Threads of Fate

Chapter 2: Dreams of Fire

The sprawling campus of École Supérieure buzzed with life under the warm French sun. Students lounged on the manicured lawns, sipping coffee and chatting in a medley of languages. Among them was Maya, walking with purpose, her vibrant energy turning heads. Her long, dark hair fell in loose waves down her back, and her almond-shaped eyes glimmered with determination.

Maya was hard to miss. She wasn't just beautiful—she radiated a magnetic charm that drew people to her. Her caramel-brown skin glowed in the sunlight, and her choice of attire—bold yet elegant—reflected her personality. Today, she wore a fitted maroon dress that hugged her curves, paired with ankle boots and a scarf draped effortlessly over her shoulder. A single silver anklet on her right foot tinkled softly as she walked, a subtle nod to her Indian roots.

Born in a small town in India, Maya had fought tooth and nail to get here. Her family wasn't wealthy, and the struggles of her childhood had shaped her into the fierce, independent woman she was now. Late-night study sessions by candlelight, part-time jobs to save money, and the quiet tears she shed when her parents sold their jewelry to fund her dream—all of it was etched into her soul.

France was everything Maya had imagined and more. The historic architecture of Paris had stolen her heart, and the culture made her feel alive. Yet, she wasn't blind to the challenges. The weight of being an outsider, the stares when she spoke with her accented French, the longing for the smells and sounds of home—it was all part of the package.

Maya's life at École Supérieure was a whirlwind. She wasn't just another student; she was a force of nature. Whether it was organizing the annual cultural fest, leading debates, or rallying students for social causes, she was always at the center of things. Her friends joked that she was a walking calendar, juggling events, classes, and social gatherings without ever missing a beat.

That afternoon, Maya was in the student lounge, finalizing details for the upcoming charity gala. Her friends, Camille and Léa, were sprawled on the couch, scrolling through their phones.

"Have you seen him?" Camille whispered, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Who?" Maya asked absentmindedly, flipping through her notebook.

"Lucifer St. Clair," Léa said, sighing dramatically.

Maya rolled her eyes. "The name says it all. He sounds like trouble."

Camille giggled. "Trouble never looked this good. He's... beyond words."

Maya looked up, unimpressed. "Let me guess. Rich, arrogant, and thinks the world revolves around him?"

Léa smirked. "Probably. But who cares when he's that gorgeous?"

Maya shook her head, a mix of exasperation and amusement. She had no patience for boys like that. Growing up, she had seen the worst of what wealth could do—how it corrupted, how it created walls instead of bridges.

As the girls gossiped, Maya felt a familiar unease creep into her chest. The nightmares had been coming more frequently, vivid and unsettling. Flames, shadows, and whispers in a language she couldn't understand haunted her dreams. They left her drenched in sweat, her heart pounding as if she had been running.

Maya hadn't told anyone about the dreams. She didn't understand them herself. But they felt... significant, as if they were trying to tell her something.

That night, after hours of planning and studying, Maya returned to her tiny apartment in the city. It was a far cry from the luxurious homes of her classmates, but it was hers. The walls were decorated with posters of her favorite bands, framed photos of her family, and a string of fairy lights that cast a warm glow over the space.

As she lay in bed, the city's hum outside her window, the nightmares returned. She was running through a forest, the trees engulfed in flames. A figure stood in the distance, cloaked in shadow, their eyes glowing like embers. A voice—deep and resonant—whispered her name, sending chills down her spine.

"Maya..."

She woke with a start, her chest heaving. The room was quiet, but the dream lingered, its images burned into her mind.

The next day, Maya arrived at campus determined to shake off the unease. As she walked through the bustling courtyard, a black sports car roared into view. Heads turned as it screeched to a stop, the driver stepping out with an air of effortless confidence.

Lucifer St. Clair.

Maya's eyes narrowed as she watched him. He was everything she disliked—too polished, too privileged, and far too aware of his effect on people. His leather jacket clung to his broad shoulders, and his smirk was enough to make most girls weak in the knees.

Not Maya.

As their eyes met, something flickered between them. For a brief moment, Lucifer's smirk faltered, replaced by a look of curiosity. But Maya turned away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her attention.

Little did she know, this was the beginning of something that would change both their lives forever.  

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