The morning came with soft sunlight spilling through the dorm window. Dust floated lazily in the golden light — peaceful, quiet, holy.

Then — BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“Ahhh!” Clara groaned, slamming the alarm. “This stupid thing is possessed…”

She glanced to her right. Kathy — her chaos-loving best friend, the eternal sleeper — was snoring softly, smiling like she was dreaming about chocolate cake or eternal salvation.

“Hey! Wake up! Wake up!” Clara hissed, shaking her shoulder. “How can you sleep like this? It’s—” she squinted at the clock, “—oh my God, it’s 7:11! Sister Mary is going to kill us!”

Kathy cracked one eye open. “Just… two more minutes…” she mumbled, pouting like a sleepy toddler.

Clara smirked. “Oh really? Sure. Enjoy your last two minutes of life.”

That did it. Kathy shot up like she’d seen a ghost. “Wait—WHAT?! 7:11?! You lied!”

Clara grinned. “Nope. I just saved your soul.”

They threw on their uniforms, half-buttoned and uneven, hair a disaster, shoes mismatched. Kathy tried to braid Clara’s hair while hopping on one foot. Clara swatted her away. “Focus on your own head before you look like a blessed tornado.”

“Too late,” Kathy said, examining herself in the mirror. “I was born stylishly chaotic.”

At the Church

The morning prayer had already begun, soft organ music echoing through the great hall. The nuns led the verses; the students knelt in perfect lines, eyes closed, serene and saintly.

All… except two late sinners sprinting down the corridor.

Clara and Kathy slid through the side doors, nearly crashing into the holy water stand. They froze, straightened their skirts, and tiptoed to the back pew.

Sister Mary turned her head, eyes like daggers from heaven.

Clara offered a trembling smile. Kathy attempted a wave, instantly regretted it.

The nun said nothing — thank the Lord for silent fury — but her glare promised divine punishment later.

The girls knelt and bowed their heads, whispering fake prayers. “Dear Lord,” Kathy murmured, “please forgive us… again.”

“Shh,” Clara hissed, but she was fighting a laugh.

A few minutes later, Kathy yawned. Clara’s eyelids drooped dangerously.

Then — a deep rumble broke through the music.

A car engine.

Through the tall window, a black SUV rolled to a stop outside the church gates. It gleamed under the morning sun — sleek, expensive, and completely out of place.

The door opened slowly.

Out stepped a man. Tall, broad shoulders, dark messy hair falling across his forehead. Tattoos traced up his neck like hidden stories. Black shirt, black jeans — a walking sin in broad daylight.

Clara froze.

He looked up. Their eyes met through the glass.

He smirked — slow, confident, dangerous.

Both girls turned crimson.

Kathy leaned closer. “Did he just smile at me?”

Clara rolled her eyes. “You idiot, that was a smirk.”

Kathy gasped. “Idiot?!”

Clara quickly made the sign of the cross. “There. Holy again. Happy now?”

Kathy grinned. “Holy enough for me.”

The prayer ended, but Clara’s heart hadn’t slowed. Something about that man — his eyes, the way he looked right at her — felt like a warning wrapped in a thrill.

She pressed her palms together and whispered a final prayer.

She wasn’t sure if it was to ask for forgiveness… or protection.

The prayer had barely ended when Sister Mary’s voice sliced through the air like divine thunder.

“Clara! Kathy!”

Every head in the chapel turned. Clara closed her eyes. Kathy mouthed, we’re dead.

“Yes, Sister?” they both said in unison, trying to sound angelic.

Sister Mary’s expression could’ve frozen fire. “You two were late. Again.”

Kathy, ever the survivor, smiled sweetly. “We were, um… deep in meditation.”

“On your beds?” Sister Mary snapped.

Clara elbowed her friend. “We’re sorry, Sister,” she said quickly, hands folded like a saint-in-training. “It won’t happen again.”

Sister Mary sighed — the kind of sigh that said she’d seen every excuse in the holy book. “Stay after class. Both of you.”

Clara nodded meekly. Kathy muttered, “Worth it,” under her breath.

---

While they stood in silent shame, the heavy church doors creaked open.

Everyone turned.

A man entered — tall, dressed in black, his eyes scanning the chapel like he owned the place.

It was him.

The man from the SUV.

Clara’s stomach flipped. Kathy’s elbow found her ribs immediately. “It’s him!” she whispered.

Clara didn’t answer — mostly because she was too busy pretending not to stare.

The stranger walked past the rows of students, his boots echoing softly against the marble floor. He dipped his head slightly to Sister Mary. “Forgive me, Sister. I’m here for confession.”

His voice was low — smooth and deep enough to make even the cross above the altar tilt an inch.

“Of course, my son,” Sister Mary replied, her tone instantly softer. “You may wait by the confessional.”

He nodded politely… but as he turned, his eyes flicked to Clara and Kathy.

Clara’s breath caught.

That smirk — that same dangerous, knowing smirk — was back.

Kathy leaned closer, whispering, “He’s totally laughing at us.”

Clara whispered back, “No, he’s mocking us.”

Kathy grinned. “Even worse. He’s hot and mocking us.”

“Stop it!” Clara hissed, eyes darting toward Sister Mary.

But Adrian (because of course, this was Adrian Vitale) had already looked away, taking a seat in the back pew — perfectly calm, pretending to focus on his prayer book.

Only he wasn’t reading.

From the corner of his eye, he watched the two girls trying desperately not to get caught whispering again. The taller nun scolded them in hushed tones, waving a finger dangerously close to their faces.

And Adrian… smiled.

He shouldn’t have found it amusing — the mafia heir, the tough one, sitting in a church like a sinner pretending to repent — but something about the sight of those two girls being scolded by a nun was oddly… entertaining.

Especially the quiet one. The one with calm eyes and a heartbeat he could almost feel from across the hall.

When Sister Mary finally walked away, Kathy slumped in relief. “We survived.”

Clara exhaled slowly. “Barely.”

At the same time, Adrian closed his prayer book and whispered under his breath —

“Forgive me, Father… for I’m about to make things complicated.”

---

The church had emptied after morning prayer.

Only the soft echo of footsteps remained, mixed with the quiet murmur of the nuns cleaning the pews.

Clara and Kathy were still wiping candle stands as part of their punishment.

Kathy was humming like she was in a musical. Clara just wanted the floor to swallow her.

“Next time,” Clara muttered, “remind me to set three alarms.”

“Next time,” Kathy replied, “remind me not to room with you.”

Before Clara could answer, a familiar low voice drifted through the air.

From the confessional booth.

Adrian.

Clara froze mid-polish.

He was talking to the priest in a calm, quiet tone — but his words carried just enough that she could hear fragments from where she stood behind the nearest pillar.

“I’ve done things, Father… things I shouldn’t have.”

Clara’s hand stilled. Her curiosity fought with her conscience.

You shouldn’t eavesdrop, she told herself.

But what if it’s important? her other side whispered.

Kathy noticed her blank stare. “Uh-oh. You’ve got that look. The ‘I’m about to sin again’ look.”

Clara shushed her, tilting her head toward the booth. Kathy grinned, tiptoeing closer beside her.

Inside the confessional, Adrian’s voice grew lower.

“I’ve hurt people… not always by choice. My father’s business… it’s not clean. It never was.”

Clara’s eyes widened. His father’s business?

“My family owns this church,” he continued quietly. “And the convent across the street. My grandfather donated it decades ago. It’s under our name. They say it’s holy ground… but even holy ground gets dirty, Father.”

Clara’s mouth dropped open. She almost dropped the candle she was holding.

This church… belongs to them?

Kathy’s eyes went round as dinner plates. She mouthed, WHAT?!

Clara’s heart thumped hard. Suddenly everything made sense — the whispers, the strange men who came sometimes, the donations that kept the school running.

And him. The tattooed man in black.

Adrian Vitale wasn’t just any visitor.

He was the Vitale.

Then his voice softened — unexpectedly gentle.

“And there’s something else,” he said after a long pause.

“I think I’ve done something even worse than the rest.”

The priest’s voice was calm. “What is it, my son?”

Adrian let out a faint laugh, half-ashamed, half-in disbelief.

“I think I’ve got a crush on a nun… or maybe a going-to-be one.”

Clara nearly choked on air. Kathy slapped a hand over her own mouth to stop a squeal.

“I know it’s wrong,” Adrian continued. “She shouldn’t even cross my thoughts. But she does. Every day. Every time I walk into this place.”

Kathy’s eyes sparkled with mischief. She mouthed, Oh. My. God. He means you.

Clara’s entire body went still — heat rising up her neck, her pulse fluttering like wings.

From the confessional came a small chuckle. “Love can test even the strongest vows,” the priest said kindly.

“Yeah,” Adrian murmured. “But if temptation had a face… hers would be it.”

Before Clara could move, the confessional door creaked open.

Adrian stepped out, tall and calm, the afternoon light tracing his jawline.

His eyes scanned the church — and landed directly on Clara and Kathy half-hidden behind a pillar.

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

Then his lips curved into that slow, dangerous smile again.

“Eavesdropping,” he said softly, “isn’t very holy.”

Kathy whispered, “We’re so dead.”

Clara’s face flushed crimson. “We— we were just—”

Adrian raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this. “Praying behind a wall?”

Clara straightened, trying to look confident. “Cleaning.”

He took a step closer. “Then you missed a spot.”

She blinked, realizing his eyes weren’t on the floor.

Kathy grabbed her arm. “Okay, holy moment’s over, time to go!”

Adrian chuckled under his breath as they hurried off, his voice soft and teasing: “See you around… Sister Trouble.”

Clara’s pulse refused to calm down.

And as they walked away, she whispered, “God help me… because I think I just met sin in person.”

A few steps later, Kathy glanced back nervously.

“Clara?”

“What?”

“Was he… serious? Like, is he real or just making fun of us?”

Clara frowned. “What do you mean, idiot?”

Kathy leaned closer, lowering her voice. “We both saw him for the first time today — and he knew we were listening. Maybe he said all that on purpose, you know… to mess with us.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “Or…?”

Kathy smirked. “Or he’s got a crush on Sister Maria.”

She burst out laughing.

Clara tried to glare, but a laugh escaped her too. “Yeah… maybe that.”

Their laughter echoed softly down the empty aisle — a little too loud, a little too nervous — as the last candle flickered behind them.