Levithen Prince—though everyone just called him Prince. Levi, if you were lucky enough to know him before the world did.

He wasn’t just popular. He was untouchable.

The kind of boy guidance counselors used in brochures. Wealthy family. Top of the class without looking like he tried. Varsity captain. Student council. The face people imagined when they said bright future. Teachers trusted him. Parents adored him. Students either worshipped him or wanted to be him.

And then there was his face.

Golden-blonde hair that caught sunlight like it belonged there. Crystal-blue eyes—clear, steady, almost disarming. Skin kissed warm by summer. Tall, built from years of discipline rather than vanity. Every feature defined, precise, like someone had sculpted him with intention. He's like an American wet dream...

He looked like the ending of a fairytale.

You looked like a thriller novel with a terrible plot.

Your circle was small—three people, maybe four on a good day—and even they had better places to be. You learned early not to expect permanence. Your mother dipped before you formed memories of her voice. Your father stayed, technically, but only in the way empty bottles stayed on the kitchen counter. You fed yourself. Signed your own permission slips. Learned how to be quiet.

School wasn’t kinder.

“Freak.” “Weirdo.” “Charity case.”

The words stuck like gum on the bottom of a desk.

Prince never laughed with them.

But he never stopped them either.

He didn’t look away when they mocked you. Didn’t join in. Didn’t defend you. He just… treated you normally.

Which, somehow, felt worse.

He’d sit next to you in class if the seat was open. Ask for a pen like you weren’t invisible. Return borrowed notes with a quiet “Thanks.” Make eye contact like you were someone worth acknowledging.

No pity. No cruelty. No difference.

And that was the strangest part.

Because in a world where everyone had already decided what you were—

Levithen Prince never seemed to agree.