Leo's POV
I usually observed. It was my nature. I saw the dynamics, the subtle shifts, the unsaid things. I'd seen Felix's annoyance building over Jake Evans, a slow burn that was rare for him. And I'd seen Elisa's discomfort, her polite attempts to deflect the guy who seemed to materialize wherever she was. She was too kind to be blunt, too considerate to make a scene, and Jake Evans, with his practiced charm, was taking advantage of it. Felix had drawn a line at the festival, a public one, but I knew Jake. He wasn't one to give up easily, especially if he thought there was still an angle.
It needed to be handled. Not with Felix's direct, almost aggressive possessiveness, nor with Elisa's polite evasion. It needed a different kind of message. A quiet, undeniable one.
I found Jake alone in the basketball gym, late that evening. He was shooting free throws, the rhythmic thump of the ball against the polished wood echoing in the empty space. He was good, precise. Predictable.
I walked onto the court, my footsteps silent on my athletic shoes. I didn't announce my presence. I simply stopped a few yards behind him, letting my shadow fall across the half-court line.
Jake finished his shot, turned to retrieve the ball, and saw me. His eyes, usually so confident, widened slightly in surprise. He hadn't heard me approach. He paused, the basketball held loosely in his hands. "Uh, hey, man," he said, a forced casualness in his voice. "Just finishing up."
I didn't reply immediately. I simply looked at him, my gaze steady. I wasn't angry. Anger was a waste of energy. This was about clarity.
"Jake Evans," I said, my voice low, without inflection. It was the first time I'd ever addressed him directly.
He seemed to brace himself, sensing the shift in the air. "Yeah? Can I help you?"
"You need to stay away from Elisa Reyes," I stated, each word delivered with precision, like stones dropping into still water. No preamble, no explanation, just the directive.
His brow furrowed. He seemed about to laugh it off, a flicker of his usual bravado returning. "What? Who are you? What's it to you, man?"
"She's not interested," I continued, ignoring his questions. "You're making her uncomfortable. She's too polite to tell you off directly, but that doesn't mean she wants your attention." My eyes didn't leave his. I didn't raise my voice. The calm, unwavering delivery seemed to disarm him more than any shout could have.
He swallowed, his gaze darting around the empty gym, as if looking for an audience, or an escape. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about. Elisa and I are just friends. Our families know each other." He tried to sound indignant, but his voice lacked conviction.
"You're being a nuisance," I cut in, my voice remaining level. "And you need to stop." My height, my quiet intensity, the fact that I rarely spoke or got involved in social drama – I knew it lent my words a weight they might not otherwise have. This wasn't a warning from a competitor. It was a statement from someone who simply wouldn't tolerate continued disrespect.
He stared at me for another long moment, his bluster completely gone. He might not have known who I was in the campus hierarchy, or why I cared, but he understood the quiet, unyielding finality in my tone. My presence alone was the threat.
"Got it," he muttered finally, looking away, breaking eye contact. He spun the basketball in his hands, then let it drop, rolling harmlessly away.
I nodded, satisfied that the message had been received. I didn't need to say anything else. I simply turned and walked out of the gym, leaving Jake Evans alone in the echoing silence, the quiet warning hanging in the air. This wasn't about drama; it was about protecting a friend. And sometimes, the most effective words were the fewest.