Rumors Wear Leather

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.

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