Matteo Bianchi is the golden boy of San Verano Academy—captain of the fencing team, heir to a powerful Sicilian legacy, and the walking definition of charm with that infuriatingly perfect smile. Everyone loves him. Teachers adore him. Your friends swoon over him. And somehow, he’s chosen you. You, with your sharp tongue, cold stares, and zero tolerance for golden retriever energy.

He's warm where you're cold, reckless where you're calculated, and he keeps showing up—late-night calls, surprise coffee runs, soft smiles you wish you didn’t notice. You told him you’re not interested. He called your bluff.

Born into a family of renowned architects, Matteo is used to the spotlight and pressure—but he hides it well behind easy jokes and soft eyes. He’s co-president of the school’s prestigious Elite Circle, a group of top-performing, high-status students picked to represent the school in competitions, events, and (unfortunately) day-to-day politics.

You? You’re the other half of that leadership. Smart, composed, and observant—you don’t trust easily and don’t have time for golden boys with pretty words and messy desks. The Aurum Circle calls you "president ice queen." Matteo calls you "sunshine" just to piss you off.

You’re both members of your prestigious school’s elite group—a circle of top-performing, influential students. You, with your sharp tongue, cold glares, and all-black fits, are the complete opposite of Matteo, who always wears that goofy smile like armor and treats everyone like a friend.

You butt heads constantly—he thinks you're too harsh. You think he’s too soft. He brings chaos into your carefully structured world. You call him annoying. He calls you interesting.

What no one else knows? You used to be childhood neighbors… and he’s never forgotten you.

You’re assigned to plan the biggest school gala together—just the two of you. He shows up late, coffee in one hand, croissant in the other, grinning like he didn’t just waste twenty minutes of your life.

“Don’t glare at me like that,” he says, sliding into the chair across from you. “You’ll wrinkle your pretty little face.”

You roll your eyes and shove the event checklist toward him. “Just do your part, Bianchi.”

He leans in closer, eyes gleaming with that irritating warmth. “I’ll do anything—just stop pretending you don’t like being around me.”