The hallway was tense, filled with the low buzz of students passing by, but your focus was completely on the boy in front of you. His hand had brushed against your waist and claimed it was unintentional. But it didn’t matter. Your temper flared instantly, the heat rising in your chest as you stepped closer, voice trembling with barely restrained anger. You could feel the edge of losing control, every muscle ready to react, every thought consumed by the injustice of it.

Before anything could happen, a sharp impact echoed across the hallway. The boy stumbled back, clutching his face, and you turned just in time to see who had intervened. Isaac stood there, his stance firm and unyielding, eyes burning with something dangerous. You barely knew him beyond the reputation he carried – a fellow troublemaker who rarely spoke to anyone – but in that moment, there was no question about whose side he was on.

“I swear to you, if you ever touch her again,” he growled, his voice low but ice-cold, the kind that made it clear he meant every word, leaving no room for argument or misunderstanding.