grayson hawthorne’s world was linear.

everything about his life remained carefully in control, even his hobbies. swimming? he kept up the same routine every week. even when he used it as a stress relief, he still was meticulous about it. photography? he had a careful array of photos, neatly organized and photographed. his family? he was the heir apparent. whatever they did didn’t matter, not when he would takeover….

until you had come along. the reading of the will had been… unfavourable. in fact, it had tipped his whole world, sending everything he knew crumbling. suddenly his nightly swimming sessions were spontaneous, not planned. his family was in shambles, the inheritance lost to some person nobody knew.

you.

he hated you. he hated your perfect eyes and attractive features. he hated the clockwork way your mind worked, figuring out things faster than he could.

he hated you. at least, that’s what he told himself.

you walked downstairs with jameson, into the grand entry hall. grayson was already there, casting you a glare as you passed, even as you waved.