Evening.
Starfall Conservatory of Music, Faculty Apartments.
Building Two, Room 401.
The apartment was decorated in a minimalist style.
White walls.
A light-gray sofa.
A dining table and chairs in natural wood tones.
After finishing her classes for the day, Clara Vaughn returned home. She set her briefcase and her still-warm dinner on the floor by the entrance, then bent down to take a pair of black slippers from the shoe cabinet.
Once she changed into them, she walked over and sat at the dining table.
Almost the moment she sat down, there was a knock at the door.
She got up again to answer it.
It was Professor Harper.
"There are slippers by the entrance," Clara said as she turned back. "Change into them."
"Wait, wait," Harper said with a mysterious grin. "I've got a surprise for you."
Clara turned around and looked her up and down, puzzled.
"Close your eyes," Harper said.
Clara didn't close them. She simply walked back to the table and sat down again.
"Remember to change your shoes."
"…Seriously?" Harper looked like she'd just stepped in something unpleasant.
"Professor Vaughn, I finally understand why you've been single all these years. Are you allergic to romance or something?"
Clara replied as if they were on entirely different wavelengths.
"I only have one bowl of clam rice noodles. If you haven't eaten, order takeout yourself."
Harper surrendered.
She was impressed. Truly.
Clara Vaughn was probably destined to be single forever.
Harper stepped inside, found a pair of white slippers, and changed into them. Then she turned sideways and reached down, pulling out a bouquet of white lilies she'd hidden against the wall.
Clara, with her back turned, didn't notice immediately.
But when the familiar bouquet was placed in front of her, she froze.
The flowers.
The wrapping.
Even the card.
Wasn't this the same bouquet Ethan Moore had given her earlier that afternoon… which she had then handed off to the cleaning lady?
"…These flowers," Clara asked slowly. "Where did you get them?"
"The cleaning lady at school gave them to me," Harper said casually.
"Oh right, you don't know her. The cleaning lady been working at the school for years. I'm pretty close with her."
Clara pushed the bouquet back toward Harper.
"Take them back."
"Why?" Harper asked in confusion. "These are your favorite. You loved white lilies back in school."
...
Clara didn't know how to explain it.
She hadn't expected the flowers to circle back to her like this.
"These belong to someone else," Clara said. "I don't want them."
Harper immediately objected.
"How are they someone else's? They're mine now. And if I give them to you, then you're the owner."
"Didn't you read the card? They were meant as a confession."
"Tch." Harper pulled out the card, tore it up in front of Clara, and tossed it into the trash.
"Problem solved. Not a confession anymore."
Then she paused.
"But seriously, what a coincidence. The card was addressed to 'Miss Clara' too."
"I'm not arguing with you," Clara said calmly. "Take them with you when you leave."
Harper ignored her completely. She hadn't even warmed the chair before standing up again.
"I don't like white lilies anyway. Giving them to me is pointless."
"Relax. I was just stopping by on my way home to see you. If there's nothing else, I'm leaving."
Their apartments were directly across the hall from each other.
Harper didn't even bother leaving the slippers behind. She picked up her own shoes, opened the door, and called out as she left:
"Clara, I'm taking your slippers with me!"
"Wait."
Clara stood up, grabbed the bouquet, walked over, and stuffed it into Harper's arms without ceremony.
"Have a safe trip."
Bang—
The door closed.
Harper shook her head.
"Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless."
After dinner, Clara cleaned up the trash, tied it up in a black garbage bag, and placed it by the door.
She checked the time.
7:30 p.m.
She went into the bedroom, grabbed a black trench coat, and put it on.
After changing shoes, she left the apartment, dropped off the trash, and headed toward the campus parking lot.
Night had fallen.
A Porsche Cayenne immediately drew attention as it drove through campus.
North Gate.
Lena Moore was waiting with her three roommates for a ride.
The Porsche waiting for the security guard to lift the barrier caught their attention.
"Wow, isn't that Professor Vaughn?"
"My god, she's so beautiful. She has such presence."
"She drives a Porsche… rich and gorgeous…"
...
Lena looked over as well.
This was her second time seeing Professor Vaughn.
Even so, she couldn't help but think—she really was flawless.
Knowledgeable. Beautiful. And now clearly wealthy.
Lena found herself wondering what kind of man could possibly be worthy of her.
"I wonder if Ethan apologized to her."
Only then did Lena remember she hadn't checked on him yet.
She knew Ethan had planned to apologize during class today.
She pulled out her phone and sent him a message:
How did it go? Did you apologize to Professor Vaughn?
Beside her, her roommates were swooning.
"Oh my god, look, it's Professor Vaughn."
"She glanced this way!"
"Did she just look at us?!"
...
A woman that rich and beautiful—who wouldn't want to be her?
Even Lena hoped she could become someone like that in the future.
Brotherhood Dorm.
Ethan Moore was in full keyboard-warrior mode, transforming into a raging piano-keyboard demon, passionately insulting someone's ancestors on-screen.
"Typing speed battle with a pianist?"
He sneered.
His long fingers hammered the blue-switch mechanical keyboard, producing a blur of afterimages.
Naturally, this drew the attention of his roommates.
Mike frowned. "Ethan, why bother typing? There's in-game voice chat. Just curse them out directly."
Chris shook his head. "Nah. Still not fast enough, Ethan."
Sam smiled sweetly. "Not bad, Ethan. I approve of your damage output."
Ethan's mouth twitched. "Sam… that nickname feels a little weird."
Sam placed a pale hand on Ethan's shoulder.
"You don't like it? To be honest, I've always been quite fond of you…"
"…What the hell."
Ethan felt an alarming tightening sensation.
Could he change dorms?
This Brotherhood Dorm was way too dangerous.
"Hahaha," Sam laughed mischievously. "Relax, relax. I'm just kidding. Look how tense you got."
—
Ethan Moore didn't see his sister's messages until nine o'clock that night.
Ethan Moore: I apologized. Professor Vaughn was generous and didn't hold it against me.
Lena Moore: Oh, okay. That's good.
Lena Moore: Guess where I am.
Ethan Moore: How would I guess that?
Lena Moore: (photo)(photo)*
Ethan Moore: A nightclub?
Lena Moore: No, a chill bar. A small cocktail lounge. I'm here with my roommates. It's called "Nine Coins Tavern."
Ethan Moore: Oh…
Lena Moore: Oh right, Ethan. Guess who I just ran into?
Ethan Moore: Who?
Lena Moore: I ran into Professor Vaughn. I saw her once before when I was getting a ride at the school gate. And when we came to this bar, I noticed her car parked outside. I know she's inside, but I don't know where exactly.
!!
Ethan felt like he'd just dropped into an ice pit.
A scene from the original novel flashed through his mind.
Lena and Clara Vaughn accidentally meeting at a bar.
Lena getting drunk.
Clara taking her back to the faculty apartment.
Lena accidentally cutting her arm.
Blood.
And the moment Clara Vaughn's second personality surfaced.
That was how everything began.
He stared at the name of the bar again.
Nine Coins.
No wonder it felt familiar.
This was the bar owned by one of Clara Vaughn's close friends.
If he remembered correctly, this scene wasn't supposed to happen until mid-September. At least half a month later.
Ethan Moore: Sis, come back right now. I just remembered something urgent. I really need to talk to you.
After sending the message, Ethan immediately called her.
Once.
Twice.
No answer.
Panic surged through him.
He grabbed clothes and started pulling them on.
"Ethan, what are you doing this late?" Mike called out. "You heading out?"
Ethan didn't even reply.
He finished dressing and slammed the dorm door shut.
"Hey—what's with that guy?"
Nine Coins Tavern.
"Come on, Lena, it's your turn! Hurry up!"
Lena waved her hands, shaking her head.
"No more, no more. I really can't drink anymore."
She knew her limits. One more drink and she'd be properly drunk.
"I'm going to the restroom."
She pushed herself up from the seat.
"Want me to go with you?" one of her roommates asked.
"No need. I'm not drunk. My stomach just feels a little off. I'll be right back. You guys keep playing."
She declined their concern, picked up her small shoulder bag, and stood.
It was her first time at a bar like this. Even though it was a quiet lounge, she was fully prepared.
Pepper spray.
A tactical pen.
A personal alarm.
Chili spray.
Everything was in place.
The lighting in the bar was dim, so she walked slowly.
From the second floor, a slender figure took in the entire scene.
"Do you know her?" a neutral voice asked beside Clara Vaughn.
"She's a student at my school," Clara replied.
She gently swirled the wine glass in her hand, the red liquid releasing a faintly sweet aroma.
Beside her stood a short-haired woman in a leather jacket and smoky eye makeup.
Her name was
Laura Rowan, another one of Clara's former college roommates, just like Harper.
"A student?" Renee smirked.
"I really don't understand why you and Harper both went back to teach. I hate school environments."
The bar had two floors.
The first floor was lively, dimly lit, with over a dozen booths and soft classical music playing.
Lena was seated in the innermost booth with her roommates.
The second floor was more private, made up entirely of private rooms, each with its own design.
From where Clara stood, she could see the entire first floor through a floor-to-ceiling window.
One-way glass.
The second floor could see the first.
The first floor couldn't see the second.
Clara and Laura were in the best private room in the bar.
Soundproofed.
Elegantly decorated.
Dark brown and gold dominated the space. The walls were covered in intricate wallpaper.
A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, unlit, leaving the room dim.
In front of the large window was a comfortable sofa area.
Clara was barefoot, legs drawn up slightly as she reclined against the sofa.
One hand held her wine glass.
The other propped her cheek.
Her long black hair cascaded freely down her back. The buttons of the white shirt she'd worn fully closed while teaching were now undone by two.
She lifted her glass and clinked it lightly against Laura's.
"She's one of Harper's students."
"Harper?" Laura scoffed. "Why didn't she come today?"
Clara smiled faintly. "She doesn't like drinking. You know that."
Laura sighed.
"When are we going to get the Harmonia Four back together? You and Harper are teachers now, I've got my chain of shops, the two of us have time—but Fiona's impossible. She's flying all over the country doing promotions."
"We'll see," Clara replied.
Her slender fingers lifted the glass, bringing it slowly to her lips.
The wine Laura had saved was excellent.
Blackberry and cherry on the nose.
Rich and smooth on the palate, fine tannins, balanced structure, and a long, warming finish.
Clara enjoyed the faint buzz.
"Tch," Laura teased.
"I feel like you came tonight just to ruin my private stash."
Clara raised an eyebrow.
"Is that not allowed?"
Even in the dim lighting, her skin was flawless, pale as jade.
Laura couldn't help but feel genuinely envious.
She took meticulous care of her skin every day, used sunscreen religiously—and still couldn't compare to someone born lucky.