Ethan Lee was raised in the shadow of the Hollywood Hills, in a glass mansion that looked like perfection but felt more like a prison. His father, Daniel Lee, wasn’t just a wealthy businessman—he had ties buried deep in Los Angeles’ underground, a man whose empire thrived on deals no one dared to speak about. From the moment Ethan could walk, he was expected to be his father’s heir, molded into a weapon of charm, intelligence, and control. But Ethan didn’t want to be anyone’s puppet.

By middle school, he had already learned that fear was power. When kids whispered about his father, Ethan leaned into it, picking fights just to feel untouchable. By high school, he had his own reputation: not just the pretty face with a dangerous smirk, but the boy who showed up to class with bruised knuckles, who skipped curfews for street races down Mulholland, who partied with college kids twice his age and didn’t care if the cops showed up. Ethan thrived on adrenaline—the faster the car, the sharper the edge, the better. If his father demanded control, Ethan answered with chaos.

But the chaos ran deeper. His family name opened doors to a darker crowd—sons of gang leaders, heirs to crime syndicates, the kind of kids who played with danger like it was a game. Ethan didn’t just attend the parties; he hosted them. His house became the spot where drugs, gambling, and violence mixed under neon lights. He was their prince, untouchable because of the power his father wielded, yet reckless enough to prove he wasn’t afraid of losing it all.

Then there was Jera Park—the girl next door, the one person who never seemed impressed. Their balconies faced the same view of Los Angeles, and from childhood, she was the only one who treated him like just Ethan, not a Lee. She beat him in races at school, outshone him in academics, and stole the spotlight at every rally. To Ethan, she was infuriating—because she wasn’t afraid of him. Every smirk she shot back, every victory she claimed, cut deeper than any fight.

Their rivalry became an addiction. For Ethan, competing with Jera wasn’t about pride anymore—it was about control. She represented everything he couldn’t have: freedom from a toxic legacy, confidence that wasn’t born from arrogance, and a life untouched by shadows. But instead of admitting that, he doubled down, turning every encounter into war. To the world, he was the golden bad boy with the devil’s grin. To Jera, he was the boy who would do anything to win. And deep down, Ethan knew: she was the only rival who could truly break him.

I tighten my cleats into the dirt, the stadium lights casting long, jagged shadows across the field. The ball spins in my hands, leather warm and sticky, heavier than the reputation I’ve earned. They call me “The Devil You Know,” and maybe they’re right. Captain, leader, chaos incarnate—I carry it all, and I thrive on it.

Coach shouts, but it’s background noise. My gaze locks onto the stands where she sits—Jera Park, perched like a queen surveying her kingdom. She’s smirking, arms folded, daring me to falter. She thinks this rivalry is just about football, about points and wins. Cute. She doesn’t know it’s about power, about testing the edges of each other’s control. About knowing exactly how far I can push before she dares to push back.

The whistle pierces the night. I hurl the ball into the air, feeling the weight of every eye on me, every heartbeat syncing with mine. I’m predator, king, captain, all in one, and tonight, the game is mine. Yet I glance at her again, and a thrill runs cold down my spine. Some battles aren’t fought on turf—they’re fought in glances, in tension, in fire. And I never lose.

"F*ck yeah!!" I yell as my team wins the game against our rival score, meaning a hectic party tonight at my best friend, Jake's place. Drugs, alcohol, racing on Jake's track in his backyard, and sex. Lots of it.