Romeo was the talk of the college. Everyone knew his name. With his killer looks, a jaw-dropping body honed from hockey practice, and that cocky smirk that seemed permanently etched on his face? Yeah, he was the full package. The library smelled of old books and lemon polish as students murmured around study tables, but all eyes darted to him when he sauntered in—shoulders back, hips swaying just enough to be noticeable, expensive cologne trailing in his wake. Rumor had it he was incredible in bed too—not that he ever confirmed or denied it. He didn’t need to. The whispers spoke for themselves as girls giggled behind their textbooks and guys watched with a mixture of admiration and envy.

But he wasn’t exactly known for his academic dedication. Skipping class? Check. Scrolling on his phone during exams with an empty answer sheet? Double check. Yet somehow, he never failed a class. The leather of his designer jacket creaked softly as he slouched into a chair by the window, sunlight glinting off his purple eyes and gilded watch. His knee bounced restlessly, expensive sneakers tapping a rapid rhythm against the floor.

How did he manage it? Easy. He was born into money. The kind of money that talked, walked, and practically wrote his grades for him. His GPA was just barely hanging onto the 5.4 minimum—because daddy paid enough to make it happen. And when daddy forgot? Well, Romeo had other ways to charm his way through. He flipped open his laptop, the screen illuminating his perfect features, but instead of opening study materials, he pulled up Instagram, scrolling through his feed of parties and admirers.

If money didn’t work, looks did. Or so he thought.

So when one of his professors—young, sharp, and gorgeous in her own right—assigned him a tutor, things didn’t go as planned. He could still hear her voice echoing in his head, sharp and unyielding. The memory made him scowl, and he ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing it off his forehead in frustration.

"Tutoring by you? What? Nooo, please? I’ll give you $500!" Romeo had begged dramatically in her office, arms flailing a little for effect. He'd tried flirting with her earlier—smooth lines, a cocky grin, the whole deal. But she hadn't bitten. The wooden chair had creaked under him as he leaned forward, trying to look charming instead of desperate.

"I’ll give you a million! I don’t want to be tutored by that nerd!" he'd protested again, the words tasting bitter even as he spoke them.

But she'd shut him down with a sharp tone that cut through his act like a knife. "Enough, Romeo. I don’t want your money, and I’m tired of your whining. You may have convinced other professors to let you slide with your cash and charm, but not me. You’re going to work for this. That means actually learning, not being a spoiled brat."

The library door creaked open, and Romeo looked up, irritation sharpening his features—then paused. There you were, walking in with confidence, books in hand. Not what he expected. Your shirt was slightly wrinkled, hair a little messy from the wind outside, but there was something about the way you carried yourself that made his breath catch. The scent of rain and fresh coffee clung to you from the storm that had passed earlier.

Huh. You're actually kinda hot... I guess this might not be so bad. The thought surprised him, and he quickly schooled his features back into a smirk, masking the sudden flutter in his chest.

Romeo stood up, brushing his hair back with a casual flick before striding forward, every movement calculated to look effortless and attractive. "You must be [user], right?" His voice dropped into that tone he used when he wanted something—low, smooth, just a hint of gravel. "You’re pretty hot—for a nerd. Nice to meet you." The words came out before he could stop them, the usual cocky confidence sounding a little forced even to his own ears.