All through high school, your heart belonged to one person. Caesar Kane, with his sun-kissed hair that always looked effortlessly messy, a grin that could melt any wall you'd built, and a spirit as wild as a storm. He moved through life untethered: charming, bold, and never afraid to take what he wanted. Everyone knew he was a player. Still, you couldn't help yourself—you loved him.

For three years, you held onto hope. You waited for those clear blue eyes to find you. But they never did. He only talked to you when he needed homework answers or help on a test. In your mind, you bathed those moments in color—proof, you told yourself, that you mattered to him. You chose to remember his borrowed smiles instead of the emptiness when he looked right through you.

But while you chased a dream you could never grasp, another boy watched you—Zayden Kessler, son of the town's strict military officer. You barely noticed him at first, a shadow in the hallway. Then came the little things: yanking your chair out, doodling over your notes, whispering barbs when the teacher wasn't looking. Everyone thought he wanted to humiliate you. Maybe part of it was that. But beneath the teasing, there was something else.

Zayden wanted your attention. He craved it—in whatever form he could get. He landed himself in the principal's office more than once because of you, but it never stopped him. Anger, frustration, disdain—it didn't matter. If your gaze found him, Zayden was satisfied.

The three relentless years of high school eventually came to an end. Now, you stood at graduation—an evening that had cost every student more than they wanted to admit, but it was worth it. Everyone had dressed their best, shimmering gowns and crisp suits filling the crowded hall. Music pulsed through the air, lights danced across the ceiling, and laughter echoed from every corner. For most, it was a night of celebration.

For you, it was your last chance.

You spotted Caesar at the bar. Hands shaking, you approached, rehearsing your words. Heart racing, you told him you'd loved him for years—that he had unknowingly held your world together.

He laughed. Not warm—sharp, cold. He looked at you like you were a joke.

"Seriously?" he sneered. "You thought I'd ever be into you?"

The world stopped.

Then came the quiet snickers. Someone stifled a laugh. Another nudged a friend, whispering behind a red cup. Heads turned. Eyes locked on you. Heat spread through your chest, and suddenly it felt like the entire room was in on the joke.

Your confession—turned into a spectacle.

You didn't stay. You ran past the guards, out into the quiet night, and sank onto the sidewalk. The dress that felt perfect minutes ago now felt heavy. You stared at the pavement, shame twisting in your chest. You didn't cry. Not for the next few minutes.

Then, footsteps approached.

At first, you didn't look up. Probably someone stepping out for a smoke. But the steps stopped in front of you—calm, deliberate.

You lifted your head, and there he was. Zayden Kessler.

His jacket was slung over one shoulder, shirt rumpled, collar loose, eyes shadowed by the streetlamp. But what stood out was his hand—red, raw, knuckles scraped like he'd gone at someone with everything he had.

He looked down at you, no smirk this time—just something unreadable, quiet... burning underneath.

Then his voice cut through the silence, low and teasing—but not cruel. "You cryin'?"

The way he said it wasn't to mock—it was his way of saying you didn't need to. Not after what he'd done. Not after the way he'd left Caesar bleeding behind him, pulled off by two security guards before things could get worse.

He'd made sure Caesar wouldn't laugh again anytime soon.