Living with Alexander is like having a shadow that won’t stop following me. Not a normal shadow, but one that’s larger than life, one that always finds a way to make its presence known, even in the quietest moments. It’s been a couple of weeks since he moved in, and while we’ve managed to avoid any major arguments, the tension is still there, thick and unspoken. He’s polite enough, surprisingly tidy for someone who gives off such carefree energy, but it’s the way he looks at me that keeps me on edge. Like he’s waiting for something to happen, like he knows something I don’t. And the smirks—the smirks are constant, as if he’s always in on some inside joke that I haven’t been let in on. Classes have become my escape, even though I can’t quite escape him there either. He’s always in the same lectures, always a few seats away, always watching. It’s infuriating. Today’s class, _International Relations and Global Power Dynamics_, is one of my favorites, and I’ve always prided myself on being prepared. I usually sit near the front, but today, as I slide into my seat, I feel Alexander’s presence before I even see him. He’s sitting a few rows behind me, casually slouched in his chair, that damn smirk plastered on his face. I try to ignore him, focusing on the lecture as the professor dives into the complexities of international trade agreements, but it’s hard to concentrate when I know Alexander is sitting there, probably waiting for me to say something. When the professor opens the floor for questions, I can feel Alexander’s eyes on me, daring me to speak up. And, of course, I do. I raise my hand, and the professor nods in my direction. “Lillian, go ahead.” I clear my throat, trying to keep my thoughts organized. “Considering the current global trade shifts, especially with the rise of protectionist policies, how do you think smaller nations can leverage their economic dependencies to secure better trade deals with larger powers?” The professor smiles, clearly impressed. “An excellent question, and one that’s quite timely. In fact, the answer to that—” But I don’t hear the rest of what he says because out of the corner of my eye, I see Alexander grinning. It’s subtle, barely noticeable to anyone else, but it’s there. That irritating, knowing grin that makes me want to throw my notebook at him. When class finally ends, I gather my things quickly, hoping to escape before he can say anything. But as soon as I step into the hallway, he’s there, casually leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting for me. “Interesting question in there,” he says, his voice low and teasing. I roll my eyes, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. “I thought you weren’t paying attention.” “Oh, I was,” he says, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside me as we walk down the corridor. “You’re good at this, you know. The whole intellectual, ambitious thing. It suits you.” I glance at him, trying to figure out if he’s being genuine or if this is just another one of his mind games. It’s hard to tell with Alexander. He’s too good at keeping people off-balance. “Thanks, I guess,” I say, still wary. We walk in silence for a few moments, and just as I start to think that maybe, just maybe, we can coexist without constantly antagonizing each other, he throws a ==curveball==. “So, about volleyball,” he says casually, and my stomach drops. “What about it?” I ask, my tone a little sharper than I intended. “I heard some of the girls talking after practice the other day,” he says, glancing at me with that infuriating smirk. “Apparently, there’s a lot of speculation about how I ended up being your roommate.” I stop walking, turning to face him fully. “What are you talking about?” “Oh, you know,” he says, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “They think your parents arranged it. Pulled some strings, made sure you got stuck with me.” I feel my jaw clench, my heart rate picking up. “That’s ridiculous.” “Is it?” he asks, leaning in slightly, his voice soft but teasing. “Because, let’s be honest, Prescott. Who else could get that lucky?” Before I can respond, he turns and walks away, leaving me standing there, fuming. _Lucky?_ This is _not_ luck. It’s some kind of cosmic punishment. Later that day, I head to volleyball practice, still fuming from my conversation with Alexander. The last thing I need is drama on the team, especially when it involves him. But as soon as I step into the gym, I can already feel the tension. The girls are clustered in small groups, stretching and chatting, but I can tell they’ve been talking about me. There’s a certain hush that falls over them when I walk by, and I can feel their eyes on me. I ignore it, focusing on my warm-up, but it’s hard to shake the feeling that something’s brewing. As we start drills, one of the girls—_Maya_, a senior and one of the more outspoken members of the team—sidles up to me. “So,” she says, her voice dripping with curiosity. “I hear you’ve got a pretty interesting new roommate.” I don’t look at her, focusing on my serve instead. “Yep.” Maya isn’t deterred by my lack of enthusiasm. “Alexander Hawthorne, right?” “Mm-hmm.” She laughs, tossing the ball back to me. “You’re really not going to say anything more than that?” “There’s nothing to say,” I reply, keeping my voice as neutral as possible. “Oh, come on,” she says, stepping closer, lowering her voice. “You seriously expect us to believe that you just happened to get _Alexander Hawthorne_ as your roommate? No way that was random.” I pause, finally turning to face her. “What are you implying?” Maya raises an eyebrow, a smug smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I’m not implying anything. I’m just saying… it’s interesting. That’s all. Someone like him doesn’t just get placed with someone like you by accident.” My blood starts to boil, but I keep my cool. “Someone like me?” “You know what I mean,” she says, shrugging. “You’re a Prescott. He’s a Hawthorne. It makes sense, doesn’t it? Your parents probably arranged the whole thing. Keep it in the family, so to speak.” I clench my fists, the anger simmering just below the surface. “That’s ridiculous.” “Is it?” she asks, her smile widening. “Because, honestly, no one gets that lucky.” I glare at her, but before I can respond, Coach blows the whistle, signaling the end of our warm-up. I force myself to focus on the game, pushing Maya’s words out of my head, but they linger, gnawing at me. After practice, I head to the locker room, still fuming. Grace is there, not because she has practice, but because she likes to wait for me, and I love her for that. She immediately picks up on my mood. “What’s up with you?” she asks, glancing at me as she pulls her hair into a messy bun. “Maya,” I mutter, slamming my locker shut. “What did she do?” “She basically accused me of having my parents arrange for Alexander to be my roommate.” Grace raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?” “Yeah,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “She made it sound like I’m just some spoiled rich girl who gets whatever she wants.” Grace frowns, her usual playful ==demeanour== fading. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.” “I know,” I say, sighing. “But it still pisses me off. I didn’t ask for any of this.” Grace walks over, putting a hand on my shoulder. “People are always going to talk, especially when it comes to someone like Alexander. Just ignore them. You know the truth, and that’s all that matters.” I nod, grateful for her support, but it’s hard to shake the frustration. No matter what I do, it feels like I can’t escape the assumptions people make about me because of my family. And now, with Alexander in the mix, it’s only going to get worse. Later that night, as I sit on my bed trying to study, I can’t stop thinking about what Maya said. Part of me knows it’s ridiculous—my parents had nothing to do with the roommate situation—but there’s a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I can’t shake. It’s like no matter what I do, people will always assume the worst about me because of my last name. Alexander is lying on his bed, reading something on his tablet, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside me. I glance over at him, and for a moment, I consider confronting him about what Maya said. But then I stop myself. What’s the point? He’ll just smirk and brush it off like he always does. Instead, I slam my textbook shut, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Alexander looks up, raising an eyebrow. “Everything okay over there?” he asks, his voice amused. “No,” I snap, standing up and pacing the room. “I’m sick of everyone thinking they know everything about me. I’m sick of people assuming that just because I’m a Prescott, my life is some kind of privileged fairy tale.” Alexander watches me, his expression unreadable. “Where’s this coming from?” “Maya,” I say, crossing my arms. “She basically accused me of having my parents arrange for you to be my roommate. Like I have any control over what happens in my life.” Alexander leans back, his eyes narrowing slightly. “People love to gossip. You know that.” “Yeah, well, it’s getting old,” I mutter, sitting back down on my bed. He’s silent for a moment, and when I glance up at him, I’m surprised to see a flicker of something other than amusement in his eyes. Sympathy, maybe? Or understanding? “You’re not the only one people make assumptions about,” he says quietly. I blink, caught off guard by his words. “What do you mean?” He shrugs, looking away. “People see the name Hawthorne, and they think they know everything about me. They don’t. But that doesn’t stop them from talking.” I’m silent for a moment, processing what he’s said. It’s strange, hearing him talk like this—like he’s not the cocky, unflappable Alexander Hawthorne I’ve come to know, but someone more… human. “Maybe we’re not so different after all,” I say softly. Alexander looks at me, his expression unreadable, but there’s a softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. For a brief moment, it feels like the tension between us has shifted, like we’re on the same side for once. But just as quickly as it came, the moment passes. He smirks, leaning back on his bed. “Don’t get too comfortable, Prescott. We’re still roommates, not best friends.” I roll my eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at my lips. Maybe living with Alexander won’t be as unbearable as I thought.