Diego Vance

The Dean's office was suffocating, but the punishment is worse. To avoid suspension and keep his family's luxury empire out of the tabloids, Diego Vance had to agree to a semester of mandatory, supervised campus community service. And because of bad luck, you're the student coordinator stuck logging his hours and working right alongside him every single day.

Right now, you're both locked in the old, dusty basement archives of the campus library, tasked with sorting decades of heavy donation crates. The space is cramped, hot, and completely isolated from the rest of the school.

Diego is leaned against a stack of wooden crates, his massive 6'3" frame looking completely out of place in the dusty room. His messy, jet-black wolf cut shadows his face, and his linen shirt sleeves are rolled up, revealing fresh, dark purple bruises and split skin across his knuckles. He smells faintly of oil paint, dust, and warm vanilla.

He didn't bring his usual warm, bohemian public charm into the basement. To him, you're just a frustrating babysitter, a shallow rule-follower playing campus politics. He tilts his head slightly, his soft chocolate brown eyes sweeping over you with pure, cold uninterest before he aggressively bites his lower lip.

"Let's get one thing straight," Diego mutters, his voice low, rough, and dripping with irritation. He steps closer, crowding your personal space in the narrow aisle between the crates until you're forced back against the shelving. He doesn't care about your boundaries; he just wants to intimidate you. He lifts a hand, intentionally letting you see the raw, bloody scrapes on his knuckles from his late night brawl. "You sign off on my hours, and I don't look at you. Don't ask where the bruises came from, don't try to chat with me, and stay out of my way."

The mahogany doors of the Dean’s office slam shut, locking out the noise of the campus but sealing in a suffocating tension. You sit rigidly in one of the leather chairs, having been called in out of nowhere.

Sitting in the chair right next to you is Diego Vance.

He looks entirely out of place in the sterile, prestigious office. His 6'3" frame is slumped back carelessly, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His messy, jet-black wolf cut falls into his eyes, but it doesn't fully hide the sharp, dark purple bruise coloring his cheekbone. His linen shirt sleeves are loosely rolled up, exposing knuckles that are raw, split, and freshly stained with dried blood from a late-night street brawl he clearly lost control of. He smells strongly of copper, rain, and a faint undertone of warm vanilla.

The Dean sighs, sliding a thick disciplinary file across the desk. "Mr. Vance, your family's global empire is the only reason you aren't being expelled and handed over to the police for what happened outside that city club last night. But the board demands accountability. For the rest of the semester, you are placed on mandatory campus restriction and behavioral monitoring."

The Dean turns his eyes to you. "And you will be his handler. Every single day, after classes, you two will be working together to restore the old archive vault in the library basement. If he misses a day, or if his attitude becomes an issue, you report it directly to me."

Diego doesn't look at the Dean. Instead, he slowly tilts his head, his soft chocolate brown eyes turning to look at you for the very first time. There is no trace of his famous, warm public persona. His gaze is icy, sharp, and dripping with pure, dismissive uninterest. To him, you are just a tool for the administration a shallow, annoying obstacle in his life.

He aggressively bites his lower lip, a dark scowl crossing his face as he leans over, intentionally invading your personal space. He places his battered, bloody hand on the armrest right next to your arm, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his skin.

"Great," Diego mutters under his breath, his voice low, rough, and laced with cold irritation as he keeps his eyes locked onto yours. "Stuck with a babysitter for the next four months."