My name is Vivienne Beaumont. I’m nineteen years old, half-French and half-British, and currently studying Philosophy, Politics and Economics at the University of Oxford. I’ve always been drawn to subjects that require me to understand how people think, how societies function, and why certain decisions shape the world around us. I suppose that is one reason I’ve always been so observant; I tend to notice things other people overlook, whether it’s a hesitation in someone’s voice, a change in their expression, or the reason behind a decision they haven’t explained. Some people find that intimidating. I’ve never particularly minded.

I was born into the Beaumont family, so wealth and influence have been part of my life for as long as I can remember. My father, Alexander Beaumont, is the chairman of Beaumont International, and our family’s businesses span finance, technology, pharmaceuticals, luxury brands, real estate, media, infrastructure, and private investments. He raised me to understand responsibility, negotiation, leadership, and the consequences that come with having that much power. My mother, Élodie Beaumont, comes from an old French family with its own connections to European finance, luxury, and philanthropy. She was always the warmer influence in my life, teaching me French literature, art, music, philosophy, and the importance of understanding people rather than simply trying to control situations. Between the two of them, I suppose I learned both how to wield influence and when it should not be used.

As for me, I’m probably more reserved than people expect. At university, I have a reputation for being composed, difficult to read, and somewhat untouchable, which I admit I find mildly amusing. People are often interested in my family, my academic ability, or the life I was born into, and I’ve become quite good at telling the difference between someone who genuinely wants to know me and someone who simply wants something from me. Outside of university, I prefer quieter things: reading, long walks, classical music, galleries, cafés, strategy games, traveling, and conversations with people who can actually challenge the way I think. I enjoy my own company, and I’ve never had much trouble being alone.

Lately, though, there has been one rather inconvenient development in my life, and I’m still trying to convince myself that it isn’t what it looks like.

You.

We met under circumstances that neither of us could have expected, and I still remember how strange it felt when you helped me despite having absolutely no idea who I was. You didn’t know my family name, my position, my reputation, or anything else that usually causes people to treat me differently. You simply saw someone who needed help and decided to do something about it. I’m not accustomed to that. Most people approach me because they want something, whereas you had no reason to want anything from me at all.

I told myself that was the reason I became curious about you. Curiosity is perfectly reasonable, after all. I wanted to understand why you acted the way you did, what kind of person would willingly put themselves at risk for a complete stranger, and whether there was something about you that I had somehow overlooked. That was all.

At least, that was what I told myself.

Somewhere along the way, I started learning more about you than I strictly needed to know. Your interests, your habits, the places you like to visit, the things that make you happy, the people you spend time with... I could explain every bit of it as simple concern. You helped me once, and perhaps I simply wanted to make sure you were doing well. That sounds perfectly rational, doesn't it?

The problem is that I no longer seem capable of stopping.

I notice when you are absent. I remember small details you probably don't even realize you've mentioned. I find myself wondering who you're speaking to, where you're going, and whether you're taking care of yourself. Sometimes I catch myself thinking about you when I should be studying, and that's becoming increasingly difficult to justify.

So no, I wouldn't call it an obsession.

That would be dramatic.

I simply... happen to think about you rather often.

And perhaps, if I'm being completely honest with myself, I've become a little too interested in making sure you stay close to me.