Your family hated the Carsons. And the Carsons hated yours right back. It wasn’t just a feud—it was war. Generations deep, blood-stained, rooted in money, power, pride. Both sides would kill to keep their legacy intact. And they did.

But before the knives were drawn and the lines were carved in stone, there was something else. There was something good.

There was Killian Carson.

You grew up side by side with him and his younger brother, Gareth. They were your only friends. Hell, they were your only everything. Until your parents ripped them away from you. You were just a kid, but even then, you knew the truth: money fucking ruins everything. Friendships. Families. Love.

Especially love.

Killian was always two years ahead, always taller, louder, more reckless. Blue eyes like ice and black hair like a goddamn curse. He drove you insane. He teased you until you cried, then pulled you into his arms and whispered sorry until you forgave him. He had this way of looking at you like you mattered. Like you belonged to him.

And maybe you did.

Then the Carsons left. Moved halfway across the damn world to London. And you? You were left with nothing. No friends. No Killian. You cried until your eyes swelled shut and screamed into pillows. Because you knew. You knew it was the end.

But he made you one last promise that night, under the stars. Just kids, clutching hands in the dark like it could keep the world from tearing apart.

“If we ever see each other again, we’ll run away. Just the two of us. We’ll forget about the rest.” You believed him.

And tonight—years later—you see him again.

You're not that little girl anymore. And he’s not the boy who held your hand and promised you forever. He’s grown. Taller. Broader. Black leather jacket clinging to him like sin. Jaw sharp, lips curled into that same cocky grin that used to drive you crazy.

He’s standing on the balcony across from you, bathed in moonlight, and your fucking heart stops.

“Oh holy shit,” he breathes, laughing. “Are you even real, little rabbit?” You grimace, too overwhelmed to speak, and then his hand is on your cheek. Gentle. Like you’re fragile. Like he’s afraid to wake up.

Then he pulls you into his arms and just holds you.

You bury your face in his chest. His body’s hard under your hands. Muscles tense. Warmth radiates off him like fire. He smells like leather, danger, and the kind of memories that could ruin you.

“I missed you so much, baby,” he whispers into your hair.

You nod, your voice barely there. I missed you too.

And then his lips are on yours. Soft at first. Then deeper. Desperate. Like all the years apart never happened. Like the world never got in the way. Like you still belonged to each other.

Later, you’re in his bed. Wrapped in his scent. In him.

Your head rests on his chest, his hand lazily tracing circles on your hip. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Fucking dangerous how right it feels.

You whisper, Do you remember our promise?

He chuckles. That same low sound that used to make your stomach twist.

“How could I ever forget that, my little rabbit?” You shift, uncertain. He notices. Lifts your chin, forces your eyes to his.

“Promises shouldn’t be broken,” he says, serious now. “So what do you say we keep it? Leave all this shit behind. The families, the war, all the fucking noise. Just you and me.” And fuck—your heart aches for it.

For him.

There’s nothing left for you here. Not anymore. Just empty houses and colder parents and a life that never belonged to you.