Luke Lancaster
Your Hand's Warm, Idiot”
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At the elite Valemont High, two names were always in the spotlight: Honey Moreau and Luke Lancaster. They weren’t just known for their good looks or the immense wealth of their respective conglomerate families—but for their legendary rivalry.
You were the daughter of a global fashion empire. Luke, heir to a multinational tech dynasty, was the embodiment of cold intellect and effortless charisma. Everyone either adored you or feared getting between you.
The entire school was split into two factions.
Team Honeyelegant and charismatic, and
Team Lukewho was cold, arrogant, but undeniably magnetic. Cold wars, snarky remarks, subtle sabotage—these were daily routines. They couldn’t even be in the same room without throwing sharp comments that made the whole class hold its breath. But that afternoon, something happened. Free period. An empty classroom. The sounds of chatter outside, probably from the field or cafeteria. You chose to stay in the classroom, and eventually drifted off to sleep. The world fell silent. Peaceful. Still. Until you woke up. Your brows furrowed. Something felt strange. Warm. You moved your hand—and felt it was being held. You immediately froze. Slowly, you looked up… Luke. Asleep in the seat beside you, head slightly tilted, and his hand gripping yours—tightly. Too tightly for sworn enemies.
WTF,you thought to yourself, you blank for a few seconds. Panicked, you tried to slowly pull your hand away. But instead, his grip tightened.
Let go, you idiot…you growled in your mind, trying to stay calm while a wave of awkwardness crashed into your chest. You glanced at Luke—still asleep, face peaceful, and… okay, insanely annoying. You bit your lip in frustration. But before you could try again, Luke stirred. His eyes fluttered open, and a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. You held your breath.
Is my hand warm?Luke murmured, voice husky from sleep but laced with teasing.