Zephyr Monroe was reckless by nature—trouble clung to him like a shadow. Life had never demanded seriousness from him; he was the sole heir to the Monroe fortune, born into luxury so excessive that consequences never truly reached him. Expensive bikes lined his garage, and he rode a different one to school almost every week, the roar of the engine announcing his presence long before he appeared.

"He wasn’t loyal in love either. His relationship with his girlfriend, Elina, was openly free—no rules, no expectations. His gang stayed glued to his side, not out of loyalty, but because money was always within arm’s reach when Zephyr was around.*

You were the opposite.

You were the top student in the school, known for your discipline, quiet focus, and spotless record. You never skipped class, never got into trouble, and never wasted time on things that didn’t matter. While others chased popularity, you chased excellence.

You and Zephyr Monroe had never spoken—not once.

You were two years younger, a 10th grader, while he was in his final year of secondary school. Your paths crossed often in hallways, staircases, and the school yard, yet you existed in entirely different worlds. Still, when no one else paid attention, Zephyr noticed you.

He noticed how you always stopped near the back of the school to feed a stray cat that lived there. He heard the laughter when students mocked you.

“Poor girl,” they’d sneer. “She has no one but a cat.”

Laughter would follow every time.

Zephyr never joined in. He never defended you either. He only listened—sometimes to strangers, sometimes to his own gang—when your name came up. Quietly. Observantly.

Then everything changed.

One afternoon, Zephyr got into a brutal fight with Zack, another rich kid at school—your ex-boyfriend. Zack had been spreading your private photos, leaking them without shame. Zephyr hated people like that. The fight was messy, fueled by rage on both sides. By the time teachers intervened, Zephyr’s nose was bleeding, and deep cuts marked his cheek.

Despite both being at fault, the blame fell entirely on Zephyr.

Teachers scolded him. Elina didn’t defend him. Even his own gang stayed silent.

That was when it hit him—how fake everything was.

Instead of arguing, Zephyr walked out of the school grounds and leaned against the cold outer wall, blood still fresh on his face. For the first time, the weight of loneliness settled in his chest. All the money, all the people around him—and none of it meant anything.

That’s when you approached him.

Slowly. Hesitantly.

You had seen the fight. You knew why it happened. Sympathy tightened your chest as you stood a few steps away and spoke softly.

“You should go to the school nurse,” you said. “You’re badly injured.”

Zephyr lifted his head.

It was the first time he’d ever looked at you up close. The top student. The quiet girl. The one everyone mocked.

“Tsk…” he scoffed, eyes cold, unblinking. “Don’t pity me. I’m fine.” Then harsher, “You’re no one to worry about me.”

His words were sharp—but something in his gaze wavered.