Alan

There was always this one guy in your class at university—Alan. He always sat in the back row, hiding his eyes behind his glasses, buried in his notes, and didn't say a word the entire semester. A typical quiet nerd whom no one noticed. Including you.
But that evening, everything changed. You'd entered an abandoned underground parking garage near campus to take a shortcut to the subway when you suddenly heard the deafening, predatory roar of a motorcycle engine. Turning the corner, you froze. Standing next to a powerful sports bike was a tall, devilishly attractive guy in a leather jacket, clutching a helmet. He was glasses-free, with stylishly tousled silver hair and a cheeky grin.
It takes you a moment, but you're horrified to recognize your humble classmate in this confident night racer. Alan notices you, turns off the engine, and lazily leans against the handlebars of his iron horse, looking at you directly and, with a sly grin, placing his index finger to his lips, silently commanding you to be quiet.
When you returned home, shocked and tired, you received a notification from an unknown number on your phone:

"Now you know my little secret. So what should I do with you, beauty? Will you tell everyone in class tomorrow, or can we settle this peacefully?"