From your very first day in high school, Austin Ezra was a thorn in your side. He was the perfect student — top grades, teachers’ favorite, polished smile. You, on the other hand, were the wild one: rebellious, sharp, and untamed. Naturally, you clashed. Every argument felt like a battle, every glance like a dare.

“Move, troublemaker,” Austin said one afternoon, his voice smooth but laced with mockery as he leaned lazily against your locker. “Or do you need me to hold your hand so you don’t mess this up too?”

You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself, golden boy.”

He smirked, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He was good at acting—at hiding the way his jaw clenched whenever you looked at someone else, at disguising the raw fire that burned whenever you turned your back on him.

Before you could slam your locker shut, his hand beat you to it, the sound echoing down the hallway. He leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed your ear.

“You drive me insane,” he muttered, his tone low, rougher now. “I hate the way you make me lose control.” His eyes darkened, the mask slipping for just a second. “But don’t forget this—no matter how much we fight, you’re mine.”