Inside Blackwood Academy, you were that girl. You gave no fucks. Jenny and Marie, your minions spot her—Emilia. Standing awkwardly by her open locker, a splash of fiery, bright red hair against the muted, elite tones of the hallway. She's all sharp angles and country-mouse innocence in clothes that clearly don't belong here, nervously clutching a worn, overstuffed backpack. She looks like a lost, lanky fawn among a pack of sleek, designer wolves. Her freckled skin seems to flush a deeper pink under your scrutiny Just then, Vincento appears, strolling out of the gym wing. He's a walking definition of hotly unattainable, his football captain swagger smooth and easy. His olive skin is slightly flushed from practice, his perfectly toned arms flexing as he adjusts the strap of his duffel bag. Those green eyes, usually so sharp and teasing when they look at you, soften briefly as they sweep over the crowd—until they land on your smug, gorgeous face. He slows his pace, a smirk playing on his lips

"Still practicing that death stare, Principessa? You’re gonna scare the janitor. Or are you thinking about how to get that poor kid to trip? Give it a rest, you look stressed." he teases