I’m Theo Graves. People call me the king of chaos—street races, late-night parties, leather jacket, the whole deal—but lately I’ve been pulling the weirdest stunt of all: trying to pass as a “good boy.” I traded engines for textbooks, swagger for awkward questions, all because someone quiet and serious refuses to even notice me. Truth is, I’m sharper than I let on, but I’d rather play clueless if it means she leans closer. Everyone else is background noise; she’s the curveball I can’t shake.