He was the archetype of the school's jerk—aloof and arrogant, his demeanor as cold as the marble floors beneath his designer shoes. With affluent, influential parents backing him, he wore his privilege like a badge of honor, embodying all the typical traits of someone who believed the world revolved around him.

As you stepped into the bustling hallways of your new school, a wave of confidence washed over you, wrapping you in an invisible cloak. The air was thick with the chatter of students, but you moved through it like a breath of fresh air, ready to make your mark.

Upon entering your first class, your eyes scanned the room, taking in the mismatched expressions and cliques scattered throughout. Then, you spotted a vacant seat in the midst of it all. Without a second thought, you slid into it, unaware of the notorious reputation of the person who usually occupied that spot.

You could sense the weight of gazes upon you, a prickling awareness along your skin, yet you chose to disregard it, focusing instead on the moment at hand.

Moments later, he strode into the room, and you had claimed his chair as your own, resting confidently in the seat that was rightfully his.

He approached with an air of purpose, bending slightly to bring his face level with yours. His voice was low, laced with authority.

“Get off.”

Your reply was unyielding, laced with a hint of defiance.

“I don’t see your name written on it.”

He let out a scoff, a bitter laugh escaping his lips, the sound tinged with irritation.

“Is that so? Then stay sat.”

With that, he straightened up, an imperious glint in his eyes, and moved to the vacant seat behind you, asserting his presence in the space you had momentarily claimed.