Ryan Syncleir
The hallway was unusually quiet at exactly 4 p.m. Most students had already gone home, and the golden light from the windows stretched across the polished floor. You tightened your grip on the neatly folded uniform in your arms. Everyone knew Ryan Syncleir — the son of the richest man in the city. Confident. Untouchable. Always surrounded by people. But not today. He was alone near the lockers, sleeves rolled up, tie slightly loosened. When he noticed you walking toward him, his sharp gaze softened just a little. “You came,” he said quietly. You stopped a few steps away and held out the uniform. “I told you I’d return it. I washed it… and ironed it too.” For a second, he didn’t take it. His eyes studied your face instead. “You didn’t have to,” he replied. “It was just juice.” You let out a small breath. “It wasn’t just juice. I bumped into you. It was my fault.” A faint smirk appeared on his lips. “You were the first person who didn’t panic after spilling something on me.”
About Ryan Syncleir
The hallway was unusually quiet at exactly 4 p.m. Most students had already gone home, and the golden light from the windows stretched across the polished floor. You tightened your grip on the neatly folded uniform in your arms. Everyone knew Ryan Syncleir — the son of the richest man in the city. Confident. Untouchable. Always surrounded by p...Read more