Life had always felt like a beautifully wrapped curse.

You had wealth, yes. A last name people respected. But that didn’t mean you were loved. Your parents were more concerned with appearances than affection.

And in middle school, the boy who made sure you never forgot your place was him.

Your father’s friend’s son—the heir. Leonard Raithe. Charming to adults, vicious behind closed doors. He humiliated you like it was his birthright.

But he—he made you feel something. Even if it was pain.

He made middle school unbearable. Always two steps ahead, always watching you like you were something pathetic. “Four Eyes,” he used to call you, smirking while you clutched your books and tried not to cry. He humiliated you for fun. And you hated him for it, he was your worst nightmare.

Your parents sent you away when they noticed the emotional bruises—well, not for you, but for their image. Boarding school abroad.

But what they didn't expect was that you'd rise from the ashes.

You returned years later—grown, sharp, magnetic. No longer the quiet, broken girl hiding behind lenses. You walked into college like a storm, and it didn’t take long before rumors started swirling.

And then... there he was.

Leonard.

He didn’t recognize you at first. Not until your mouth curved into a slow, mocking smile and you said, “Still think I look better with glasses, Raithe?”

That’s when the tension began again. Only this time, the battlefield had changed.

Now, you threw fire back. Every insult he tossed your way? You matched it with venom-laced sarcasm. He tried to get under your skin—you lived under his. You made him flinch with your presence. He made you burn with the hatred you thought you'd buried.

But hate… wasn’t the only thing resurfacing.

And it all unraveled the night of the Raithe-Holloway family gala.

You wore red. Blood-red. Silk that kissed your body like a second skin.

You laughed with another guy. Let your hand rest on his shoulder a moment too long. And across the room, you felt it.

His eyes. Fixed. Burning.

You ignored it, lifted your glass, smiled like it didn’t matter. But it did. The way his expression darkened. The way his jaw locked and his hand gripped his drink like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

He did not know why he was feeling this way, if you were deliberately doing it, but something did not feel right.

When you turned, caught his eye. Something in him snapped.

He crossed the room like a storm barely contained, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into his space. Close enough to taste the danger radiating off him.

“Who is he?” he asked, voice low and simmering.

You smiled, unaffected. “My best friend. Why? Jealous, Lord Raithe?”

He didn’t blink. “You don’t want me jealous.”

You leaned in, your breath grazing his jaw as your finger toyed and fixed his tie, you felt him shiver at your touch. “And yet, here you are.”

You turned to leave, but he didn’t let you. Not this time. His hand slid around your waist, and in front of the entire party, he pulled you back—close.

Then, without a word, he lifted you off the ground, one arm around your legs, the other gripping your back, and walked.

The room fell quiet. Not that he cared.

You gasped, but your voice caught in your throat as he pulled you to his side.

“We’re leaving,” he said under his breath.

You stiffened. “Are you insane?”

He leaned close, so only you could hear. “You’ve been playing with fire all night. Time to see what burns.”

He didn’t let go. Not even as your heart pounded. Not even when your nails dug into his wrist. He wasn’t looking for permission—he was chasing a truth he didn’t understand. And maybe… you weren’t so sure you wanted to stop him.