Carcel Evander Dawson

The boys crashed at my place again, but this time, we weren't hitting the bottle hard—just chilling, taking it easy. Ace was glued to his phone, scrolling like it was a job. Crue was laid out on the couch next to Jordan, who was destroying someone on Xbox and I'm here back at work again.

I actually slept pretty damn well at Evara's workspace, thanks to a certain someone who had the nerve to slap me—twice. Funny how the sting cleared my head. When I walked out the room, Crue took one look at my face and, with that obnoxious laugh of his, told me to ice it before I ended up with a bruise.

Kalila's the second woman who ever dared lay a hand on me—the first being my mom. And let me tell you, between the two? Kalila's slap was a hell of a lot easier to handle.

The project I've been grinding on is finally gaining traction, and I can already feel the storm coming. Things are about to get hectic, and I'm going to have to push myself again—work like a damn dog and deprive myself of sleep when it all hits the fan. 

But I'm not sweating it. I've been waiting for this. I'm ready to reap the rewards of this labor soon. I just have to make sure my results stand out—no, dominate. My fruits will be the best damn fruits in town.

Mom's been quiet lately, and so has Ciel. That's a red flag if I've ever seen one. Something tells me they're scheming—probably something so outrageous, I might need to leave this country to dodge their insane plans. Why can't they be as laid-back as Kalila?

But then again, if every woman were like her, life would be boring. And I don't do boring. Speaking of which... Kalila, how should I make her pay me back this time? Seems like she enjoys stacking up her sins.

First, she cursed me out—not a big deal, I didn't mind it. Then she made made me do the most ridiculous thing I ever did  in my entire my life, which, in hindsight, wasn't half bad. And third—she slapped me back-to-back like I had it coming.

Maybe I should make her talk until I fall asleep. That'd be a fitting repayment, or should I mess with her head a little? Play a prank, push her buttons, see how she handles the pressure? Watching her hands shake with nerves—that was a sight. Or maybe I could go for something simple, like making her buy me dinner.

Fuck

This is spiraling out of control. But truth is, I want to do all of it, with her. But then if I do everything at once, I'll lose my excuse to keep coming back, to keep seeing her, talking to her. And I don't want that . I need her to keep owing me, to keep stacking up those debts. That way, I'll always have a reason to stick around.

So keep sinning, Kalila and maybe then  your mistakes will be my saving grace. Give me more reasons to cling to you, and I'll give you more reasons to question your sanity.

"Didn't know you were getting married soon." Crue tossed his phone onto my desk, interrupting my focus. I glanced at the screen—a picture of Ciel, draped in some extravagant white gown. It was blindingly obvious, even to the most clueless guy, that she was in a wedding dress. The thing was hideous—over-the-top and gaudy, just like the idea of this wedding.

I shrugged and tossed the phone back to him. "Let her do whatever the hell she wants," I muttered. "It's not like I'm going to be there anyway."

"You should talk to her," Crue pushed, his voice pressing against my patience.

I shot him a sideways glance, not even slowing my work. "I've said my piece. Talking is pointless when it falls on deaf ears."

"Then make her listen," he snapped back. "She's still our friend, Carcel."

"Yeah, that's the issue," I said, my voice lowering, colder. "She doesn't want to listen. She's a spoiled brat who's convinced she can get whatever she wants, even when it's impossible." I stood up, moving to sit next to Jordan, who was glued to his game, not even glancing up at the tension filling the room.

"So, what's your plan?" Crue asked, but his voice had lost its fight because he know every word I said was true.

I leaned back, staring at the screen for a moment. "That's why I'm working this hard, Crue. I'm building my own way out of this mess." He didn't push further.

No wonder why life's been peacefully lately, turns out Ciel's busy wedding shopping I chuckled. There she is  again, always lurking, reminding me that no matter how hard I run, she's waiting at the finish line. She's always been there, keeping me tethered, reminding me that all the fun, all the freedom—it's temporary. My life will end up with her, whether I like it or not.

It's a harsh slap of reality. How the hell did Kalila's soft voice made me forget about the mess I'm in? I'm not free, not even close. I can't let myself get distracted, not now. Time's ticking, and I don't know when they'll drop the bomb. Tomorrow, next week—hell, they could decide to marry us off any moment, and then it's all over. Everything I'm fighting for, all the hard work—it'll be gone.

"Guys, check this out." Ace suddenly chimed in, cutting through the idle chatter. "An article from Art Connection's forum board—it's blowing up." He started scrolling through his phone, reading the headline with the same excitement of someone who'd just found a hidden treasure.

He began to read, his voice laced with mock enthusiasm. "*Art Connection answers Eldonbury's quiet plea.*" He paused for dramatic effect, then continued.

"For as long as anyone can remember, Eldonbury University has been defined not only by its academic prestige but by the quiet, unspoken divide among its students. On one side, students from influential families who navigate campus life with ease, their social circles carved out long before they even arrive. On the other side, those whose merit earned them a place here but who often find themselves occupying entirely different spaces, both academically and socially." Ace read it like he was narrating a bedtime story, mocking the seriousness.

"These two groups rarely interact, their paths crossing only in the broadest terms. They study in different buildings, attend different events, and live in different worlds despite sharing the same campus. It's a divide that has long been accepted as part of the university's culture—until now." He paused again, drawing in a breath, clearly enjoying the performance.

"Enter Art Connection, a project founded by students Kalila Miracle Hart, Evara Galini Sinclair, Sumer Davis, and Akira Moore. What began as a simple idea to pair students based on their artistic interests has become an unexpected vehicle for social change. While it was intended as a social experiment, Art Connection has quietly begun to blur the rigid lines between elites and scholars, offering a rare platform for interaction that transcends status." Ace squinted at the screen, acting like the article was more complicated than it really was.

"There's interviews too, but let's skip those." He scrolled further, his eyes lighting up. "And some pictures... Damn, Kalila's cute, but Galini's more my type."

Before he could start spouting more of that nonsense, I stood up, my patience with his commentary on thin ice. "I'm heading to bed," I muttered, already walking toward the stairs.

The last thing I needed was to hear Ace treating girls like a damn scoreboard, ranking them like they were up for auction. Let him keep running his mouth—I had bigger things to deal with. But no matter how much I tried to shake it off, my mind kept circling back to Kalila and how their little project had suddenly put her in the spotlight. And why I couldn't seem to stop thinking about it, or her.

I lay there, staring up at the blank, white ceiling, unable to switch my mind off. I grabbed my phone without thinking, instinct guiding me to open the Art Connections forum board. Scrolling through, I found the part Ace had stopped reading.

What the hell am I even doing?

Yet I couldn't stop myself. My thumb kept scrolling until I spotted Kalila's interview section.

Do you prefer to be called Kalila or Miracle?

"I like either, but most of my friends call me Kalila."

We heard it was your idea that sparked Art Connections. What inspired you?

"It was my friend Akira. She's an incredible artist, and when she showed us her work, we all had this shared moment of awe. Even though we're all so different, that art made us feel the same thing. So I thought, why not try that on a larger scale? It's really that simple."

I couldn't help but smirk at that. She makes it sound so easy, but starting something this big doesn't just happen by accident.

You also created the impromptu Live Connects, right? How did you came up with the idea?

"Honestly, I just racked my brain. It was an unexpected moment for me and the team, but it's something I'll never forget."

I could picture her saying that, casual and probably brushing it off like she didn't just throw the whole campus into chaos. I guess I played on that part too.

The first artist to do the Live Connects was Carcel Evander Dawson. How did you manage to get him on board, especially considering your different social statuses?

"I don't know Carcel personally, not deeply anyway. Sure, we come from different worlds, but I never saw him that way, and he never made me feel like we were different. He's just a great conversationalist, so the negotiations weren't that hard."

I smirked, that's a very typical Kalila answer.

You were there for Carcel's first Live Connect. A lot of students want to know if he ever tried to connect with his viewers?

"I don't think I can answer that well. Like I said, Carcel and I aren't that close, but from what I saw, he swiped left on all the viewers who wanted to connect with him. My guess? He's looking for someone who shares a deeper connection, someone passionate about art—that's what this project is about."

What the hell did that even mean? I laughed, shaking my head. Did she just make that up on the spot, or did she actually believe it?

I kept scrolling, mindlessly reading through comments urging Kalila to do a live connect herself. Yeah, right Kalila could never you should all just dream about it. That girl avoids attention like the plague. I scrolled further, and my thumb froze when I saw a random picture from the booth. Without thinking, I flung my phone across the room. It took me a damn moment to realize I was acting strange 

What the hell is wrong with me? Why was I looking at this? and What the hell  did I just saw?

I shot out of bed, retrieved the phone—cracked screen but still working—and stared at it again. The image stared right back: Kalila, standing there with some guy's arm slung around her shoulder. He was grinning like an idiot. I squinted at the tag, "Ashton Jones." Who the hell is this guy?

I felt this... this heat crawling up the back of my neck. Why the hell did I even care? I let out a breath, tossing the phone onto the bed, my hands cupping my face, trying to make sense of it. Why was this bothering me? This anger bubbling up inside—it wasn't like me. Maybe I needed to get a grip. Something was off, but I couldn't quite figure out what.

I tried to settle back into bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to take over. But time kept ticking—ten o'clock, eleven, midnight, one, two. I groaned, running my hand over my face. Fine, let's try counting sheep. One... two... three... four... Still awake and so I continued 

ninety-nine... one hundred. What the fuck, I'm still wide awake. How many damn sheep does this take to work?

And then—just my luck—my alarm blared. Morning already. Not a single wink of sleep. I shut my eyes for a second, cursing under my breath. God help me, I'm running on fumes.

Just as I was about to bury my face in a pillow, Jordan knocked on my door and popped his head in. "You going to school today?"

I groaned, rubbing my face. "Do you know it takes exactly two thousand five hundred sixty-three sheep to figure out that counting them doesn't help you sleep at all?"

Jordan blinked, then deadpanned, "You need professional... help."

"Just drop me off on campus."

He shook his head and walked off, probably wondering how much longer I'd hold on to my sanity. Honestly, I was right there with him.