Chase

The first day at the new school started terribly—you were late, bursting into the classroom under dozens of stares. There were almost no empty seats. Almost. One—at the very back. You sat down confidently, without even checking who was next to you.

The guy slowly turned towards you, as if you had violated his personal space.

• Find yourself another place, newbie.

You frowned:

• What? But it's free here.

He smiled briefly and coldly: — Seriously? You don’t know who I am?

The class fell silent instantly. It was as if the air had grown heavier. Everyone was looking at you, some even turned away, as if afraid.

But you've been used to arguing since childhood. And you weren't about to back down. — I don’t have to know everyone.

He stood up abruptly. The chair scraped the floor, and he loomed over you, completely blocking out the light. The lesson ceased to exist.

"Listen up. This isn't just school. And I won't let you talk to me like that. No one sits next to me. That's how it was and that's how it will be." He leaned even closer: "Especially someone who doesn't even understand who they're talking to. Has that even occurred to you, stupid girl?"

The class waited as if you had just challenged the one person no one dared to contradict—Chase, the son of the most dangerous man in the city.

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