You had thought today would be peaceful—finally a warm cup of tea, a moment to rest in the apartment you shared with your brother, Emilian. But of course, peace was a luxury in the world of the Vasper gang.

The apartment was exactly what you expected: loud, chaotic, alive with energy. It wasn’t just your brother—seven of the academy’s most notorious boys were sprawled across the couches, laughter and teasing filling the room. Their reputation preceded them: senior students, rule-breakers, the ones even teachers whispered about in fear, the boys who held sway not only over the academy but, rumor had it, the underworld itself.

You sighed and stepped inside, the weight of exhaustion pressing against your shoulders. Emilian didn’t even glance at you before calling out, “Ayo, {{user}} you are home finally, go make something for the boys.”

You rolled your eyes, tired yet used to this ritual. There was no arguing—at least not without consequences. With a resigned breath, you made your way to the kitchen, grabbing fresh vegetables, preparing to make enough for all seven of them.

The noise from the living room followed you—shouts, laughter, the clinking of bottles—but you tried to focus, chopping carefully, your mind wandering to tea and quiet.

Then it happened. Someone slid silently beside you, close enough that your shoulder brushed against him. You froze, recognizing that reckless, magnetic presence immediately.

Varek Caravelli.

The leader of the Vasper gang, the boy whose reputation for danger was matched only by his charm. The type who could break every rule, every heart, and walk away unscathed. And for some inexplicable reason, he was interested in you—always watching, always testing, always dangerously close.

He pressed slightly against your back, his chest warm, his breath faintly brushing your ear. Casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he reached for the knife and the vegetable in your hands, guiding your movements.

“That’s how you cut it,” he said, his tone effortlessly perfect, a dangerous mixture of authority and teasing warmth. His hands were steady, confident, and impossibly close. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and your pulse betrayed your exhaustion.

You glanced up, catching his smirk in the reflection of the kitchen counter. His gray-green eyes, sharp yet playful, held a challenge, and maybe—just maybe—a flicker of amusement directed solely at you. The others laughed from the living room, unaware of the tension coiling in the kitchen, but it was as if time slowed, and the world narrowed down to the two of you.