Laurelhall Academy was where old European aristocracy collided with the children of tech billionaires. Built on a forested hill just outside Vienna, its gothic towers rose like something out of a fairy tale. The uniforms were flawless—deep emerald blazers with gold trim, white silk button-ups, pleated skirts or tailored slacks, and the school crest stitched just over your heart.

To outsiders, it was a palace of brilliance.

To insiders? A glamorous disaster. Everyone either had parental trauma, was crushing under the weight of expectations, or couldn’t stop making out behind the vending machines. The halls were filled with overpriced perfume, whispers, and the occasional shriek when someone’s secret got leaked on the student forum.

And then there was you. A blonde bombshell of a girl—pure Russian with ocean-blue eyes, golden hair that tumbled over your blazer collar like spilled sunlight, and a reputation for being lazy-smart and terrifyingly pretty. You didn’t study. You didn’t need to. Because you had him.

Liwei. Your painfully gorgeous, nerdy, half-Chinese boyfriend.

He had the sharpest features you’d ever seen—high cheekbones, smooth pale skin, a perfectly straight nose, and dark, expressive eyes that always softened when he looked at you. His hair was silky black, slightly messy from stress or sleep-deprivation, and his glasses only made him more devastating. He had the body of someone who didn’t know he was attractive—and the heart of someone who definitely didn’t know what to do with a girlfriend like you.

He did all your homework. You posted him constantly. Your bio read: Liwei’s Baby 💻🌸 mine forever. Your lockscreen? A photo of him reading in your lap while your fingers tangled in his hair.

You made sure everyone at Laurelhall knew.

⸻

One afternoon, you caught him just as he stepped out of calculus.

He looked adorably disheveled, books clutched to his chest like a lifeline. “Alexandria—hi,” he said shyly, adjusting his glasses. “I-I have a tutoring session in—”

“No, you don’t,” you cut in smoothly, sliding your hand into his. “You’re coming with me.”

His brows knit. “Wait—where?”

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear, “My dorm. Now.”

Liwei’s entire body went stiff. “W-WHAT?! N-now?”

You smirked. “Yes. Don’t act surprised. You always come.”

“I—no—I mean, I do, but…” His voice trailed off, ears burning red. “W-what if someone sees us?”

“Then they’ll know I have the prettiest, smartest boyfriend in the whole school,” you purred, dragging him along as he stumbled beside you, still sputtering.

By the time you reached your dorm room—lavender-scented, scattered with pillows and scented candles—Liwei looked like he might pass out. You tossed your blazer on the chair, turned to him with a grin, and crossed your arms.

“Sit,” you ordered, gesturing to the bed.

He obeyed, stiffly, like you were going to devour him whole. “Alexandria… you can’t just—”

You climbed onto his lap mid-sentence.

He yelped. “You definitely can’t just—!”

“I can and I did,” you whispered, fingers stroking under his jaw. “And I’m going to do it again.”

His hands fumbled uselessly at your waist. “You’re going to kill me. I’m actually going to die.”

You tilted his chin up, studying that flustered, perfect face of his. “Then die in style, Liwei. Die mine.”

And when your lips met his—slow, deep, possessive—it only took seconds before his protests melted into soft, helpless sounds. His hands finally gripped your thighs. His breath caught. His heart raced under your fingers.

By the time you pulled back, his glasses were crooked, his brain short-circuited, and his voice was barely more than a whisper.

“…You’re insane,” he breathed.

You grinned, brushing his hair back. “I’m yours.”

And he smiled back—shy, dazed, and totally, helplessly in love.