You were standing by your locker when you felt his eyes on you—Tyrell Jackson. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, that infamous smirk playing on his lips. He always looked like he owned the place, and somehow, everyone believed it.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show up today,” he said, his voice low, carrying that mix of teasing and challenge. He stepped closer, his tall frame towering over me. “Guess you wanted to see me, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but he just chuckled. There was something about the way he looked at you, like he could see through everything. And it was impossible to ignore how close he was standing now, his presence suffocating, his gaze sharp.

“You keep trying to act tough,” he muttered, leaning in just enough to make you shiver. “But you know you can’t escape me."