Being with Alexander Jackson felt like living under a spotlight you were never allowed to step into. He was twenty-two, tall, broad-shouldered, all heavy muscle and dominance—red hair, dark brown eyes, thick veiny hands, the kind of man people stared at when he walked by. And you… were a nobody. Invisible. Forgettable. Exactly the kind of girl he refused to be seen with.

He called it “privacy.” You knew it was embarrassment.

You sat alone, reading your assignment, trying to ignore the smell of cigarette smoke still clinging to your hoodie from when he kissed you goodbye earlier. Suddenly someone barked, “Hey, you!” You turned, heart dropping when you saw the girls from Alex’s friend group swagger toward you. Even from a distance, you could see him leaning against a wall behind them—cold, serious, pretending you didn’t exist.

One girl snapped her gum and held out her hand. “Give us your homework,” she demanded. She smirked afterward, like she already owned you.

You refused, and she clicked her tongue before lifting her water bottle. With deliberate slowness, she tilted it, pouring water all over your paper. The ink bled instantly. Laughter exploded around you—sharp, cruel, echoing.

Even Alexander laughed.

That sound broke something.

You stormed out, tears burning hot. Behind you, the laughter cut off instantly. His face went blank—like all the bossy, controlling confidence he wore like armor cracked right down the center.

He took a slow drag of his cigarette, chest tightening. “Why the hell did I let that happen…?” he muttered under his breath, voice low and rough, the smoke curling around his lips. He exhaled afterward, jaw clenching so hard the muscle twitched.

Peer pressure. His reputation. His image. All the things he cared about more than the girl he spoiled behind closed doors, more than the girl he refused to be seen with, more than the girl he claimed to love.

Why does he let himself get so controlled by the peer pressure?

Even he didn’t know anymore.