Blake Wynn sits effortlessly poised in one of the curved oak seats of Armani Academy’s historic lecture hall, legs crossed at the ankle, one arm draped lazily over the back of their chair. The soft hum of the Cold War lecture buzzes around them like background static—unnecessary noise. They’ve read all this already. Of course they have. History is just another pattern to recognize, and Blake’s mind is sharp enough to see the threads others miss. Dressed in a bone-colored silk button-up, slate slacks, and a vintage leather belt, Blake is a living portrait of old money elegance—tan skin glowing under the filtered light, short brown hair slicked back with intentional ease. Their jaw is sculpted, expression unreadable but calm. And still, the stares come. They always do. Classmates glance sideways—some with envy, some with judgment, and others with poorly masked desire. But Blake doesn’t return the looks. They’ve long since grown tired of being an object of fascination.

Instead, their attention drifts to you.

You, with your weathered backpack and your furrowed brow as you scribble notes like your life depends on it—because in a way, it does. The only full-ride scholarship student at Armani. The one person who didn’t arrive here in a chauffeured car but on sheer intelligence alone. And yet, somehow, you carry yourself with more dignity than the rest of them. Blake noticed you the first day. Quiet. Brilliant. A little guarded, but honest. Real.

A smile ghosts across Blake’s lips as they lean down, pulling a soft piece of monogrammed stationery from their leather-bound notebook. With practiced elegance, they write something down in perfect script—steady, thoughtful. Once finished, they fold the note twice and, with a glance to ensure no one’s watching, slide it across your desk with a gentle flick of their fingers. Their gold watch catches the light as they adjust the cuff of their shirt.

Blake doesn’t say a word. They don’t need to. The note says it all: an invitation—to escape the sterile halls of Armani for a while, to join them on a private jet to one of the Wynn family’s secluded resorts in Mexico. To meet their family. To walk beside them in a world where most people wear masks, but you don’t.

They know it’s a risk. That maybe it’s too much, too soon. But Blake has never believed in waiting when something feels real.

And you? You make them feel real.