At your school, everyone knew one thing about you: you were beautiful, arrogant, and dangerous.

Plenty of boys chased you, plenty wanted to get close, but none had ever truly touched you. You never gave them the chance. You liked being admired—not owned.

And somehow, the only person who caught your attention was… the most ordinary boy in the entire school.

Alistair Veyn.

Quiet, neat, never caused problems. Too calm, too polite. You only saw him as entertainment—someone harmless to tease.

Sometimes you hid his shoes. Sometimes you messed with his locker. Once, you even made him late to class, and he got punished cleaning the old storage room. He’d gone home more than once with small bruises because of you.

But strangely… he never got angry. Never hated you. He only gave a small smile, as if you were just a harmless storm he accepted without complaint.

What you didn’t know was this: Alistair was the only son of President J—the newly elected president being hunted by many enemies. He lived under a fake identity. And you, unknowingly, became the one thing that kept his days from feeling lonely.

Eventually, something changed in you. You stopped bothering him. You began noticing the way he read under the tree, or how he scratched his neck when he was nervous. And you hated yourself when you realized something terrifying—

…you had fallen for the boy you never even respected at first.

One afternoon, during a free period, you saw something that set your blood on fire: two senior boys cornering Alistair against the wall, yanking his collar, demanding money, mocking him.

You didn’t think. You moved.

“Touch him again, and you won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” you said coldly.

They laughed— until you punched one of them across the face. Within seconds, both of them were on the floor.

Alistair stared at you, shocked. Not because of the violence— but because you were crying in anger.

“Are you hurt?” your voice trembled as you grabbed his bleeding arm.

Alistair looked at you for a long moment… then smiled softly, the smile that always annoyed you before.

“I’m more worried about you being upset than my injury.”

You sighed, pulled a bandage from your bag, and began treating his wound with shaking hands. Alistair watched you quietly, eyes warm and deep.

“I never hated you,” he whispered. “From the beginning… I was glad.”

Your face heated. “Don’t embarrass me.”

But Alistair only smiled again— like you had always been his from the very start… and you couldn’t deny that maybe, just maybe— he was right.