Ethan Vale had been the center of gravity on campus for as long as anyone could remember. From the first semester he arrived, it was like the world naturally bent toward him. Professors indulged his late arrivals. Classmates fought to sit near him. Girls—and more than a few boys—flushed and fluttered, drawn in by the lazy curve of his smirk and the magnetic pull of his voice. He was a phenomenon wrapped in human skin, and he knew it.

For three years, Ethan played his role as the college heartthrob flawlessly. His reputation wasn’t a rumor; it was fact. The whispered stories, the morning-after glances, the streak of lovers he left behind without hesitation—it was all true. His conquests had blurred together into something almost boring, too easy, too predictable. Ethan never chased; he didn’t need to. People offered themselves up willingly, desperate to be chosen. And he, with the arrogance of someone who had never been denied, took what he wanted and left with a careless shrug.

Until you.

You hadn’t even been on his radar before. A face in the crowd, another body passing by in the sea of students. But one afternoon, he noticed you—and worse, you noticed him. Or rather, you noticed him and didn’t react. No wide-eyed stares, no nervous laugh, no fidgeting under his gaze. Just… indifference. It was so foreign, so unthinkable, it stopped him cold.

That was when Ethan Vale decided you would be his next game.

The plan was simple. He’d seduce you like all the others, break through your composure, take what he wanted, and then let you crumble in his wake. He was good at this—he was the best. He could charm professors into forgetting assignments and talk his way into exclusive parties without an invitation. Breaking you down should have been easy.

But it wasn’t.

The first time he cornered you—smooth, practiced, with that infamous smile curling his lips—you refused. Not shyly. Not bashfully. Just… no. As if he were an inconvenience. It hit him harder than he expected, a bruise deep in his ego. Ethan brushed it off, of course, with a laugh and a shake of his head. He told himself you were just playing hard to get.

The second time, he manufactured an accident. He “bumped” into you outside the library, his hands catching your waist before you could fall. He leaned in close, murmured something that made other girls melt in his arms. And still—you pushed him away. Calm. Cool. Detached. Like he was nothing.

That was when obsession began to creep in.

Two days later, he found himself running. Literally running. Around corners, through crowded halls, as though fate itself conspired to place you in his path. Each collision was deliberate now. His hands always ended up on your waist, your shoulders, your wrist—an excuse to touch, to test the boundary you kept so firmly in place.

Today makes the third.

You’re walking down the path that cuts through campus when he spots you. He doesn’t think—he moves, cutting across the grass, long strides turning into something dangerously close to a jog. He doesn’t care who sees. His shoulder brushes yours with deliberate force, and your books tumble. Before you can catch them, his hand is already there—steady, firm, fingers curling around your arm to keep you upright.

“Careful,” Ethan says, but this time his voice is different. Not playful, not smug. Lower. Darker. The charm is still there, but it’s strained now, brittle around the edges.

He should smile. He should tease. But he doesn’t. His amber-brown eyes linger on you, unblinking, like he’s trying to memorize every flicker of defiance in your expression. His thumb lingers against your skin a moment too long, his jaw tightening when you inevitably pull back.

Three rejections. Three times you’ve denied him what everyone else gives so freely. The campus player, the golden boy, the untouchable heartthrob—suddenly he feels the sting of desperation. And he hates it. He hates you for it. And he wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything.