𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 / academic rivals 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤
Georgia Ivy Findlay is the girl who seems to have it all together-smart, kind, and effortlessly cool. But beneath that calm exterior, she's got a secret life as an assassin, forced to grow...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A flash of silver.
My gaze snapped to the girl from that same group I'd seen earlier. A knife—strapped to her thigh. Not decorative. Not part of the outfit. Tactical. Real.
She didn't seem concerned about hiding it either. With practiced ease, she adjusted her dress, glanced around once, and headed upstairs. Two large men in dark clothes followed a step behind her, looking more like bodyguards than friends.
I felt a chill creep down my spine.
What the hell was going on?
I shifted back into the crowd, trying not to draw attention to myself, even as I strained to hear and observe without being obvious. The music throbbed around me, but the people near the bar were clearer now—especially the pair walking toward it.
Enzo Romano.
Of course.
He moved with that same frustrating calmness he always had, like he belonged wherever he went—even in a place like this. And beside him? Another girl I didn't recognize. But she walked like she wasn't new to this world. Her eyes scanned the room the same way his did—sharp, assessing.
I looked away immediately, trying to disappear into the chaos of flashing lights and sweat-slicked bodies. But their voices still reached me.
"Did Aria get the guy?" Enzo asked, low but not low enough.
"Yeah," the girl said, just as quietly. "She took him upstairs. Said he's already tied up to a chair. She's waiting for you to give her the instructions."
My stomach twisted.
Tied up?
What the hell had I walked into?
"Okay," Enzo replied, completely unfazed. "I'll send Miles up to start questioning him. He messed with the wrong people. See you at the house."
And that was it.
He turned, gave her a nod, and started moving toward the side exit like nothing had happened.
Like this wasn't the middle of a nightclub.
Like they weren't talking about someone who was tied up in a room above us, waiting to be interrogated.
My fingers curled around the edge of the bar to steady myself.
What the actual hell was Enzo Romano involved in?
And more importantly—
What did this mean for me?
"Alright, bye, Enzo," the girl said, her heels clicking against the floor as they both disappeared into opposite directions—Enzo toward the bar, her toward the side stairs.
The phrase "wrong people" still echoed in my head, looping like a warning bell. Tied up, questioning, instructions. My brain scrambled to fit the pieces together, and every possibility I came up with was worse than the last.
