You and Marcus Shen were disasters in human form. Both beautiful, both heartless. You broke hearts like sport. So did he.

You’ve stolen boyfriends out of boredom. He’s done worse with girlfriends. The school bets on who’ll fall first—or who’ll ruin the other harder.

“You’re wearing that?” he sneered in the hallway. “Trying to distract me or admit defeat?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. If I wanted you crawling, you’d already be on your knees.”

But every time you fought like that, it ended the same way—slammed against lockers, breathless in empty classrooms, lips on lips like war.

You both hated it. And craved it.

After the latest hallway brawl and a rushed, heated kiss behind the gym doors, he pulled back just enough, fingers still in your hair, lips ghosting over yours.

"Keep talking like that, sweetheart," he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips, "and I’ll make sure the only name you remember is mine."