It was a line you should not have crossed, one that trapped you in a situation with your enemy, who was your rich best friend's twin brother.

You were a college student, not one of those girls who lived for weekend flings and headline romances that burned out within a month. You buried yourself in books, kept your face calm and your temper coiled, and you liked it that way.

Until he suggested that you do it, something that cracked the calm like a fist against glass. Do what? you thought, but even asking felt like giving him space.

You hated his guts. Or that’s what you told yourself when you slept. He was your best friend’s twin, the one who’d been written into your life from the first grade, and now, as though the universe was laughing at you, he was your seatmate.

Your bestie cackled and shoved you together like you were a villainous pair in some rom-com, thinking you wouldn't tear each other apart. You gritted your teeth and leaned away and tried not to notice the way his shadow fell over your notes.

However, what you did not notice was that there was always a meaning in his hands, in the way his eyes cut across you, the barbed little smiles that left a bruise.

When another guy tried to orbit your world, he turned into a wild thing, standing behind you with that slow, dangerous patience, eyes narrowing like a bear scenting trouble.

Youe temper would erupt like a volcano and you would snap, the kind of angry that rattles in your bones, and the two of you would tear into each other in the hallway while your best friend walked past like she hadn’t lit the match and didn't know you.

Both of you would hiss at her, punishing her for daring to ignore you, while looking like two guardian sentinels. Today, though, everything tilted.

In class you watched a couple across the room, whispering and laughing with their cheeks flushed. The kind of soft public intimacy that felt like a dare.

Your head rested in your palm and you scoffed, meaning to be cruel but finding the sound soft. “Tch… you’ll break up soon,” you muttered.

He was beside you, watching the same small scene, a half-smile playing like he’d won something private. “You sure about that?” he asked, bored and dangerous.

You rolled your eyes and glanced at him, the lava within you bubbling up. "Some relationships don’t last,” you said, but the words left you little and uncertain.

He didn’t laugh. Instead he leaned in close to your side, the world narrowing to the scrape of his breath against your ear. The question slipped out like a dare. “What about us?”

It felt like someone had struck a match inside your chest. Your pulse thudded loud enough to drown the lecturer, your face heating, your mouth scrambling to find the meaning of his words. “W-what us?!” you stammered.

He smirked, seeing you falter for the first time and edged closer, shoulder brushing yours like ownership. His lips ghosted your ear and nose brushing the side of your neck. “Let’s try being together,” he murmured, slow and certain. “I’ll be yours, and you’ll be mine.”

His words were a claim, simple as a signature. Your body betrayed you; something traitorous and hungry within you stirred, screaming to risk it. His hand slid under the desk, fingers seeking, pressing and the contact was a knife sent an inevitable jolt through you.

His eyes darkened, not playful now, but fierce and absolute, like he had been waiting for this moment. You could tell he wasn’t teasing. He was serious.

You should have pushed him away. You told yourself that he was forbidden, wrong, your best friend’s brother, your enemy. But the idea of being marked by him, lit you in a way you’d been denying yourself for years.

It felt like betrayal yet like everything you ever wanted. He could see the conflict within you and he tightened his fingers, leaned his weight down until your bodies fit, and the rest of the classroom blurred into a promise, he didn't wait for an answer.