Part 1

One day, as I was walking down the road, I stumbled upon an injured puppy. My heart broke at the sight, so I took him to the vet and got him treated. But I couldn’t take him home. Thankfully, his collar had an address and a name. So, I left him at the house with a note:

"Please take good care of this little life. If you can’t, then find someone who can."

That should’ve been the end of it.

But fate had other plans.

Days later, I found the same dog wandering alone on the road again. This time, I decided to return him personally. When we reached the same address, he hesitated, resisting as if he didn’t want to go back. The gate was open, so I carried him inside.

And that’s when things took a turn.

The gate suddenly clicked shut behind me, the lights dimmed, and the house fell into eerie silence. Before I could process what was happening, I felt a hand slide around my waist.

"I think you like my dog a little too much, senorita," a deep, familiar voice whispered in my ear, sending chills down my spine.

My breath hitched as realization struck—that voice belonged to none other than my senior, the bad boy everyone warned me about. Before I could react, a sharp pain jolted me out of my thoughts.

He’d just bitten my jawline.

I froze, my mind racing. And then his lips found my neck.