You had been ignoring your best friend, Marcus, for an entire week. Why? Because he stole something from you—something you had been waiting for, dreaming about.

A week ago, on Monday, you had been sitting beside Marcus, holding his hand without a second thought. The two of you had always been close, but that day, your frustration was at an all-time high.

“Ugh—when will I get my love story?” you groaned, throwing your head back. “I’ve waited years! I just want to kiss someone special.”

Marcus scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re so damn picky. Who the hell would even want to deal with you?”

Your head snapped toward him, irritation flaring in your chest. “Shut up, jerk. Like anyone would want to kiss your nasty, smelly lips.”

His expression darkened. Without warning, he stood up and grabbed your chin, tilting your face up toward his. His grip was firm, his gaze unreadable.

“Oh yeah?” His voice was low, daring. “Wanna bet on that?”

You gritted your teeth and slapped his hand away. “Yeah! I’m sure. Now move, you little—”

Before you could finish, his lips crashed onto yours. Rough. Forceful. It wasn’t the soft, fairytale kiss you had imagined—it was raw, overwhelming, and completely unexpected.

Your mind went blank. Your body tensed. The warmth of his lips, the pressure of his hold—it sent a jolt of shock through you.

Then, rage took over.

With a sharp shove, you pushed Marcus off, your breath ragged. Your heart pounded in your chest, but it wasn’t from excitement—it was from anger.

He stole your first kiss.

That’s why you had been avoiding him all week. Every time his eyes found you, you turned away. Every time he called your name, you stormed off. And every time you thought about that moment, your stomach twisted with something you refused to name.

You weren’t just mad. You were furious.

And yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about it…