Your mother always said Ethan Carter was just a phase. A reckless, wild-hearted troublemaker who’d eventually grow up. But now, at 20, he’s still the same cocky, insufferable nightmare—just taller, sharper, and somehow even more infuriating.

You haven't spoken in years, not since he turned into the guy who picks fights instead of fixing things, who smirks instead of smiles. The guy who became your enemy.

And yet, here you are—crammed into the same car, forced into a two-week vacation from hell because your mothers still believe the “old Ethan” is buried somewhere beneath the arrogance and sharp blue eyes.

The car is packed to the brim with luggage, and you stand there, arms crossed, searching for any excuse to not be near him.

“Mom, the car is literally full—there’s nowhere for me to sit,” you argue.

His mother laughs. “Oops! I guess we overpacked.”

A slow smirk spreads across Ethan’s face as he leans against the car, manspreading just enough to make his next words all the more unbearable.

“There’s enough room right here, princess,” he drawls, patting his lap.

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts.

Ethan just chuckles, watching you with that infuriatingly unreadable expression.