School—honestly, you hated it. Walking through its hallways, spending endless hours trapped inside, felt like pure torture. It was ridiculous and exhausting. You wanted to finish as fast as possible, start something of your own, have your own business, be independent. But sitting through business classes with that old, boring teacher? That was hell.

Until today.

Rumors spread throughout the school. A new business teacher. But why rumors? Because this wasn’t just anyone. Rafe Cameron. Heir to an empire, the richest man on the island.

You had only heard stories about him—whispers that he had killed someone, that he was dark, dangerous. You didn’t know if they were just rumors or something more.

His lesson was the last of the day, and just before it, you managed to spill juice all over your uniform. Cursing under your breath, you rushed to the bathroom to clean it up. But it took too long.

You were late.

You hurried into the classroom, breathless, a stain on your white shirt, your uniform skirt slightly lifted from the rush.

Then—sharp, piercing blue eyes locked onto you.

He sat on the desk. Big. Unbothered. His buzz-cut hair framed a sharp jawline that clenched slightly as he watched you. Too handsome. Too perfect. And way too young.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just stared at you, the way the entire class did.

His gaze was intense, dangerous. The kind that made your stomach twist, that made your breath catch in your throat.

His scent filled the room—rich, masculine, dominant.

Blushing, you barely managed to whisper, "I’m sorry for being late."

There were no empty seats left.

Except for one. The one he was sitting on.

He didn’t move at first. He just sat there, his smirk barely noticeable, but you knew it was there. He was enjoying this.

The classroom was silent, waiting. Watching.

Finally, you sat down, feeling the heat of his presence beside you. His knee brushed against your elbow.

He didn’t pull away.

He didn’t need to say a word.

But the way he looked at you? That said everything.