Samuel walked toward the auditorium, the woman on his arm, his smile still in place. His steps were measured, confident, and unhurried. He did not look at the cameras. He did not acknowledge the whispers. He simply walked, as if he had all the time in the world.

Behind him, the university officials followed, their flattering smiles back in place, though their eyes were still wary.

The woman in the blue blazer fell into step beside the dean. She leaned close to him, her voice a low whisper. "That is the second one tonight. First Moretti, now Davies. What is going on?"

The dean shook his head, his expression tight. "I do not know. But I am not going to ask questions. Not when they are both donating millions."

The woman pursed her lips but said nothing.

They walked into the auditorium.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

Leo was given a seat in the middle of the front row, perfectly positioned. From here, he could see the entire stage, every corner, every light, every shadow. The auditorium was still buzzing with noise, students rushing backstage, professors checking clipboards, stage crew adjusting the curtains. The performance had not started yet.

Leo closed his eyes.

He rested his head against the back of the seat, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. Around him, people talked, laughed, and settled into their seats. He did not listen. He did not care. He was waiting, saving his energy, thinking about his bunny.

"Mr. Moretti."

A voice cut through the noise. Male, smooth, unfamiliar.

Leo opened his eyes and turned his head.

A man stood beside him. Blonde hair, striking blue eyes, a pleasant smile. He wore a black suit tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders. Beside him stood a woman in a shimmering blue dress, her dark hair styled in loose waves. She was beautiful, but her smile did not reach her eyes.

"Do I know you?" Leo asked, his voice flat.

"I am Samuel Davies," the man said, extending his hand. "And this is my girlfriend, Boba."

The woman smiled. It was a tight, strained smile. Her eyes, brown, Leo noticed, were red at the edges, as if they had been irritated for a long time.

Leo did not take Samuel’s hand. He looked at it for a moment, then back at Samuel’s face.

Samuel’s smile did not waver. He lowered his hand, unbothered, and sat down in the empty seat beside Leo.

"I am a donor," Samuel said, settling into the chair. "The new technology wing. I am sure you have heard of it."

Leo had not. He did not care.

Boba sat beside Samuel, her posture stiff, her hands clasped in her lap. She stared at the stage, but the curtain was still closed. Nothing was happening yet.

Samuel kept talking. He talked about the weather, about the university, about the renovations. His voice was pleasant and easy, the voice of a man who was used to being listened to.

Leo did not respond.

Samuel did not seem to notice.

Boba’s eyes ached. She had been wearing brown contact lenses for months, hiding her real eye color, hiding her identity. They were dry and painful, and she blinked constantly, trying to soothe the irritation. She could not take them out. Not here. Not with him.

She had offended someone powerful, someone dangerous. Samuel had offered her protection, money, and resources. All she had to do was pretend to be his girlfriend, wear the lenses, and smile for the cameras.

She had agreed.

Now she sat in a college auditorium, waiting for a performance to start, while the man beside her chatted with Leonardo Moretti as if they were old friends.

Leo did not look at her. He did not look at Samuel. He stared at the stage, at the closed curtain, waiting for it to open.

The lights dimmed slightly, and the noise settled.

Leo leaned forward slightly, his gray eyes fixed on the curtain.

The lights dimmed further. The chatter in the auditorium faded into hushed whispers, then full silence. A single spotlight swept across the stage, chasing shadows into the corners. The curtain trembled slightly, then began to rise.

A group of young college students stood in a messy cluster at the center of the stage. They were dressed in bright, mismatched clothes, including neon jackets, oversized glasses, a floppy hat on one boy, and a feather boa draped around another’s neck. They looked nervous and excited, their eyes wide as they faced the sea of faces in the audience.

The spotlight settled on a girl in the front. She had curly hair tied in a high ponytail and a sequined top that sparkled under the lights. She was holding a microphone, her hand slightly trembling.

"Good evening, everyone!" she announced, her voice echoing through the auditorium. "Welcome to the annual day celebration!"

The audience clapped. Some cheered. A few parents waved from the back rows.

The girl grinned. "I am Chloe!"

"And I am Marcus!" The boy beside her stepped forward, adjusting his bow tie. He was wearing a bright red jacket and sneakers that squeaked when he walked. "And we are here to make sure you have a great time."

"Great?" Chloe raised an eyebrow. "Marcus, we talked about this. We are aiming for unforgettable."

"Unforgettable," Marcus repeated, nodding. "Right. Unforgettable. I wrote it down somewhere." He patted his pockets, searching for a notecard. "Ah, here it is." He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and squinted at it. "It says ’unforgettable.’ See? I was right the first time."

"You were not."

"I was."

"You said ’great.’"

" ’Great’ is part of unforgettable."

"That is not how adjectives work."

Marcus shrugged. "I am a science major. Adjectives are not my specialty."

Chloe sighed, shaking her head. "Ladies and gentlemen, please forgive my co host. He means well. He just does not know words."

"I know words," Marcus protested.

"Name three."

"Unforgettable. Great. And fantastic."

Chloe stared at him. "Those are the same words."

"They are different words."

"They mean the same thing."

"Exactly. So I was right."

The audience laughed.

A boy in a floppy hat stumbled forward, bumping into Marcus. "Sorry! Sorry! These shoes are new."

"Those are your father’s shoes," Chloe said, looking down.

"They are comfortable."

"They are two sizes too big."

"I will grow into them."

Marcus squinted at his notecard again. "Okay, okay, let us focus. According to this, I am supposed to introduce the first performance."

"Then introduce it."

"I am trying!" Marcus cleared his throat dramatically. "Ladies and gentlemen, teachers and parents, students and distinguished guests—"

"Just say it."

"Fine." Marcus took a deep breath. "Our first performance is a dance by the students of the dance club. It is called—" he squinted at the card, "—’Midnight Rhythm.’"

"Beautiful," Chloe said.

"I know."

"Now get off the stage."

"I am going." Marcus waved at the audience. "Enjoy the show! Do not forget to clap! And if you see my car keys, please return them!"

He jogged off stage, his sneakers squeaking with every step.

Chloe shook her head, smiling. "Ladies and gentlemen, the dance club!"

She ran off stage.

The lights shifted. The music began, slow at first, then building, then bursting into a fast, energetic beat.

Dancers flooded the stage, their movements sharp and synchronized, their costumes glittering under the lights.

The audience clapped along.

Leo watched from the front row, his gray eyes fixed on the stage, waiting for the performances to end, waiting for his bunny to appear.