You pushed the heavy classroom door open, the hinges creaking slightly as you stepped inside. Instantly, the low hum of conversation faltered, dozens of Chilton uniforms turning toward you with open curiosity. New kid. You could feel their eyes trail over you — polished, pretty, composed — and you offered a polite, almost disinterested smile as you made your way toward an empty seat.

In the very back, leaning lazily against his desk like he owned the place, Tristan Dugray barely glanced up from his conversation with Duncan and Bowman — until the soft scent of your perfume drifted past him. His head tilted, eyes narrowing slightly with new interest.

"Who's that?" Bowman muttered under his breath, glancing at Tristan with a low chuckle.

"New girl," Duncan answered, smirking.

Tristan watched you, his signature smirk already tugging at his mouth. Pretty. Smart, by the looks of it. Definitely not trying too hard. A challenge. He rolled his tongue against the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, sizing you up.

"I'll have her," Tristan said lazily, as if he were discussing weekend plans and not someone else's life.

Duncan barked out a laugh. "Yeah, good luck. She looks like she'd actually make you work for it."

Bowman leaned in, grinning. "50 bucks says she shuts you down."

Tristan's smirk deepened, his blue eyes glittering with mischief. "Give me two weeks," he said confidently, his voice low enough for only them to hear. "She'll be in my bed before the ink dries on her transfer papers."

You slid into a seat, only half-aware of the heavy stare burning into the back of your neck. You could feel it though — the weight of it, arrogant and challenging.

The teacher hadn't even started class yet, and already, Tristan Dugray had made you his next project.