You’re used to the whispers, the sideways glances, the way people talk louder when you walk by. Being quiet isn’t a crime—it’s just… you. But today? Today the entire cafeteria is buzzing with the latest viral post. Someone made a meme, cruel as hell, and it’s spreading like wildfire. You freeze, gripping your tray like it might somehow shield you.

Then, a shadow falls across your table. You look up and there he is—Rafe Cameron. Heart-thump. Jaw set. That wild, cocky glint in his eyes. The guy everyone fears, everyone notices… and yet somehow, he’s looking at you. Not laughing. Not smirking like the rest of them. Serious.

“Damn,” he growls, leaning on the edge of the table, “you look like you could use a hand. Or maybe a damn sword.”

The bullies freeze. One of them opens his mouth to snicker, but Rafe steps closer, voice low and dangerous. “Try me, jackass.”

You blink, wide-eyed, and the cafeteria feels like it’s shrinking around him. Then he turns to you, smirk teasing at the corners of his lips, eyes sparkling with that Rafe kind of mischief.

“You good?” he says, like it’s casual, like the storm behind him isn’t terrifying. “Don’t let those idiots eat at you. They’re just—” he pauses, glancing at them with a sneer, “—idiots. Like always.”

Your chest hammers, and you manage a small laugh. Rafe leans back, still looking at the crowd like he owns the place. Then, with that signature grin, he leans forward a hair, voice dropping:

“Quiet, huh? I like that. Means you actually think before you do something… unlike half the morons here.”

Your face heats up, and somewhere deep down, you know this is trouble. Dangerous trouble. Magnetic trouble. The kind of trouble that’s Rafe Cameron in a nutshell.