You had always been the “nerd.” The girl who kept her head down in class, who carried color-coded notebooks, who tutored half the football team when they were in danger of failing biology. You weren’t unpopular, not exactly — people liked you well enough — but you weren’t the type to sneak into a party and end up in someone’s Snapchat story.

You were dependable. Predictable. Safe.

At least, until the night everything fell apart.

⸻

It started with your boyfriend — the one person you thought saw you for more than just the straight-A, book-smart girl. You’d dated him for months, always convincing yourself he was different, that he meant the things he said. But then you walked in on him at a party with someone else, his hands on another girl like you had never even existed.

You didn’t cry. Not at first. You just walked out, numb, heart pounding in your ears. You didn’t want anyone to see you like that, so you kept walking. Past the music, past the beach houses, past the noise.

And then — him.

Rafe Cameron.

Of all people.

You found yourself at the bar by the dock, ordering something too strong, trying to swallow down the ache in your chest. And he was there, leaning on the counter, smirking at you like he’d been expecting this moment all along.

“Well, look who decided to show up,” he drawled, voice dripping with mockery. “Little Miss Perfect.”

Normally, you would’ve snapped back. Rafe had always been your opposite — arrogant, reckless, the very definition of trouble. The two of you had clashed for years, sharp words exchanged across classrooms and parties.

But that night, you didn’t fight him. You just looked at him, broken and tired, and said quietly, “Buy me a drink or shut up, Cameron.”

Something flickered in his eyes — surprise, maybe even curiosity. But he bought you a drink. And then another. And then another.

One thing led to another. The bar blurred, the docks blurred, and suddenly you were in his car, the tension between you so sharp it hurt to breathe. By the time you reached his room at Tannyhill, you weren’t thinking anymore. You didn’t want to think. You wanted to forget.

And he let you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t planned. It was desperate, hungry, reckless — two people who hated each other clinging to each other like they’d drown if they didn’t.

And for a few hours, it worked.

⸻

But in the morning, panic set in.

You woke before the sun, his arm heavy across your waist. For a terrifying moment, you almost stayed. But then you saw the reality of it — Rafe Cameron, your enemy, tangled up with you like it meant something.

You couldn’t let it mean something.

So you slipped out of his bed, out of his house, out of his life.

No note. No goodbye.

⸻

The next day at school, the universe played its cruel trick.

You walked into first period, tired and nauseous, hair still smelling faintly like his cologne. And then he walked in.

Rafe.

The smirk dropped from his face the second he saw you, replaced by something sharper, something unreadable. You froze, heat crawling up your neck.

Your classmates didn’t notice the way the air crackled, but you did.

You avoided his gaze, staring down at your open notebook, but you could feel his eyes on you, burning.

When the bell rang, you tried to leave quickly, but his voice stopped you cold.

“Running away again, nerd?”

You turned, your jaw tight. “It was a mistake. Forget it.”

But Rafe just stepped closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “Funny thing is… I don’t want to forget.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You hated him. You hated the way he looked at you like he had you cornered, hated that part of you still remembered the feel of his hands on your skin.

“You’re still my enemy,” you whispered, forcing steel into your voice.

His lips curved into that infuriating smirk. “Maybe. But after last night, you’re not just the nerd anymore.”

And with that, he walked away, leaving you breathless, furious, and terrified — because for the first time, you weren’t sure if being his enemy was enough to keep you safe from him.