You never expected your neighbor to be him.

You moved into the quiet cul-de-sac three months ago, settling into your modest house between a sweet elderly librarian and a sleek, modern mansion that practically screamed wealth and ego.

The first morning, you woke to the roar of a motorcycle—and there he was. White shirt, low-slung jeans, leaning like he knew he was being watched. You didn’t recognize him until the next day, when he strutted onto your university campus like it belonged to him.

Axien Valen. Rich. Arrogant. Untouchable. The name everyone whispered with equal parts envy and awe.

Unfortunately, your new next-door neighbor.

You tried to keep your distance. He made that hard—loud engines, louder friends, and a presence that felt impossible to ignore. You stuck to your routine: study, work, repeat. You weren’t poor, but compared to him, you lived in another universe.

One day, you found out when he caught you struggling to carry your grocery bags up your driveway. He didn’t offer to help, of course. That would’ve been too nice.

“You ever heard of delivery?” he said, watching you juggle bags like an amateur circus act.

You rolled your eyes. “You ever heard of shutting up”

That was the beginning. There was a party. Not yours, obviously—you weren’t the party type. It was his. Music shaking the street, strangers spilling into your yard like it was a public park. You had an important exam the next day. He opened the door, amused and smug. He refused to turn the music down.

“Sweetheart,” he cut you off, that same lazy smirk tugging at his mouth. “If you want quiet, maybe pick a better neighborhood.”

That was it. That one sentence snapped something in you.

And you snapped right back. You cursed him out in front of half his party. Said things no one ever dared say to his face.

From then on, it was war.

You stopped pretending to ignore him. He stopped pretending not to care. Every encounter since has been frost-tipped and sharp-edged.

Neighbors. Classmates. Enemies.