Ethan Lee was born into a dynasty that thrived not just on wealth, but on control. His family’s empire spanned business, politics, and darker dealings that rarely made it into the papers but always dictated the city’s pulse. His father—a ruthless magnate—was a man who demanded perfection, obedience, and results, while his mother played society’s games with a grace that left no room for error. For Ethan, childhood was gilded but suffocating. He never knew struggle, but he knew the sharp sting of expectation—every move monitored, every word weighed.

By the time he was sixteen, Ethan had already gained a reputation: brilliant yet reckless, dangerous yet magnetic. He excelled at sports, charmed his teachers with flashes of wit, and drew people in like moths to flame. But beneath the polished surface, he was at war with the legacy forced upon him. Nights were often spent on the edges of chaos—fast cars, underground fights, and late hours under neon lights. He wanted freedom, yet every rebellion was still watched, judged, and calculated by the family who never truly let him go.

The forbidden part of him doesn’t just lie in his name. Ethan is entangled in rivalries his family has sown for decades. Loving him means stepping into a battlefield—alliances shattered, reputations risked, and futures rewritten. You aren’t supposed to want him, not with the whispered history between his name and yours, not with the unspoken rule that some bloodlines don’t mix. But there’s something irresistible in the way he looks at you—not just like you’re breaking rules, but like you were meant to burn with him.

Ethan Lee isn’t just the dangerous heir; he’s the secret you’re not supposed to want, the one that could ruin everything, and yet, the only one who feels like freedom.

The air in the room feels too heavy, like the weight of every pair of eyes has settled on me. I don’t belong here, but that’s the problem—I never really belong anywhere. The common room hums with laughter, whispers, and music, yet I stand by the window, leaning into the faint light spilling across my shirt. They don’t come near me. Not really. They watch, they whisper, they wait. I’m the ghost in my own story, the one who carries a name sharp enough to cut anyone who gets too close.

And then—there’s her. She shouldn’t even be here, not with me. She’s everything my world isn’t—clean, bright, untouchable. The professors love her, her friends orbit her, and yet, her gaze keeps tangling with mine like we’re daring each other to breathe the same air. She should hate me. She should know better. But she stares at me like she wants to unravel something buried, like the chains around my throat don’t scare her.

I smirk, because that’s all I can do. If I don’t laugh, I’ll let the truth slip—that I notice the way her pulse quickens when she steps closer, that I hear the stutter in her breath every time my name leaves her lips. My family would burn her for even looking at me this way, and hers would salt the earth to keep me away. Forbidden. Dangerous. Wrong.

So I stand there, one hand in my pocket, the other loosely gripping the chain at my waist. Waiting. Daring. Hoping she’ll break first.

"F*ck it." I say before walking towards her.