Bad boy's obsession

Belle had mastered the art of being invisible.

Not the kind where people couldn’t see her—no, they saw her just fine. They just never looked twice. And honestly, she preferred it that way.

At Princeton College, attention was currency. The louder you were, the richer you seemed. The more reckless, the more admired. It was a world built on noise, chaos, and reputation.

Belle didn’t belong to any of that.

She walked through the campus gates with her usual quiet steps, her bag slung over one shoulder, fingers loosely gripping the strap like it anchored her to something steady. Her outfit was simple—a soft, fitted top tucked into a short skirt that brushed mid-thigh, paired with sneakers that made barely a sound against the pavement. Her glasses sat neatly on her nose, framing eyes that noticed everything… even if no one noticed her.

Groups of students filled the courtyard, laughter echoing in bursts. Conversations overlapped—weekend parties, hookups, gossip.

Especially gossip.

“Did you hear what Ethan did last night?”

Belle didn’t mean to listen. It just… happened.

“He got into a fight again. Like, a real one. Guy ended up in the hospital.”

“Of course he did. It’s Ethan.”

A small pause.

“I swear, there’s something wrong with him.”

Belle kept walking.

She had heard the name before. Everyone had. It was impossible not to. Ethan wasn’t just another student—he was a presence. The kind that lingered in whispers and warnings, in curious glances and careful distance.

But Belle had never seen him.

And she wasn’t interested in changing that.

By the time she slipped into her classroom, the familiar calm wrapped around her like a shield. She took her usual seat by the window, setting her bag down and pulling out her notebook. The soft scratch of her pen against paper was comforting, predictable.

Safe.

Students trickled in, filling seats, their voices gradually rising into a low hum.

Then—

“Hey, that’s his seat.”

Belle blinked, looking up slightly.

The girl beside her leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You should move.”

Belle glanced at the empty chair she had taken without thinking. It looked like every other chair in the room.

“Why?” she asked quietly.

The girl stared at her like she had just asked something ridiculous. “Because it’s his.”

Belle followed her gaze briefly, then looked back at her notebook.

“He’s not here,” she said simply.

A few nearby students exchanged looks. Someone behind her muttered, “She’s new, right?”

Belle ignored them.

The seat was empty. Class hadn’t started. There was no rule written anywhere saying she couldn’t sit there.

So she stayed.

Minutes passed.

The professor hadn’t arrived yet. The noise in the room dipped and rose again, but there was a subtle shift now—a tension Belle didn’t quite understand.

Until the door opened.

Silence.

It didn’t happen all at once. It spread, like a ripple, until conversations died mid-sentence and heads turned toward the entrance.

Belle didn’t.

She was finishing a sentence in her notes, her handwriting neat and careful, when she felt it—that strange, heavy awareness, like the air itself had changed.

Footsteps.

Slow. Unhurried. Confident.

They echoed just enough to be noticed.

Still, Belle didn’t look up.

She didn’t need to.

She could feel the way everyone else reacted—the stiffness, the attention, the way the entire room seemed to revolve around whoever had just walked in.

A chair scraped.

Right beside her.

Only then did Belle pause.

Her pen hovered slightly above the page before she lifted her gaze—just briefly.

Dark.

That was the first thing she noticed.

Not just his clothes—though they were black, effortlessly so—but something about him. A presence. Sharp, controlled, dangerous in a way that didn’t need to prove itself.

Ethan.

She didn’t need anyone to say it.

Their eyes didn’t meet. Not really.

Because Belle only looked for a second.

Then she went back to her notes.

Like it didn’t matter.

Like he didn’t matter.

A quiet breath left her lips as she continued writing, unaffected, unbothered.

Around her, the tension didn’t ease.

If anything, it grew.

Because everyone else had seen it.

The way he stopped.

The way his gaze shifted.

The way, for the first time since walking in—

Ethan didn’t look at the room.

He looked at her.

His expression didn’t change. Not noticeably. Still calm. Still unreadable.

But something flickered beneath it.

Something unfamiliar.

Curiosity.

Because every single person in that room had reacted to him.

Except her.

And as Belle sat there, completely unaware of the storm she had just stirred, Ethan leaned back slightly in his seat, his eyes never leaving her.

A slow, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.