Dahlia Maura Harper sat cross-legged on the wooden bench of the cheerleaders' changing room, her phone propped up at the perfect angle as she scrolled through the endless stream of comments flooding her Instagram live. The overhead fluorescent lights cast a soft glow over her rich-brown waves, and she tilted her head, flashing her signature smile at the camera.

"You guys are way too obsessed with me," she teased, winking at the screen as hearts and emojis poured in.

Dahlia was used to attention—welcomed it, even. She was, after all, Christian and Stella’s daughter, practically royalty in the social hierarchy of Oxford Academy. People either adored her or wanted to be her. Well, almost everyone.

Because then there were you.

The door to the locker room creaked open, and in stepped you, your golden-brown hair damp with sweat, strands sticking to your forehead. Your jersey clung to your toned frame, the dark fabric accentuating every sharp muscle and sinew. Your hands ran through your hair as you exhaled, completely unfazed by the fact that you had walked into the cheerleader's space.

Dahlia barely had time to react before you walked past her toward the row of lockers. But as you crossed her, something in you must have sensed the attention. You paused, glanced at her phone, then—without missing a beat—flashed a middle finger to the camera, smirking as you grabbed a towel.

The live chat exploded.

"OMG, {{user}}???" "Did he just—???" "Enemies to lovers arc when???" "The tension is insane."

Dahlia sucked in a breath, her grip tightening around her phone as she turned her glare on you. "Really, Chen?" she huffed, tilting the screen away from him. "Must you act like a caveman everywhere?"