Chapter Text
The announcement crackled over the microphone like a royal decree. Mr. Henderson stood rigid at the podium, addressing the first-year students with his usual air of austere authority.
“As students of Eden College, part of your training to become well-rounded individuals includes fostering friendships, practicing generosity, and valuing goodwill. To celebrate camaraderie among all first-year students, I hereby declare the start of our annual Secret Pal event!”
He tapped his cane against the wooden stage with a sharp, echoing thud, as if punctuating his words with irrefutable gravity.
Damian felt his stomach do a triple flip. No. No. No.
He knew exactly how this would go. He knew. His gaze immediately darted toward Anya Forger, sitting two rows over, emerald green eyes wide with that excited gaze fixed on the Cecile Hall Housemaster.
And that infuriatingly oblivious smile of hers.
The universe had a cruel sense of humor, and Damian had a feeling it was poised to strike him square in the chest.
“Names of all first-year students have been placed inside this large ceramic vessel. Upon leaving the Assembly Hall, you will walk by in a single file line and draw a name out. That name will be your Secret Pal over the next two weeks. Consider thoughtfully the gifts you choose, for all will be revealed in the end! And don’t risk a Tonitrus Bolt by spoiling any surprises for the group. Let the event begin!”
One by one, the students shuffled toward the collection bowl. One by one, hands plunged in and sealed their fate.
Damian’s own hand trembled slightly as he reached in. Squeezing his eyes shut, his fingers brushed against the folded papers, and he snatched one out like a kid stealing a piece of candy before getting caught. He scurried out of the door and pressed his back up against the wall, opening the slip of paper inside his cupped hands.
Anya Forger.
His gut roiled, the world narrowing to the two typewritten words on the tiny piece of folded paper.
“I knew this would happen,” he growled under his breath, his teeth grinding in frustration. Then louder, as if speaking might convince the universe otherwise: “I knew it.” He was about to let loose an angry roar, but Ewen and Emile appeared.
“Hey, Lord Damian!” Ewen whispered loudly. “Stubby Legs is about to pick! Wonder who she’ll get! Hope it’s someone dumb like Bill or Connie!
Damian shoved past his friends to watch as Anya drew her slip. Not that it helped. Her eyes met his midair like lasers locking onto a target. Damian panicked, because it was what he always did whenever her gaze found him. It was absolutely maddening! She looked at her paper and gave him that stupid smirk. The one he just wanted to smack right off her idiot face…
His heart sank. But…what if she drew someone…she liked better than him? No! He would not think like that! He couldn’t think like that. Why did he always think like that!
He forced himself to calm down. “It’s just… a gift exchange,” he hissed, turning around to march toward the boy’s dormitory. Ewen and Emile jogged to catch up with his furious pace. “A stupid, infantile gift exchange. It doesn’t matter anyway!”
But his heartbeat argued otherwise.
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“Ugh. It figures,” Becky snorted as she opened her slip of paper in the hallway. “This is so stupid.”
“Who is it?” Anya’s eyes widened as she leaned toward her.
“I’m technically not supposed to say,” Becky replied, lifting her chin.
Anya gasped. “Right! A Tonitrus Bolt! Never mind.” She wilted a little and stared down at her own paper: George Glooman.
Before Anya could question it, Becky grabbed her wrist and tugged her into an empty classroom. With a triumphant flourish, she held up her slip.
Anya’s eyes went saucer-wide. “YOU picked Second Son?!”
Becky giggled, smug. “Mm-hm. Now—who did you get?”
“Gloomyhead,” Anya grumbled, nose wrinkling. “How is he supposed to help me get world peace?”
“George?” Becky tapped her chin thoughtfully—then grinned like a mastermind. “Oh, I can definitely work with that. Come on—we’ve got some planning to do!”
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“Come on, Lord Damian, just tell us!” Emile whined as the three of them lounged on the oversized couches in the dormitory common room. “We won’t say anything, promise!”
“Yeah!” Ewen added eagerly. “We’re your best friends—you can trust us!”
Damian’s eye twitched. “For the last time, NO. I’m not telling anyone. If you two are itching for Tonitrus Bolts, that’s your business—just don’t drag me into it!”
That shut them up fast.
“And I don’t need your help, either!” he snapped, springing to his feet. “Just drop it already! Seriously!”
With a stormy huff, he spun on his heel and stalked off toward his room.
Once inside, he slammed the door and leaned against it, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Anya.
Why—of all possible names—did it have to be her?
Now he was expected to get her…something. Gifts. For two whole weeks.
Ridiculous.
She didn’t deserve anything from him. Not one single, stupid—
His gaze drifted to the bookshelf across the room.
And slowly…very slowly…a mischievous grin tugged at his lips.
Well.
Maybe this could be fun.
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“I’m telling you, Anya, this will work,” Becky declared confidently, folding delicate tissue paper around the luxurious scarf. “Jealousy is the quickest path to a man’s heart. I just watched the latest episode of Berlint in Love, and Sonia made Vincent so jealous he practically chased her across the city. A brilliant strategy, really.”
“Huh.” Anya stared at the exquisite box and tilted her head at it. “But how will this make Second Son jealous? He doesn’t even know who my Secret Pal is.”
“Yet,” Becky corrected, closing the lid with theatrical flair before placing it into a glossy boutique bag. “He doesn’t know yet.”
“But I thought we weren’t supposed to—”
“Oh please,” Becky waved her hand. “There’s no rule against Damian finding out… naturally.”
Anya gasped. “Or—gammicky?”
“No,” Becky sighed, amused. “Organically. Meaning: we don’t tell him—we just drop hints. He’s annoying, but he’s not dumb. If we make it obvious enough that you’ve got George and you’re giving him very nice gifts, Damian will notice. And once he notices—he’ll get jealous. And once he’s jealous—” She clasped her hands dramatically. “That’s when his heart becomes yours.”
Anya blinked, impressed. “Ooooh. Genius.”
Becky grinned. “Naturally. Now come on—Martha’s waiting to drive us to school.”
“Okay!” Anya grabbed the bag with both hands. “Thanks for helping me shop. It was fun! And maybe if we get Second Son or-gammicky jealous, the world won’t be doomed!
Becky laughed. “Sure, Anya. Whatever you say.”