"OK" SO IT SEEMS AS THOUGH MY GENETICALLY MODIFIED KILLER BEETLES HAVE ESCAPED. HAS ANYONE SEEN MY FUCKI🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲OH G🪲OD🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲 SHI🪲🪲T🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🧪AAAHHHHHHHHOOOHhh Hey. That One Learned thge basics of Chemistry . #Proud
You push the door with your elbow. The hinges protest with a thin moan.
Isaac doesn’t even look up. His dark hair, under the cold light of the lamp, falls in wavy shadows across his forehead. He tugs at his latex gloves with his teeth to fit them properly and tightens the screw again.
“It’s closed.” He says without looking. “Working hours are over.”
You pass by him and place your leather bag on the desk across from him. Click. The sound of the golden clasp on raw metal.
“I’m sorry, but this was the only time I could come to see you.”
Now he looks at you. Briefly. Coldly. Assessing.
“Ms. (Y/L).” His voice cuts through the air like a blade.
He knew you; few people didn’t know someone from the wealthy and influential Y/L family.
But he was confused—why would a girl from such a family be here, in his small, rusty laboratory?
Your throat went dry. Your hands were intertwined, your lips trembling, yet you didn’t step back. For a moment, it felt like your legs wanted to give out, but you held yourself together.
“I… want…” Your voice cracked, then you swallowed your spit and continued. “I want you to go out with me, Isaac.”
You uttered his name with hesitation.
The world spun around you; you didn’t have the confidence of your family, and the first words that left your mouth weren’t supposed to be the main story—they were supposed to start a trivial conversation!
Yet from the very start, you acted like a crazy stalker.
Isaac chuckled shortly, briefly, and bitterly. He tilted his head as if looking at an insect that dared to come near him.
He tried to suppress the misplaced smile on his lips, but a spark of mockery flared in his eyes. As if this scene were not serious, but rather a little ridiculous and even entertaining.
With a firm, heavy voice he said:
“Ms. Y/L… do you understand what you’re saying?!”
The sound of his words cracked through the air like a whip, and you took an involuntary step back. He wasn’t rude, but he displayed his shock and disbelief in the harshest way.
He locked his hands behind his back. The laboratory glasses rested on his messy hair, and his white lab coat gave him a strangely majestic aura—the same image that had rooted itself in your mind from the first day you saw him. An image that, every time you saw it, reminded you of the truth: falling for Isaac Night was nothing but a downfall.
His eyes were fixed on yours without interruption. A penetrating gaze that reached deep into your bones. For the first time, you saw him look at a woman with such focus and intensity.
You drew a deep breath, but the trembling of your exhale betrayed you. You knew a man like him didn’t come easily; a man who valued only his sister and his inventions.
Even now, in his eyes, you could read: to him, you were nothing more than a pitiful, wretched girl. Yet, for a few minutes, he might decide to be entertained—but you didn’t want to be a mere fleeting amusement.
Suddenly, a strange courage took root within you. Your voice trembled, but your words were firm—just as a Y/L would:
“All the expenses… all the machines and everything you need, I will provide. It’s no trouble for me to get the money you need from my father.”
And suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. That ridiculous Circus scene with bright, childish colors, in a fraction of a second, transformed into a black-and-white canvas that reeked of rot and decay.
Isaac’s eyes narrowed. They devoured your gaze. He recognized it: that suffocating pride of your family. That poisonous arrogance that raised their children to be spoiled, illogical, and incapable of hearing the word “no.”
Using money to achieve any goal.
The last thing he wanted was an encounter with your father—a man who could, with a single move, destroy his efforts in this academy.
Yet, from another angle, this position wasn’t bad. He could occasionally play the role of “your cold and callous boyfriend,” and in return, you would provide all his real needs. A simple, logical trade. Even if he didn’t know how to appear in that role. He, who spent most of his time in the lab or with Gomez in the dorm, had no time for such “foolishness.”
And yet… what if his sister was involved? The only person who, even after replacing his heart with a cold machine, still loved him unconditionally.
Isaac, hands locked behind his back, stepped away from you. His bony frame stretched toward the window. You stared at the sharp lines of his body from behind. Your eyelids half-closed. You knew that if he rejected you now, perhaps both your reason and your soul would crumble together.
He fell into silence, a thin, crooked smile forming at the corner of his lips. It was a moment he shouldn’t lose, yet he also couldn’t allow it to appear too simple or sweet. He was not an easy man—and without starting his psychological game, he would never let you go.
In a calm, cold, and merciless voice, devoid of any warmth, he said:
“I’ll consider your proposal… Ms. Y/L.”
Instinctively, you stepped forward. Your words spilled out before your mind could catch up:
“Exactly… how much time do you need?”
You quickly clamped your mouth shut. Your trembling body and excitement left you no control.
He paused briefly, then without turning toward you, said:
“I’ll deliver my answer to you… madam. But for now, you must return to your dormitory.”
You didn’t want to leave. A burning thirst to hear more of his voice, to break through his cold walls, twisted inside you. But you knew staying any longer would reveal your weakness. And a true Y/L must never appear weak.
So, you left.
You returned to your room, where your roommate, Morticia Fromp, lay peacefully asleep on her bed. The heavy silence of the room was filled only by her steady breathing, and within that stillness, you sank into your tangled thoughts.
You stretched out on your bed and stared at the ceiling, yet no calmness appeared on the horizon. You knew that you shouldn’t expect any reply from that disturbed genius, Isaac, anytime soon; the man who had shattered all your pride with his cold indifference.
Still, your lost pride and the suffocating thoughts of potential failure had stolen sleep from your eyes. Your eyelids were heavy, but your mind and heart worked relentlessly, and this merciless cycle kept you awake all night, eyes wide and staring at the darkness of the ceiling.
Yet it seemed that waiting for him would take longer than you imagined. Days passed, and there was no sign of him; it took about a week before you saw him again.
In classes, you always arrived late, and he was always the first to sit, in those front-row desks that made the distance between him and you, sitting in the last row, feel insurmountable. When class ended, he would leave so quickly that you never had a chance to get close.
And you, with all your despair, had to stick to that last seat, letting your gaze follow him, while your heart raced with every small movement, a tangle of hope and fear.
You couldn’t call out to him in front of others; you didn’t want anyone to realize that your eyes were constantly following his smallest actions. This was your secret, an obsession you kept hidden in your chest.
Isaac had his damned habit: the very moment a solution to a complex problem sparked in his mind, he would set aside the half-chewed pencil from his lips, and a brief, subtle smile would appear on his face. A small smile—but deadly to you. Each time you got lost in watching him, a rolled-up paper from the teacher would strike your head, and the muffled laughter of your classmates echoed in your ears. Even the occasional detentions couldn’t restrain your gaze. You were captivated by him; with all your being, defenseless and exposed.
When despair reached its peak, you found yourself in a corner of the dorm. Your hands rested on the windowsill, and your gaze wandered between the courtyard and the students freely laughing. But you were tired, broken, and above all, humiliated. All these feelings had a name: Isaac Night.
You rested your head on the windowsill. The gentle breeze tousled your hair, and the setting sun cast its last warmth upon your skin. Your eyelids grew heavy, and a shaky yawn escaped your lips. Nights spent sleeping late and drowning in thoughts of him were wearing your body down.
Suddenly, something crawled across your head. You raised your hand to scratch your skin, but the soft touch of a tiny wing made you lift your head. Your heart stopped at the sight. A blue-and-white butterfly had landed on your hair. Then another... and another.
Your eyes widened in astonishment. You slowly stood up, mouth half-open, and took a step forward, extending your trembling hand towards them. The butterflies fluttered lightly, their colors a bright signal: blue and white. The answer you had been waiting for. "Yes." His confirmation.
You felt as if someone was watching you. You raised your head and saw him; across the school veranda, Isaac stood. His shadow was cold and imposing, his eyes devoid of any human emotion. He made sure that you received his message.
But in his gaze, there was no warmth, no trace of affection. Only a cold, merciless calculation. To him, you were nothing more than a tool to achieve his goals.
And so, your relationship began; strange, bitter, and tragic. A beginning that was romantic, yet poisoned—more like a beautiful curse.
If you'd like to read the next part, let me know and I'll tag you, Setare⭑𔘓
