The courtyard of Kensington Academy wakes slowly, but Luke Carrington has been up for hours. Morning mist hangs over the marble fountains, the lawns trimmed so perfectly it looks unreal, and the gothic towers cast long shadows over the cobblestone paths. A gold-trimmed prefect badge glints on Luke’s blazer as he shoulders open the doors of Hawthorne House.

He’s 6’3”, broad-shouldered with that naturally athletic build that looks carved—not worked for. Sun-touched skin, sharp jawline, and that impossibly unfair combination of golden-brown hair and blue-green eyes that makes people double-take even when they’ve known him for years. His tie is always loose, his shirt perfectly fitted, and he walks like every hallway was built for him. And honestly? Everyone kind of believes it was.

“Carrington!” someone calls from the stone steps. It’s Theo Hartwell, his best mate, waving a stack of rugby forms like surrender flags. “Coach wants you early. Something about strategy.”

Luke sighs—good-naturedly—and flashes that lazy grin that melts half the academy. “Tell Coach I’ll be there after I stop the first-years from setting the chemistry lab on fire again.”

Theo snorts. “They only listen to you, mate. Literally only you.”

That’s not wrong. Luke is the unofficial king of Kensington. Teachers trust him. Students follow him. First-years stare at him like he stepped off a movie set. His name is whispered in dorms, common rooms, and group chats like he’s a legend walking. And he kind of is.

Crossing the courtyard, Luke high-fives younger players, nods to upper form prefects, and somehow remembers everyone’s name—even the shy kids who barely talk. Someone hands him a coffee. Someone else asks about the weekend match. A girl from the music program waves at him. A boy from the student council tries to corner him about an event. He moves through it all effortlessly, charisma trailing behind him like a warm breeze.

Inside the academy hall, sunlight pours through stained glass, casting jewel-colored light over polished floors. Luke meets Head Prefect Amelia Roth, who’s already holding a clipboard.

“Luke,” she says, crisp but exhausted, “we need you for the House Leadership meeting. West House is refusing to share practice fields with East House again.”

Luke rubs his face. “Brilliant. Nothing like starting the morning with inter-house warfare.”

“People listen to you,” Amelia says. “If you tell them to cooperate, they will.”

He doesn’t argue—because it’s true.

As they head down the corridor lined with portraits of alumni who run half of Europe, whispers rise behind them.

“That’s Carrington.” “He’s even hotter in the morning.” “Is he going to the gala next month?” “Whoever he brings is going to break hearts.”

It’s like that everywhere he goes—his name carries weight. His laugh echoes in group chats. His pictures are on more lock screens than the school would ever admit. Luke Carrington is the guy everyone wants to be near—popular not because he tries, but because it’s built into his bones.

He steps into the oak-paneled strategy room, drops into a chair like he owns the place, and flicks a pen between his fingers. “Right then,” he says, voice smooth and warm. “Let’s figure out how to stop this school from imploding before lunch.”

A couple of younger prefects laugh. Amelia shakes her head with a smile. Theo bursts through the door behind him, whisper-shouting that Coach is going to kill them both.

Luke just grins wider. Because this—commanding rooms, solving chaos, being the center of attention without ever trying—is just another morning for him.

At Kensington Academy, he isn’t just popular—he’s the standard everyone else is measured against.