again, pulled smoothly to the curb before her.
The car's heated interior banished the night's chill. In this intimate, enclosed space, feelings she'd desperately suppressed began fermenting beyond her control.
"Mr. President," Luna finally broke the charged silence, "about the forum incident... why haven't you avoided me? Don't you care what people are saying?"
Asher's soft laugh filled the car. He turned toward her, and in the dim light, his eyes seemed fathomless.
"Why should I avoid you?" he countered.
"Because..." Luna faltered. Under his intense gaze, her cheeks burned. "Aren't you concerned people will misinterpret your actions?"
"Misinterpret what, exactly?" He appeared genuinely puzzled. Had he not seen the forum comments?
Luna gathered her courage. "Misinterpret that you also—" She couldn't finish. What if this was just her imagination running wild again? Would she face fresh humiliation?
"Misinterpret that I have feelings for you?" Asher calmly completed her thought.
Luna's eyes widened.
Asher's smile deepened. He leaned forward, closing the distance between them, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur.
"Luna, can't you tell..." his voice carried a bewitching note of surrender, "that I do have feelings for you?"
Luna's mind exploded into white noise.
What... what had she just heard? Asher Blackwood... had feelings for her?
"W-why... why me?" she stammered.
This question she'd asked herself a thousand times.
Asher studied her intently, those garnet eyes swirling with emotion, laden with unspoken meaning.
"Because," he said slowly, his voice deep and magnetic, "your scent... is intoxicating."
Scent? Luna was bewildered, unconsciously checking her clothes. Was it her detergent? Her shampoo? She took his words as slightly frivolous but deeply romantic.
She failed to recognize, beneath his intense gaze, an obsessive hunger for the sweet fragrance of her blood.
"Luna," Asher's voice came again, with irresistible tenderness, "will you be mine?"
Though bewildered by his interest, though everything felt dreamlike and fragile, Luna was intoxicated by this sudden, overwhelming happiness.
In the depths of night, in his luxury car that belonged to a world so different from hers, she heard herself speak in a trembling voice that seemed to belong to someone else.
"...Yes."
The following day, when Asher Blackwood strolled hand-in-hand with Luna down the sun-dappled campus promenade, the entire university froze in collective shock.
News of their relationship exploded across both the Trinity University forum and real-world gossip circles.
When someone pinned a photo of them walking hand-in-hand in the golden afternoon light, campus opinion detonated like a bomb.
Yet the initial shock quickly morphed into a different narrative.
"See? The president obviously felt sorry for her. He couldn't stand seeing her bullied, so he stepped in to protect her."
"Exactly—it's just charity on a grand scale. He's using his status as a shield. Did anyone seriously think it was genuine?"
"That Luna is so manipulative—really climbing the social ladder! And she actually accepted! She should check a mirror sometime. How could a charity case possibly deserve President Blackwood?"
She fought to ignore the whispers, burying herself deeper in studies and work, as though academic excellence might somehow justify her place in this mismatched relationship.
Saturday found her working the register at the supermarket near campus.
During the afternoon rush, a cluster of designer-clad girls approached her lane, giggling and whispering.
At their center was the same pretty tormentor from before.
"Well, if it isn't the president's little wife!" She dumped an armload of items onto the counter with a theatrical thud. "Why is the president's wife still working this pathetic job? Isn't your sugar daddy's allowance enough?"
Her entourage erupted in shrill laughter.
Luna's face drained of color. Her hand trembled on the scanner, but she forced herself to maintain composure and continue working.
She quickly realized something was off. The items these girls had selected included nearly every complex discount category in the store—a deliberately confusing combination requiring precise mental calculations.
"Hurry up, Mrs. President," the ringleader snapped impatiently. "Some of us have actual places to be."
On cue, a massive line materialized behind them—all their friends. The crowd pressed forward, surrounding Luna's register so tightly she felt suffocated.
"What's the holdup? Don't you know basic math?"
"Could you possibly move any slower? There's a line forming, in case you hadn't noticed."
Impatient complaints multiplied. Beads of sweat formed on Luna's brow. The more flustered she became, the more her mind clouded and her fingers fumbled.
Just as she finally completed the transaction, the ringleader glanced at the receipt and let out a theatrical shriek.
"You calculated wrong! You overcharged me by ten dollars!" She slammed the receipt down, her voice carrying across half the store. "What's your game? Think we're easy marks, or are you skimming cash to upgrade your pathetic wardrobe?"
"I did not!" Luna's face burned as she defended herself. "I double-checked everything—there's no mistake!"
"Oh, you say there's no mistake, so we should all just believe you?" The girl pressed forward aggressively. "Recalculate it now, or I'm calling your manager! A scholarship charity case with sticky fingers—how predictable!"
The crowd behind them began muttering, while uninvolved shoppers paused to watch the unfolding drama.
Luna, trapped under countless judgmental stares, found herself speechless. She knew her calculations were correct, but against this orchestrated chaos, any defense seemed futile.
She could only reach for the calculator with trembling hands, preparing to recheck the complex transaction under the weight of public humiliation.
Just as her finger hovered over the first key, a distinctly elegant, long-fingered hand gently covered hers.
That familiar cedar scent instantly pulled her from the edge of despair.
"My Luna is the most precise person I know."
