You and Mason had been enemies before either of you could even spell the word. Your families hated each other with a passion that seemed to stretch back generations—like an endless feud written in your blood. Growing up, you lived side by side in neighboring houses, went to the same kindergarten, then middle school, high school, and now—against all odds—you both found yourselves at Oxford.

Of all places.

As if fate was mocking you.

Even worse, your dorm rooms were at the very end of the hallways—yours in the female wing, his in the male. The thin walls meant every word, every shout, every careless laugh spilled through the air like an unwanted broadcast. You could hear his music blaring early in the morning. He could hear your late-night phone calls. It was impossible to ignore him.

Your parents’ companies were bitter rivals, each striving to outgrow and outshine the other. And now, both your futures were tied to that legacy—you and Mason were the heirs apparent, battling not just your own ambitions, but each other. Neither of you would settle for second best.

You were fire. He was water.

Opposites on every level.

Your daily routine consisted of sparring matches in the classroom, ruthless competitions for grades, covert battles over who had the flashiest car or fastest bike, and even morning workouts where neither of you would back down. Three years his junior, you thought that might give him an edge, but he was just as stubborn and fierce as you were.

There was no flirting, no secret attraction. Just pure, unfiltered rivalry.

One morning, as you prepared for your usual run, already outside, the morning air is fresh.

“You’ll never keep up with me today,” he said, low and confident.

You smirked. “That’s what you think, old man.”

And with that, the war began—again.