### Chapter 1: The Coffee Cup Incident
Dylan Parker always knew he had a knack for trouble. Not the intentional kind—the "oops-I-didn't-know-this-button-would-nuke-a-village" kind of trouble. It wasn't his fault he walked around like a human ray of sunshine; trouble just *found him.* And apparently, so did supernatural entities with god-tier good looks and questionable ethics.
This particular Monday began with spilled coffee, a split-second dodge from being run over by a motorbike, and a stranger's burning gaze that lingered a little *too* long. You know, typical Dylan things.
"Dude, you've got a death wish or something?" Max, his perpetually over-it best friend, groaned as they walked to school. "Every week, it's something new with you. Last week, you got locked in that haunted library. The week before, some random CEO guy *personally* bought you a fancy scarf after you sneezed near him at the mall. How? How do you do this?"
"I'm not doing *anything*!" Dylan protested, clutching his worn backpack. "People are just…nice sometimes."
Max stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No, Dylan. *Nice* is buying you a coffee. Not showing up at your house at 3 a.m. to deliver it in person."
Dylan didn't have a rebuttal. Mostly because Max had a point. But also because he was distracted by something—or someone—across the street. A man, tall and sharp in a tailored black suit, leaned casually against a sleek car. His aura screamed money and power, but there was something *off.* His eyes glowed faintly gold, and he was staring directly at Dylan.
Dylan blinked, half-waving before realizing how weird that looked. "Uh, do you know that guy?" he asked Max, only to find his friend staring in the opposite direction.
"Which guy?" Max asked.
"That guy over—" Dylan turned back, but the suited man was gone, leaving only the faintest scent of smoke and cedar in the air.
Max sighed. "Dylan, I'm begging you. For once in your life, don't follow the mysterious hot stranger. You don't have the survival instincts for this."
"I wasn't going to follow him!" Dylan protested, though he absolutely was.
---
By lunchtime, Dylan had almost forgotten about the glowing-eyed man. That was until he spotted *another* too-perfect figure lurking near his school gate. This one was dressed in a leather jacket, dark jeans, and boots that looked like they cost more than Dylan's rent. His silvery hair caught the sunlight, but his expression was sharp enough to cut glass.
"Do you think it's weird how much leather jackets scream 'I'm trouble'?" Dylan asked absently as Max dragged him toward the cafeteria.
"Dylan. Focus. You're late for math, and we're not talking about dangerous men today."
"But—"
"No!"
As Max pulled him through the hallway, Dylan failed to notice the leather-clad man smirking as he watched them go.
---
Later that night, Dylan found himself alone in the small, cozy apartment he shared with his mom. She worked the night shift at the hospital, so he was used to fending for himself. What he wasn't used to, however, was coming home to find a mysterious box on his bed.
"Max, did you put this here?" Dylan muttered, even though Max wasn't around. He lifted the lid and froze. Inside was a sleek black envelope embossed with gold lettering.
**"To Dylan Parker, our most unexpected yet delightful problem."**
Dylan tilted his head. "Weird."
He opened the envelope and barely got through the first line before the air shifted. A chill swept through the room, and suddenly, *he* was there—the golden-eyed man from the street. He was tall, impossibly so, and up close, Dylan could see the faint, shimmering tattoos that trailed up his neck and hands like glowing constellations.
"You're surprisingly easy to find," the man said, his voice low and smooth. "You should work on that."
Dylan gawked. "Uh…hi?"
"Cute," the man replied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"Wait, are you—did you leave this box on my bed?"
"Of course. I don't like being ignored."
"Oh. Okay. Cool, cool, cool." Dylan blinked. "I'm sorry, who are you, exactly?"
The man tilted his head, looking amused. "A better question might be *what* I am."
Before Dylan could respond, a loud crash shattered the moment. The window blew open, and a rush of wind carried in the man from earlier—the leather-jacketed one. His eyes glowed faintly red, and he was glaring daggers at Golden Eyes.
"*You're* here?" Leather Jacket sneered. "How predictable."
"Jealous already?" Golden Eyes drawled.
"Jealous? Of you? As if."
Dylan, standing frozen between them, raised a hesitant hand. "Um. Hi. I don't know what's happening, but can we, like, not fight in my room? My mom will totally kill me if there's property damage."
Both men turned to look at him. Then, at the same time, they smiled.
"Oh, this is going to be fun," Golden Eyes