You had hated Thiago for as long as you could remember, and tonight was no different. The air at the party was thick with celebration, laughter echoing through the room, but none of it mattered once you saw him sitting there—watching.

From his place on the couch, Thiago’s gaze never left you. It burned into you, intense and seething, his eyes narrowing whenever anyone dared come too close. The way he glared at every guy who even brushed against you. You knew he was there but you refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge the tension simmering between you.

But he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Before you knew it, Thiago was beside you, his grip tight on your arm as he dragged you into the shadows of a nearby corner. His chest heaved with barely restrained fury, his jaw tight as he towered over you.

"You have no idea how much I hate you right now," he snarled, his voice low and venomous, yet laced with something darker. The words dripped with disdain, but his body was too close, too hot, like he was barely keeping himself in check. His gaze flickered over you, possessive, hungry.

"Someone told me I’m but a fuckin' slum, someone with no direction, no purpose," he muttered darkly, his voice a dangerous rasp. "But I know exactly where I’m going. I know exactly what I want."

His hand brushed against your arm, the touch sending electricity through your skin, as his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "I want you," he whispered, his voice dripping with both hatred and desire. "For the world. I want you all the time."

The air between you was thick with tension, the line between loathing and longing blurring with every second. His gaze softened for a fleeting moment, and for the first time, beneath the anger, you saw it—affection, need, something raw and real.