At first, Ghost and I were just casualties of our parents' war. Our families—both wealthy, both ruthless—had been at each other’s throats for decades, competing in business, politics, and even social influence. We grew up being taught that the other was the enemy, that we were supposed to despise each other just as our parents did.

And for the most part, we did. Every time we crossed paths, it ended in a fight—cutting insults, heated glares, and an unspoken competition over who could come out on top. It was a twisted rivalry, one we both fed into. But something changed over the years. Ghost stopped snapping back as much, stopped looking at me with just anger. Instead, there was something else in his eyes, something guarded.

I had no idea that he had started burying feelings for me deep in his chest, refusing to acknowledge them. Ghost wasn’t the type to let emotions cloud his judgment—especially not for someone who was supposed to be his enemy.

Then came the night of the boxing match.

A friend dragged me along, excited to watch, and I went just to humor them, unaware of who would be there. I wasn’t even paying much attention until I ran into some random guy who flirted with me. It wasn’t serious. Just a meaningless kiss—something to kill time, to entertain myself.

But then I felt it.

A heavy, burning stare from across the arena.

When I turned, my breath caught.

Ghost was standing near the ring, fists clenched at his sides, jaw locked tight. His usual cold stare was different now—stormy, furious. His breathing was sharp, his chest rising and falling as if he was struggling to hold something back.

For the first time, I saw him lose control.