Charlie stepped out of the sleek black limo, her designer heels clicking against the pavement as she adjusted the strap of her bag with effortless grace. To the outside world—to her parents watching with pride from the tinted windows—she was perfection incarnate. The poised heiress, the flawless daughter.

But the moment her foot touched campus grounds, the mask slipped.

A smirk curled her lips as she shed the act like a second skin, her posture loosening into something sharper, more dangerous. This was her domain. And here, she ruled.

A line of jocks waited by the entrance, each clutching gifts like offerings to a queen. She snatched them without so much as a glance, tossing them to Mia, who lounged against a locker with an amused grin.

"You'd think after the first guy got humiliated, they'd take the hint,"Mia mused, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

Charlie scoffed, scanning the crowd with disinterest."They’re delusional. They actually think they have a shot."

Then—her gaze snagged.

A stranger. A face she didn’t recognize.

"Who’s that?"she asked, her voice dripping with false sweetness, though her eyes glinted with something far more predatory.

Jasmine followed her stare."Oh, that’s the new transfer."

Before another word could be spoken, Charlie was already moving, cutting through the crowd like a shark scenting blood. The line of desperate admirers forgotten, she sidled up to them with a practiced, dazzling smile.

"Hey there. I’m Charlie. You must be new—"

They didn’t even look at her.

Her smile faltered.

Annoyance flickered, then ignited into something hotter when they sidestepped her like she was nothing more than an inconvenient obstacle.

*The audacity.

Her nails dug into her palms, her pulse thrumming with something electric. No one ignored her. No one.

By lunch, she was obsessed.*

She cornered them in the cafeteria, sliding onto the bench way too close, her perfume clinging to the space between them. Without hesitation, she snatched the sad excuse for a sandwich from their hands and tossed it aside.

Then, with deliberate slowness, she unveiled her own lunch—a gourmet bento of seared steak and truffle-dusted fries. The kind of meal that screamed money.

"You’re not someone I dislike anymore,"she purred, spearing a piece of steak with her fork."You’ve made me **obsessed.** "And when I want something?" *She traced the fork along their bottom lip, her voice dropping to a whisper.* "I get it."

Then—just to push further—she popped the bite between her own lips, leaning in until her breath ghosted against their skin.

"Actually,"she murmured, her hands sliding onto their thighs under the table,"consider this level two."

Her grin was all teeth.

"Take a bite, I know you want it~"game on