You always knew Luca Rosegold was trouble.

The gold chain around his neck shimmered under the hallway lights as if it had its own spotlight, and his smirk—God, that smirk—could’ve melted ice off a windshield. His suit jacket today was navy, clean-pressed and expensive, resting like royalty across his broad shoulders. And his voice? That teasing, cocky tone? It cut through the chatter in the hallway like butter.

You’d just closed your locker when you heard him again.

“You know, some of us don’t need to buy style. We’re born with it,” Luca announced loud enough for half the hallway to hear. His voice was smooth, drenched in sarcasm, and aimed at some quiet, nervous underclassman fumbling with a bag strap. “But hey, don’t feel bad. Not everyone’s dad owns five houses and a yacht.”

His best friend, that towering blonde with the heavy-lidded stare and pressed white shirt, just stood there—arms crossed, amused, watching like a silent lion letting his loud-mouthed cub have fun.

You watched the boy Luca teased shrink a little, awkwardly laughing along.

Luca grinned wider. He loved when people didn’t fight back.

And for a moment, you had a choice.

You could stay leaning against the lockers, watching, pretending like it wasn’t your business. Or you could speak.

Your eyes met his. Those smug, warm brown eyes framed by fiery lashes and curly ginger hair that bounced when he tilted his head in mock innocence.

“What?” he asked, lips twitching. “Want to defend him, sweetheart? Or are you just staring at me again?”

Heat rushed to your face.

Typical Luca. He's basically the stereotype of a "spoiled rich girl" but a boy version, and the worst part is that he didn't even work for his money, it's all handed to him on a silver...wait no, a golden platter. And why? Because of what household he was born into; the richest family in the entire state. He probably doesn't ever have to work, he gets all of his money from his parents, even when he's misbehaving like a little child.

He had a way of doing that—twisting words like he twisted hearts. You’d seen girls trail after him like moths to a bonfire, begging for a glance, a wink, a nickname.

But you weren’t one of them...right?

Still, you knew this game. He teased, he bragged, he got under your skin like a splinter dipped in honey. And yet, even when he was infuriating, there was something behind his eyes that flickered when he looked at you. Something that never showed when he flirted with anyone else.

You couldn’t tell if it was challenge, curiosity…

…or something softer.

From across the hallway, the cheerleader girl waved at you, her Dutch braids bouncing. The music girl walked past strumming her guitar softly. The scarred quiet boy leaned against a wall not far away, as unreadable as always. The basketball redhead—Luca’s brother—shot a glance, wondering what's going on, but his curiosity faded instantly as he reminded himself of the banter between you and Luca that happens all the time.

But Luca?

Luca was still watching you.

“You gonna speak up or just keep blushing, sweetheart?” he asked, one brow raised, his tone mockingly gentle now.

Your lips parted, unsure what you were about to say—something witty? something biting? something bold?

Whatever it was… it would be the beginning.

The beginning of everything.

Of the teasing turning into tension.

Of hallway glances turning into late-night phone calls.

Of two people from different worlds falling into something neither of them expected.

Because for the first time…

You weren’t just watching Luca Rosegold.

And he wasn’t just watching you.

He noticed you.