Timing The Rebel

Liana’s POV

The rain hadn’t stopped since dawn. It fell in thin, icy needles, turning Crestwood University’s cobblestone paths into mirrors that reflected the gray sky and the expensive sneakers of people rushing past.

Liana Brooks tightened her grip on her backpack straps and silently prayed her shoes wouldn’t give out. First day. First impression. First chance not to ruin everything she had worked for.

“Excuse me—sorry—coming through!” she murmured, sidestepping an umbrella the size of a small planet.

Everyone else seemed prepared for the weather. Designer coats, waterproof boots, umbrellas with gold handles. Liana’s was a ten-dollar one that flipped inside out the moment she opened it. She looked like a storm survivor in a sea of elegance.

And she was fine with that. She wasn’t here to impress anyone.

She was here to survive.

Crestwood was the kind of university you saw in glossy brochures — ivy crawling up ancient buildings, fountains in every courtyard, the smell of coffee and ambition everywhere. For most students, it was a steppingstone to Wall Street or Hollywood. For Liana, it was her ticket out of a small town that people only remembered when they needed gas on a highway trip.

“Okay, Liana,” she whispered to herself. “You’re here. You belong. Breathe.”

A sudden roar cut through the rain.

Not thunder — an engine. Loud, rough, and definitely out of place among the quiet hum of campus life. Heads turned. A black motorcycle shot past the main gate, gliding through puddles like a dark streak of rebellion.

The rider wore black jeans, a soaked leather jacket, and confidence like armor.

Liana froze on the path just as the bike hit a puddle near her.

Cold water splashed across her jeans, her bag, her face.

She gasped. The rider slowed, then stopped. The rain slid off the motorcycle like liquid silver as he turned his head toward her.

The helmet came off in one smooth motion.

Dark hair, dripping wet. Blue-gray eyes that looked like they’d seen every kind of trouble and gotten away with it. A smirk — lazy, dangerous, and way too practiced.

“Sorry, princess,” he said, voice low and teasing. “Didn’t see you there.”

Princess?

Liana blinked, her jaw tightening. “You could’ve avoided the puddle.”

He tilted his head. “I could’ve. But where’s the fun in that?”

Her heartbeat spiked — from irritation, not attraction. Definitely irritation. “Unbelievable.” She brushed water off her sleeve and stepped aside. “Enjoy your fun. Some of us have places to be.”

“Clearly.” His gaze flicked to her badge — Scholarship Student. Crestwood’s subtle way of labeling the few who hadn’t bought their way in. “You’re new. Let me guess… first day?”

“None of your business.”

He grinned wider, like her annoyance entertained him. “Welcome to Crestwood, sunshine. Try not to drown.”

He revved the engine and sped off, leaving her half-soaked and completely fuming.

“Jerk,” she muttered, wiping her cheek.

Around her, people were whispering. Someone giggled. Liana straightened her shoulders and marched toward the orientation hall, pretending not to care.

But she did care. She always cared. Because this — the judgment, the labels — was exactly what she’d promised herself wouldn’t get to her.

Focus, Brooks. Ignore the rebel with a death wish.

---

Axel’s POV

Axel Knight hated mornings, rules, and umbrellas — in that order.

Rain or not, he liked feeling the wind slap against his face when he rode. It made him feel alive — something he still needed practice at.

He hadn’t meant to splash the girl. Well, maybe a little. She’d looked too serious, too lost, like someone begging to be teased out of her bubble. And when she’d glared at him, water dripping from her lashes, something had clicked — a spark of interest he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Crestwood was full of copies: girls who laughed too loud, guys who bragged too much, professors who pretended not to see the games the rich kids played. That girl — Liana Brooks, according to the list he’d seen posted outside the Literature Department — wasn’t like them.

He revved his bike again, smirking at the thought of her expression.

Maybe today wouldn’t be as boring as he’d expected.

---

Liana’s POV

By the time she reached the main hall, she was drenched and thirty minutes late.

Orientation was already in full swing. She slipped into the back row, trying to blend in, but the whispers started again:

“Is that her?”

“The scholarship girl?”

“She looks lost.”

She forced herself to sit straighter. If anyone wanted a show, they’d get one — of her paying full attention.

“Miss Brooks?” the coordinator called suddenly.

Liana froze. “Y-yes?”

“You’re assigned to Professor Hale’s Literature 101. Room B-204, tomorrow at eight.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, scribbling it down.

“Lucky,” someone whispered behind her. “That’s the same class as Axel Knight.”

Her stomach dropped.

Of course it was. Because the universe clearly had jokes.

---

Axel’s POV

“Bro, you actually showed up for class?” His friend Mason leaned against the wall outside Literature 101 the next morning, looking impressed and mildly terrified.

“Don’t get used to it,” Axel said, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“You know Hale’s strict, right? He hates late arrivals.”

Axel smirked. “Then it’s a good thing I’m early.”

He wasn’t there for Hale, though. He was there because curiosity was a dangerous thing, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about the girl with the flipped umbrella and fire in her eyes.

As if summoned by his thoughts, she walked in — hair pulled back, notebook in hand, determination written all over her face. When her gaze met his, she froze.

“You,” she whispered.

“Me,” he replied easily, pulling out the chair beside hers. “Looks like we’re classmates, princess.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Sure thing, sunshine.”

She groaned softly, but he caught the faintest curve at the corner of her lips before she hid it.

The professor began talking about classic literature, metaphors, and symbolism, but Axel wasn’t listening. He was watching Liana, the way she chewed her pen when concentrating, the way she tried not to look at him.

Maybe she was trouble in disguise. The kind that made life interesting.

And maybe — just maybe — Crestwood University was about to get a lot more fun.