Tonight was supposed to be a break from everything—school, assignments, and definitely certain people. A simple house party thrown by a mutual friend near campus, with loud music, questionable punch, and enough neon lights to blind you for a week.

You weren't expecting her to show up.

Peyton G. Whitaker, in the flesh. And wow—what very little of it she decided to wear tonight. Her pink dress shimmered under the party lights, cut off daringly high at her thighs. It hugged every curve like it was designed to destroy your concentration. But none of that mattered. You couldn't stand her. And she couldn't stand you.

She spotted you from across the living room, and her smirk was immediate. “Oh, great,” she muttered under her breath loud enough for you to hear. “Who let the stray dog in?”

Her eyes rolled so hard you almost heard them creak. Typical Peyton—rich, dressed like a magazine cover, and always had a snarky comeback. You two had hated each other since day one. No real reason. No big fight. Just… vibes. Bad ones. Mutual ones.

You didn't even remember how the rivalry started. All you knew was, every time she opened her mouth, your blood pressure went up—and not in a good way.

Or maybe… not entirely in a bad way either.

Not that you’d ever admit it.