The cigarette burned low between Leon Veyra’s fingers, smoke curling up into the sky like it was flipping off the world for him. He leaned back on the stone wall outside Blackthorn University’s gates, one boot up, leather jacket half-zipped over a shirt he hadn’t even bothered to button right.

“Another day, another reason to fail.” He muttered, flicking ash to the ground.

Students gave him space. They always did. Leon had that kind of look—the “fuck with me and I’ll make you bleed” look. Black hair tipped with dark blue framed his face, falling into his sharp eyes. He smirked at the whispers.

Bad boy.

Delinquent.

Alpha who can’t keep his grades up.

All bullshit. Well, half-bullshit. He was failing, sure—but that was on purpose. It was the one thing his father couldn’t stand: his son throwing away “potential.” The bastard remarried, shoved a picture-perfect stepfamily down his throat, and expected Leon to play along. Fuck that.

Across campus, another storm brewed.

Enzo D’Amato didn’t smoke. He didn’t need to. The way he stood—the white hair that caught sunlight like a blade, the sharp set of his jaw, the cold expression carved into his face—was enough. His reputation lit cigarettes for him.

Leader of the Velvet Circle.

Untouchable.

Mafia heir.

Students whispered just as loud when he walked by, but nobody dared meet his gaze. He wore ripped jeans and a dark hoodie, the picture of effortless menace, not some polished prince. At his side were Damian, Cassian, and Adrian—three shadows that together made the whole campus step aside.

Enzo tugged his hood lower, ignoring the chatter, but his ears picked up the name again.

“Leon Veyra… that dumbass skipped his finals again.”

“Why the hell does he even bother showing up?”

“He’s just a cheap rebel. He’d never last five seconds against the Velvet Circle.”

Enzo’s lips twitched—half sneer, half boredom. He’d heard the name before. Some punk who thought throwing fists and lighting cigarettes made him king of the gutters. Pathetic.

And yet… everywhere he turned, Leon’s name slithered into conversations. Students compared them like rivals, like Enzo should give a damn about some stray dog.

Cassian cracked his knuckles beside him. “Heard that Veyra kid smashed some rich prick’s car window last night.”

Adrian smirked, blond hair falling into his eyes. “Damn. He’s making a hobby out of pissing people off.”

Damian scoffed. “What a waste of oxygen. Bet he’s begging for attention.”

Enzo stayed quiet. But his mind lingered on the name.

Meanwhile, Leon had his own audience. Theo lounged on the bench next to him, big as a damn wall, soft brown hair falling into his eyes, munching on a bag of chips like nothing could ever stress him. Riku, neon-pink streaks in his messy blond hair, leaned against the wall on Leon’s other side, blowing bubblegum with the same attitude Leon smoked with.

“The Velvet Circle’s out again.” Riku tilted his chin at the group crossing the quad. “Rich assholes look like they own the place.”

Theo’s lips twitched. “They kinda do.”

“Shut up.” Leon’s voice was flat. “They’re nothing but mafia lapdogs. Daddy’s money, daddy’s blood. Pathetic.”

Riku grinned wickedly. “Pathetic, huh? Sounds like you’ve got opinions.”

Leon flicked his cigarette away. “Yeah. I hate guys like him. Acting like gods while the rest of us rot. If I ever cross paths with D’Amato, I’ll make sure he eats dirt.”

Students nearby went silent, pretending not to listen, but every word spread like wildfire.

Enzo D’Amato and Leon Veyra. Two names wrapped in smoke and blood. Two storms that hadn’t collided—yet.

And when they did, Blackthorn University would fucking burn.

Leon never planned on running into the Velvet Circle that afternoon. He was skipping his lit class again, leaning against the back wall of the gym with Riku and Theo, talking shit about professors and smoking where they weren’t supposed to.

“Bet you twenty bucks the Circle assholes walk through here.” Riku grinned, popping his gum loud enough to echo. His pink streaks glowed in the sun.

Theo sighed, crumpling his chip bag. “Don’t start shit, Riku. I’m not hauling you out of another fight.”

Leon smirked. “If they show up, it won’t be him throwing the first punch.” He tapped ash to the ground. “It’ll be me.”

And just like fate had a sick sense of humor, the gym doors slammed open.

Enzo D’Amato strode through first—white hair catching light like snow sharpened into a blade, hands in the pockets of his ripped jeans. Cassian followed, dark eyes scanning the space like he was casing it for a hit. Adrian trailed, smirking, while Damian flipped a book shut with a snap, his annoyance sharp enough to cut glass.

The whole court seemed to go quiet.

Leon’s smirk widened. “Well, speak of the devils.”

Riku whispered, “Don’t—” but it was too late.

Leon flicked his cigarette right onto the floor in front of Enzo’s boots. The sound of it sizzling on the concrete was louder than it should’ve been.

Enzo stopped walking. Lifted his gaze. Cold, silver eyes locked on Leon.

The air tightened like a fucking noose.

“You dropped something, D’Amato,” Leon said lazily, like his blood wasn’t already buzzing in his veins. “Pick it up.”

Theo groaned. Riku muttered, “You suicidal fuck.”

Enzo tilted his head, slow, assessing. His voice was low, velvet and steel. “You think you’re funny, Veyra?”

Leon shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning back like he didn’t care. “No. I think you’re pathetic. All that mafia money and you still look like a stray mutt.”

A ripple tore through the crowd that had formed.

Adrian’s smirk vanished. Cassian stepped forward, but Enzo held out a hand—calm, lethal, like he didn’t even need backup.

Then he moved.

Leon barely saw it before Enzo’s fist came at him, sharp and fast. He dodged just in time, swung back, and their knuckles cracked against each other like thunder.

The crowd roared. Students scrambled, phones out, whispering like wildfire: *Enzo vs Leon. Mafia prince vs campus rebel.*

Enzo’s fist caught Leon’s jaw; Leon spat blood and grinned. “That all you got, rich boy?”

Enzo’s lip curled. “You fight like trash.”

Leon lunged, grabbed Enzo by the hoodie, slammed him into the wall. Enzo’s breath was hot against his ear as he snarled back, “And you smell like one.”

For a split second, something flashed in those silver eyes—curiosity? suspicion?—but Leon didn’t notice.

Theo and Cassian dragged them apart before the professors could arrive, but the damage was done. Their names would be carved together from now on.

Enemies. Rivals. Two storms destined to clash again.

And neither of them had a fucking clue how close they’d get.

By the next morning, the fight was all anyone could talk about.

“Leon fucking Veyra went head-to-head with Enzo D’Amato—”

“And he didn’t back down.”

“Yeah, but Enzo landed more hits.”

“No, Veyra did! I saw him pin the bastard to the wall—”

The cafeteria was boiling over with it. Students whispered in corners, some bold enough to film and post clips online. Every angle showed the same thing: fists flying, eyes burning, two kings trying to crush each other.

Leon sat slouched at the back table with Theo and Riku, tray untouched. His lip was swollen, a bruise coloring his jaw purple-blue. He smirked anyway, blowing smoke toward the ceiling.

“Guess I’m campus famous now.” He tapped his lighter against the table. “Not that I wasn’t already.”

Riku grinned, neon hair falling in his eyes. “You’ve officially pissed off the wrong guy. You should feel honored.”

Theo shoved a bottle of water into Leon’s hand. “Drink. You’re dehydrated.”

Leon groaned. “You sound like my grandma.”

“Better than sounding like your dad.” Theo shot back.

That shut him up.

Across the hall, the Velvet Circle occupied their usual corner—untouchable, like a pack of wolves that didn’t have to snarl to be feared. Enzo sat at the head, white hair messy, hoodie collar hiding the bruise along his throat.

Adrian scrolled through his phone, lips twisting. “You’ve gone viral, Enz. Half the campus thinks Veyra’s a hero, the other half thinks he’s suicidal.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “He’s reckless, that’s all. He doesn’t know when to shut his mouth.”

Cassian leaned forward, voice low. “Still. Not many stand toe-to-toe with you.”

Enzo didn’t answer right away. He stared at his untouched coffee, fingers tapping the rim. The fight replayed in his head like static he couldn’t shake.

Veyra’s fists—fast, untrained but sharp.

Veyra’s eyes—dark, defiant, refusing to look away.

And—fuck—Veyra’s scent.

Enzo had caught it for half a second in the chaos. Not the musky arrogance of an alpha. Not the bland neutrality of a beta. Something else. Something rarer, sweeter, hidden beneath smoke and leather.

But that was impossible. Everyone knew Leon Veyra was an alpha.

“Enzo,” Damian’s voice cut in, sharp. “You’re not actually thinking about him, are you?”

Enzo leaned back, expression carved from stone. “I think he’s a waste of air.”

But the lie tasted bitter.

That afternoon, Leon lit up another cigarette behind the gym, Theo tossing a basketball lazily beside him, Riku sprawled on the steps humming some filthy song.

“You know he’s gonna come for you again,” Riku said. “Mafia boys don’t take humiliation lightly.”

Leon smirked. “Good. I’d hate for him to be boring.”

But when the smoke curled around his face, he wasn’t grinning anymore. He was thinking about those cold silver eyes, the bruising grip on his hoodie, the way Enzo had looked at him like he was a puzzle waiting to be solved.

And Leon hated puzzles.

Especially when he was the fucking answer.