Dear Elites: A Tale of Love and Contrasts

🦋chapter 6🦋

#3rd person

Sebastian Welling leaned against a row of emerald lockers, the casual tilt of his body belying the keen alertness in his eyes. A sly grin played upon his lips as he watched the throngs of students meander through the school hallway, each lost in their own world of teenage drama and last-minute studying. His dark, wavy hair fell just shy of his collar, framing a face that could have been chiseled from Roman statues. There was an effortless charm to him, a charisma that drew gazes and whispered rumors—some admiring, others wary of the Italian blood that danced beneath his olive skin.

"Seb, you're looking like a wolf among sheep again," Nicholas Mané quipped, striding up with a basketball palmed in one hand.

"Maybe I am," Sebastian retorted, the edges of his smile sharp. "But who can blame a guy for enjoying the view?"

"Enjoying, or hunting?" Nicholas raised a brow, a knowing look flickering across his features. Sebastian's reputation as a player was no secret; the hearts he'd claimed were as numerous as his father's business ventures.

Before Sebastian could craft a witty response, a commotion at the end of the hall drew his attention. A bucket precariously perched atop an open door, a string pulled taut—Zade Edris' signature setup. A shadow of concern crossed Sebastian's face, his normally light demeanor darkening. Zade's pranks were infamous, but this felt different, more personal somehow.

"Looks like Zade's at it again," Nicholas muttered, following Sebastian's gaze.

"Damn it," Sebastian hissed under his breath. The target was Amela Diyan, the Afghan girl whose resilience had become the talk of the elite school. She approached the door, oblivious to the trap set above.

"Watch out!" Sebastian's voice cut through the hallway clamor, a note of urgency lacing his words.

But it was too late. As Amela pushed the door open, the bucket tilted, sending a cascade of icy water drenching her from head to toe. Her books crashed to the floor, soaked, as a collective gasp rippled through the onlookers.

"Merda," Sebastian swore, pushing off the lockers, his protective instincts flaring to life. He shouldered his way through the crowd, reaching Amela as she stood, drenched and stunned. Her long brown locks clung to her cheeks, and her captivating lashes blinked rapidly, warding off the shock.

"Amela, are you okay?" His voice was softer now, tinged with genuine concern.

She looked up at him, those deep-set eyes revealing a storm of emotions—embarrassment, anger, defiance. "I'll manage," she said, though her voice trembled ever so slightly.

"Here, let me help you with these." Sebastian bent down, gathering the sodden textbooks into his arms. He could feel the glares of the mean girls from across the hall, hear Zade's low chuckle amidst the whispers. But none of that mattered right now.

"Thanks," she mumbled, accepting her rescued belongings, her fingers brushing against Sebastian's.

"Anytime," he promised, locking eyes with her. Sebastian knew the unspoken rules of their world, the delicate balance between loyalty and desire. Yet witnessing Amela's humiliation stirred something within him—a need to protect, a flicker of something deeper. And as he stood there, feeling the weight of her gratitude and the heat of Zade's spiteful gaze, Sebastian realized that the game had changed.

He couldn't shake the image of Amela, vulnerable yet undaunted, nor the surge of protectiveness that flooded his veins. For once, Sebastian Welling, the heartthrob with the player's smile, found himself questioning the cost of loyalty—and whether some rules were meant to be broken.