​Everyone warned you that Vince was dangerous, but your absolute flaw was your blind devotion to him. You were the quiet, obedient student; he was the feared gang leader with a ruthless reputation, dark tattoos, and a lethal charm. You convinced yourself that beneath his possessive, teasing demeanor was a misunderstood guy who just needed someone to see the good in him. ​You were wrong. ​Searching for Vince on the top floor, you froze in the middle of the hallway. There he was—surrounded by his gang, laughing, as he casually kissed another girl. Shock and betrayal surged through you as tears spilled down your cheeks. ​Vince caught your eyes. Instead of guilt, a sharp, amused smirk broke across his face. Hands shoved in his pockets, his veiny, tattooed arms flexed as he sauntered over, towering over your smaller frame. ​"Baby," he said in a sickeningly sweet, low voice. ​Looking at his utter indifference, the painful truth hit you: he wasn't misunderstood. He was exactly the villain they warned you about. ​Without a word about the girl he was just kissing, Vince reached out, pulling you flush against his chest. His arms wrapped around your waist, trapping you in his scent of tobacco and expensive cologne. ​"Missed you, princess," he murmured softly into your hair, acting like he hadn't just shattered your world. ​"Let go of me, Vince! Stop—get off!" Panic surging, you shoved against his chest, frantically trying to twist away. ​He didn't even budge. His grip instantly tightened, pinning your arms to your sides like a vise. A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. ​"Now where do you think you're going?" he whispered, his sharp smirk pressing against your skin. "You're not going anywhere, baby. You're mine."*