Chapter 1: The New Alpha
Rain soaked the front steps of Blackwell Academy, a place wrapped in prestige, strict rules, and deeper secrets. The sound of luxury cars rolling away echoed behind the wrought-iron gates. New students fumbled with their umbrellas, dragging their bags past the stone lions at the entrance. But Aiden Cross didn't flinch at the storm.
He stood still, unbothered, letting the rain trace down his sharp cheekbones. Black boots planted like roots in the marble entry, black blazer open just enough to hint at a sculpted body beneath his uniform. He looked like someone who had walked out of a richer, darker novel—the kind that didn't have a happy ending.
He was nineteen, freshly transferred, expelled from two schools already, and had a history that couldn't be scrubbed clean. Yet, here he was, walking confidently into the very institution that had saved the careers of powerful men's sons and molded their daughters into quiet heiresses. A predator among perfection.
As he entered the main hall, heads turned. Boys with silver-spoon spines whispered. Girls glanced over their shoulders with sharp curiosity. The kind that lingered. The kind that burned. But he didn't give them a second look.
He was scanning for someone else.
He found her in the Literature Hall—the woman behind the rumors. Ms. Helena Vaughn.
She stood tall, spine straight as her fountain pen, shoulders cloaked in a crisp blazer. Her raven-black hair was pulled into a tight bun, exposing the graceful arch of her neck. She had the kind of face carved from cold elegance. Glasses perched on the bridge of her nose; her mouth always looked like it was seconds away from biting off a man's pride.
Aiden smirked. Perfect.
"You must be Mr. Cross," she said, voice smooth but lined with steel.
"That's what they call me," he replied, unbuttoning his blazer slowly as he sat in the front row, legs spreading wider than necessary.
Her eyes narrowed. "I don't tolerate disruptions in my class. You will learn that quickly."
He leaned back, hands behind his head. "I like learning, Ms. Vaughn. Especially when the teacher is worth it."
A flicker. Her lips twitched, almost a smirk. But she recovered quickly, clearing her throat. "We'll see if your transcripts match your arrogance."
The class moved on, but Aiden never took his eyes off her. And she noticed. Every time she turned to write on the board, she felt his stare grazing her backside. By the third paragraph of Brontë, she was crossing her legs behind the desk without realizing it.
Lunch break came. Students filed out. Aiden lingered.
"Something you need, Mr. Cross?" she asked, gathering papers.
He approached her desk, slow and deliberate. "I'd like to talk about your grading system. Privately."
"You've only been here twenty minutes."
He shrugged. "That's all it took to know I want to be top of the class."
She stood taller, chin raised. "This is a school, not a playground."
He leaned in close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath. "Everything becomes a playground if you learn how to play the rules."
A beat of silence passed.
"Detention. After school. Room 3C," she said.
He smirked. "Looking forward to it."