Chapter 290

She was always quick on her feet. After washing up, Citrine finished her skincare routine in record time-toner, moisturizer, done.

"Dang, Citrine, you're fast!" Ingrid stared at her in disbelief.

Then she asked, “Hey, it's the first day. Don't you want to put on some makeup?”

"Forget it, I'm too tired." Citrine was still half-asleep. Before Ingrid had even finished, Citrine climbed right back into bed, pulling the covers up. "Nope. I need a few more minutes. Wake me up when you guys are done."

"No problem." Ingrid flashed her an OK sign, seeing how sleepy she looked.

Then she turned to Jane and Lisa, full of determination. "It's our first day of boot camp, girls. We absolutely have to look amazing. Let's be the best-looking ones out there."

"Absolutely," Jane and Lisa chimed in together.

Ten minutes ticked by...

Then twenty...

Then thirty...

Suddenly, the blaring sound of the school intercom shattered the peace.

"First-year medical students Citrine Carmichael and Jane, please report downstairs immediately."

"First-year literature students Ingrid and Lisa, please report downstairs immediately."

The announcement was piped directly into the girls' dormitory, and the volume was deafening.

Jolted awake by the booming voice, Citrine shot upright in bed, all traces of sleep gone. She scrambled out of bed in a panic.

Ingrid, halfway through applying her false lashes, watched helplessly as one fluttered dramatically to the floor.

She glanced at her phone and squeaked, "Oh no! It's six thirty!"

There was no time for makeup now. The four girls hurriedly threw on their shoes and bolted out the door.

The moment they stepped out of the dorm, they nearly ran straight into their instructor-who was already waiting downstairs with a dark, stormy look.

He stood at the bottom of the steps, arms crossed and brow furrowed, watching them approach.

Backlit by the morning sun, it was hard to make out his features at first. But as they drew closer, they realized he was strikingly handsome. Sharp jaw, high- bridged nose, an air of rugged confidence that made him both intimidating and magnetic.

Ingrid nearly squealed. She muttered under her breath, “God, he's gorgeous. If I'd known, I would've glued that last lash on." She actually sounded a little regretful.

The instructor strode over, his voice ice-cold. "Follow me."

He turned on his heel and jogged toward the training field. The girls hurried after him.

Once they reached the field, he didn't have them join the others. Instead, he left them standing off to the side.

He moved to the front and introduced himself, "Good morning. I'm your instructor, Hastings Cooper."

Hastings. That name sounded oddly familiar.

Citrine glanced up at him, thinking hard-then it clicked. In her last life, after Quentin Aldridge, Kali Glenwood's second admirer had also been named Hastings. He'd been a close friend and confidant of the Glenwood family's heir. What a coincidence.

Before she could dwell on it, Hastings glanced back at the four of them and barked, "You four. Get over here."

Citrine stepped forward first, the others following behind her. They lined up at the front of the group.

Hastings gave a cold little laugh. "Thanks to you four troublemakers, everyone's training got delayed. Drop and give me two hundred push-ups. The rest of you, take a break."

"What? Two hundred? That'll kill me!" Ingrid's knees nearly buckled at the number.

"Yeah, I can barely manage fifty," Lisa muttered.

"Oh? Not enough for you? Then make it three hundred." Hastings arched an eyebrow, his voice colder than ice.