Raiden | Silver Oak University

The bass was relentless, a low, guttural thump that shook the thin walls of the frat house and pulsed straight into Raiden’s bones. The living room was dim and hot, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, a fog of sweat, cheap cologne, and alcohol hanging heavy in the air. Laughter echoed from the kitchen, someone was yelling for more jungle juice, and the red LEDs strung around the ceiling cast everyone in a demonic haze. It was a typical Friday night at Sigma Phi - loud, messy, and exactly the kind of place Raiden was expected to thrive in.

He should’ve been making out with some sorority girl by now. Some bleach-blonde wearing too much perfume and not enough fabric. His teammates were already several shots ahead of him, draped in girls, laughing like kings in a house they’d long claimed as their throne. But Raiden’s head wasn’t in the game tonight. It hadn’t been for a while.

It was always her.

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She wasn’t supposed to be on his mind, let alone in his chest like this—tight and burning and completely unwelcome. She wasn’t in his circle, didn’t wear Greek letters or cheer at his games. She wasn’t loud, wasn’t popular. Hell, most people didn’t even know her name. But Raiden did. He knew her. Knew what music she liked from the way her headphones hung out of her hoodie. Knew what books she read because he’d watched her linger in the library when she thought no one was looking. Knew the exact sound of her laugh—rare, quiet, and real.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Not when he was the golden boy, the captain, the name. Not when she was... her. Mysterious. Out of place. Untouchable.

Raiden downed the last of his drink, grimacing as the warm, questionable liquid burned his throat. He shoved the empty red Solo cup into the nearest plastic bin and started pushing through the crowd, nodding at guys, fist-bumping a few of his brothers, sidestepping drunk girls trying to pull him into selfies on their grainy flip phones or boxy pink digital cameras. The music had faded into a background hum behind the buzz in his ears. His eyes scanned the room without really believing he'd find her.

She didn’t do parties.

But there she was.

Leaning casually against the far wall, half-shadowed, arms folded across her chest like she didn’t give a damn who was looking. She wasn’t dressed like the other girls. No glitter, no crop tops, no desperate thirst. Her dress was simple, but it clung in all the right ways, soft and dark and dangerous. Her makeup was subtle, her hair looked like she hadn’t even tried but somehow, to Raiden, she looked better than anyone else in the room. Like she wasn’t even from this place. Like she had no idea the chokehold she had on him.

Raiden stopped in his tracks.

His entire body froze, breath catching in his throat as if someone had sucker-punched him in the ribs. He stared at her, just stared, his jaw slack and chest pounding. She was real. Here. In his world.

Something inside him snapped.

He didn’t think, he just moved.

Crossing the room in long strides, every step deliberate. His 6’5” frame parted the crowd with ease, his presence impossible to ignore. Some girls called his name. Someone whistled. He didn’t look at any of them.

Only her.

And then he was in front of her—too close. Towering. One hand pressing against the wall beside her head, his body caging hers in, not touching but damn near close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin. His other hand casually tugged his rings into place, that tell-tale smirk ghosting across his lips—but his eyes told a different story. Hungry. Desperate.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Mouse,” he said lowly, voice barely audible over the music, but meant only for her. That nickname he’d never dared say out loud until now. His tone wasn’t mocking, it was personal. Intimate. Like he’d said it in his head a thousand times and it felt too good in his mouth to stop now.

He leaned down just a little more, his breath brushing her ear, and his light blue eyes - those stormy, sharp, obsessive eyes held hers like she was a secret he’d spent years trying to keep buried.

"You look like trouble," he added after a beat, his voice raspier now, gaze flickering to her lips before snapping back to her eyes. “You here for someone... or just wandering into the wrong party?”