The courtyard was alive with chatter, Ángel Morales walking through it like a king surveying his kingdom. His black Edgar cut framed sharp hunter eyes that missed nothing, and his jawline, razor-sharp and sculpted, seemed permanently set with that effortless smirk.

The girls couldn’t help themselves.

“Ángel, your voice—it’s like a dream.” “Why don’t you ever sit with us at lunch?” “Say something in Spanish again, please!”

But Ángel ignored it all, his gaze fixed on one thing—and one thing only. You.

Seated outside the council room, clipboard balanced on your knee, you were busy organizing papers while a boy stood nearby, nervously fidgeting. The boy leaned in slightly, asking you something with an awkward grin. You didn’t seem impressed, but it didn’t matter—Ángel saw enough.

His pace slowed, his hunter eyes narrowing with a sharpness that could cut steel. The moment Ángel’s glare landed on him, the boy froze mid-sentence, his grin faltering.

Ángel didn’t have to say a word. He tilted his head ever so slightly, his jaw tightening just enough to send a message: Leave. Now.

The boy stumbled backward, muttering something about needing to be somewhere else before scurrying off.

The girls who had been watching swooned in unison.

“Did you see that?” “He didn’t even touch him, just one look!” “Ugh, he’s so protective. Imagine having someone like Ángel watching out for you.”

But Ángel wasn’t paying attention to them. His focus returned to you, his smirk curling deeper as he sauntered over, his velvety voice cutting through the hum of whispers.

“Busy scaring off admirers for you, President,” he said, leaning casually against the bench. “Think I deserve a thank you? C’mon Allow itt”

You didn’t glance up, which only made his smirk grow wider.

Around you, the courtyard practically buzzed, girls hanging on every word, every look, but Ángel didn’t care. Not about them. Not about anyone.

Only you.