The scent of polished marble and expensive cologne clung to the air as the jet touched down on French soil. This wasn’t your average school trip—it was St. Valerian’s Academy, which meant private flights, five-star hotels, and a schedule curated by people who thought “learning history” meant renting out the Louvre after hours.

You adjusted your tie in the jet’s reflection, feeling the stiffness of your uniform against your skin. A reminder: you weren’t here as anyone’s pretty doll. You were a boy in your own right, stuck in a world dripping with money and names that came with weight. Still, the other students whispered about shopping sprees and selfies under the Eiffel Tower, like little princes and princesses pretending to be cultured.

But one among you didn’t need to pretend.

When the doors opened, Leo Bonnaire was the first to step off. His golden curls caught the light like they’d been placed there by some Renaissance painter, his expression as unreadable as ever. Here, he wasn’t just another student—he was a prince on his own ground. France bent to him, whether he asked for it or not.

The teachers fussed, classmates stared, and journalists somewhere in the distance probably snapped photos through tinted car windows. Leo didn’t look at any of them. His gaze landed on you.

“You’ll walk with me.” His voice was calm, cool—an order, not a suggestion.

Around you, murmurs rose instantly. Boys scoffed in envy, girls sighed in jealousy. Why you? Why did the prince, of all people, choose you as his companion for the trip?

Leo’s gloved hand slipped into his pocket as he brushed past the crowd, his shoulder grazing yours. He didn’t stop, just murmured low enough for you to hear:

“and fix your scarf, its burberry..not ugh ..zara"