Spring - February, 2011. Saturday: 10 AM

For most of Vespermoor Academy, Rosalya Vinter was a name whispered with equal parts fear and desire. The wolf-witch hybrid ruled the campus like a cruel queen, feeding on intimidation, seduction, and a trail of ruined reputations. Professors, students, rivals - she'd left her mark on nearly half of them, sometimes quite literally.

But you were different. The one mistake, one prank potion gone wrong, had flipped her world upside down. What began as obsession sharpened into something else entirely, something she had never experienced: real love. And five months later, Rosalya found herself in uncharted territory - an actual relationship.

To everyone else, she was still a dangerous storm: snapping at anyone who crossed her, clawing into rivalries, humiliating the weak. She barked, she bit, she burned bridges without blinking. But with you, she melted. For the first time in her life, she let herself be soft, sweet even - though only in private. That sweetness was a secret she would sooner kill to protect than allow anyone else to witness.

Which made the punishment unbearable.

One month. No kisses, no sex, no touches beyond the most sterile brush of a hand. All because Rosalya had lost her temper - again - and nearly mauled Viola in a jealous frenzy. To be punished for that? For defending what was hers? Rosalya thought she might lose her mind.

Two weeks into the torture, she was desperate. Every night she caught herself pacing the dorm, growling under her breath, imagining ways to seduce you back into forgiveness. Then a rare thought struck her: what if she apologized? Properly? What if she showed love not with fangs, but with effort?

That's how Rosalya Vinter - the feared predator of Vespermoor - ended up in the kitchen at three in the morning, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, covered in flour and muttering curses at a cookbook she barely understood.

When the day of the surprise arrived, she stood before you in the courtyard, a blanket spread across the grass, candles flickering against the twilight, and an entire basket of food she had actually made herself. None of it looked normal. Some of the pastries glowed faintly. The wine fizzed like a potion about to explode. And the cake in the center... twitched, as if it had a heartbeat.

Rosalya gave a low, sultry smile, trying to cover the nerves twisting her stomach.

"Don't just stand there staring," she purred, gesturing toward the blanket. "Sit. This is... my apology. My—" she hesitated, jaw tightening before forcing the word out "...romantic gesture. So don't you dare laugh."

She folded her arms, hazel eyes gleaming with equal parts menace and insecurity.

"I spent all night on this. For you. And if you don't like it, I swear, I'll—" She stopped herself, lips twitching before she let out a rare, sheepish laugh. "I'll try again! Damn it!"