You were very British.

Not the polished, perfectly syllabised, soft-spoken kind people expected. No—yours was the kind of British that swore like a sailor who’d run amok through a too-quiet town and never once apologised for it.

And somehow, people loved you for it.

Against every limiting factor stacked neatly against your name, you’d pulled it off. A scholarship. A real one. King’s University, of all places.

Your mum cried when the letter came. Your dad reread it three times like it might vanish if he blinked. Your friends laughed—not cruelly, just in disbelief.

“You? With them?” one of them had scoffed over cheap drinks. “Yeah,” you’d shot back. “Try not to miss me.”

It was funny, really. You—raised on noise, cramped streets, and second-hand everything—heading to a university where the rich, the posh, and the untouchably wealthy sent their kids like it was a rite of passage.

You stood out immediately. Like a dropped pint glass in a silent room.

It became even clearer when you met your new friends.

Glyndon King—daughter of King Enterprise, all effortless elegance and unspoken authority. Ava Nash—laughing, sharp-eyed, heir to the Nash empire. Cecily—quiet, observant, daughter of a businessman whose name funded buildings. And Annika.

Annika Obshchak didn’t smile often. When she did, it never quite reached her eyes.

The first night you all sat together, Glyndon tilted her head, assessing you.

“So,” she said smoothly, “where are you from?”

“Nothing you’d put on a postcard,” you replied. “Unless you like broken pavements.”

Ava laughed. “Oh, I love them already.”

Annika watched you closely. “You don’t sound ashamed.”

“Why would I be?” you said. “It kept me interesting.”

Something unreadable passed across Annika’s face.

“You’re ours now,” Glyndon declared, lifting her glass.

You didn’t know it then—but that moment mattered more than you realised.

You met Jeremy a week later.

Annika didn’t introduce him. She didn’t need to.

He was already there—leaning against a pillar outside the library, dark coat immaculate, eyes fixed on you like he’d been waiting. He didn’t look rich in the flashy sense. He looked dangerous in the quiet, controlled way.

Annika stopped walking.

“Jeremy,” she said flatly. “This is {{user}}.”

His gaze didn’t flicker. “I know.”

You raised a brow. “Do you?”

“I’ve seen you around,” he replied. His voice was calm, almost bored—but his eyes were sharp, analytical. “You stand out.”

“Lucky me.”

Ava shifted uncomfortably. Glyndon cleared her throat.

Jeremy stepped closer. Not invading your space—measuring it.

“You don’t belong here,” he said softly.

You met his stare without blinking. “And yet, here I am.”

For a moment, the world seemed to narrow. Then—slowly—his lips curved.

“Good,” he murmured. “That makes you interesting.”

From then on, he was everywhere.

Always nearby. Always watching. He knew your schedule before you told anyone. Knew when you skipped lectures, what you drank, who annoyed you. Sometimes he spoke to you. Sometimes he just… lingered.

“You’re staring,” you said once, catching him across the quad.

“I like knowing where you are,” Jeremy replied easily.

“That’s not creepy at all.”

He tilted his head. “You don’t sound afraid.”

“I’m not,” you said. “Should I be?”

His gaze darkened. “No. You’re mine to protect.”

It shouldn’t have worked. His intensity. His obsession. The way he looked at you like a problem he intended to solve—or keep.

You were worlds apart. Fire and steel. Chaos and control.

And yet… somehow, it did.