The Start

Ghost

I watch him walk away, his shoulders tight with anger, every step radiating tension. Perfect. I can feel the satisfaction curling in my chest. He likes to act untouchable, doesn’t he? The perfect son. The golden boy. The heir who’ll one day run his family like a king on a throne. But he’s not perfect. Far from it. He’s hiding things—dark, ugly secrets that claw at him from the inside. And I’ll be the one to rip him apart. I’ll drag the truth out of him, piece by piece, and make him see the man he really is. The man I already see.

Kicking off the wall, I take slow, deliberate steps toward the burning crate. The flames crackle and spit, the smell of scorched wood and tobacco filling the air. Smoke rises in curling tendrils, like ghosts reaching for the night sky. Sure, we lost a lot tonight, but what I gained? That’s worth more than every dollar that just went up in flames.

His reaction—oh, it was fucking perfect. The way his voice snapped, the way his fists clenched like he was on the edge of losing control. It was almost too good.

The sound of hurried footsteps pulls me out of my thoughts. My men rush forward, their eyes darting from the fire to me. One of them stops short, his face pale as he takes in the blood on my lip and the bruise blooming on my cheek.

“You’re hurt,” he blurts out, stepping toward me like he’s going to patch me up or some shit.

I hold up a hand to stop him, my glare sharp enough to cut. “Fuck off,” I growl. “It was basically foreplay.”

The fire’s starting to die down now, the flames smothered under a frantic spray of water. The charred remains of the crate sit in a smoldering heap, a mess of ash and ruined goods.

“Clear it up,” I bark, turning to the men. “When the next shipment for the De Lucas comes in, I want to know the second it hits the docks. I don’t care if I have to camp out here waiting for him. I’ll be here when he comes back.”

There’s a murmur of voices behind me—someone muttering about how they should’ve stayed closer tonight. I don’t even bother figuring out who said it.

“I told you to stay back,” I snap, my voice cold and sharp. “You follow my orders, not your gut. If you’d been closer, I wouldn’t have been able to do what I did.”

They don’t respond, and I don’t wait for them to. My eyes drift back to the empty stretch of dock where he stood, his anger still hanging in the air like a ghost. My little princess doesn’t know it yet, but I’m coming for him.

He can play the innocent act all he wants. He can pretend he doesn’t understand why I’m relentless, why I keep taunting him, keep drawing him out. But deep down? He knows.

He’s always known.

**Years Earlier**

I watch as he strides toward me, his steps heavy with irritation. Even from here, I can see the fire in his eyes—the defiance, the simmering anger. This kid is fucking insane. Maybe as crazy as me. He huffs as he drops down onto the bench beside me, arms crossed tight over his chest like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“You look pissed,” I tease, a smirk tugging at my lips.

“Fuck off,” he snaps, shooting me a glare sharp enough to cut.

I laugh, leaning back against the bench, my posture relaxed. “Touchy, aren’t we? What’s the matter? Going back to that posh little school of yours?”

His jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing. That look—like he’s daring me to say more—makes me grin. He’s so damn easy to rile up. I know nothing about him, not even his name, and yet I know exactly how to push his buttons. Then again, he doesn’t know my name either. That’s the beauty of this.

He doesn’t know I’m the heir, the son of the boss. To him, I’m just some street kid he stumbled across. No titles, no expectations. Just two strangers circling each other in the dark.

“You didn’t answer,” I prod, watching the way his lips press into a tight line. “Is your bad mood because you’re heading back to that gilded cage of yours?”

“No,” he snaps, his voice low and rough. “It’s family shit. Not mine—another family screwing with ours.”

I nod, understanding. “I get it. Family wars are messy.” I don’t tell him the truth—that my family lives for those wars. Especially with the De Luca's. If my father would let me, I’d burn every last one of them to ash. But no, he insists that leadership requires patience, restraint. Two things I couldn’t care less about.

“Do you ever feel like you just want to be someone else?” His voice is quieter now, his question catching me off guard.

I glance at him, studying his profile. There’s something raw there, something vulnerable. “I am, right now,” I admit. “You don’t know who I am, and I’m fucking loving it.”

That earns me a nod. “Yeah… same. I like that you don’t know me. But give it a few months, and it’ll all be out there. My name, my face, my perfect little engagement plastered across every paper.”

His bitterness cuts through the air, sharp and unmistakable.

“Engagement, huh?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “Who’s the lucky one?”

He shrugs, the motion stiff, like the weight of it all is pressing down on him. “Fucked if I know. Parents arranged it.” He pauses, his gaze flicking to mine, and for a moment, there’s something deeper in his eyes. “How do you rebel against something that’s already rebelling?”

The words hang between us, heavy and loaded. I don’t have an answer for him, but my body moves before my mind can catch up. I lean in, my lips brushing against his. It’s impulsive, electric, and the shock of it makes him pull back instantly.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snaps, his eyes wide with a mix of anger and confusion.

“Being myself,” I growl, my hand reaching out to wrap around the back of his neck. “While hiding who I really am.”

I pull him toward me again, and this time, he doesn’t fight it. His lips crash into mine, his mouth moving with a desperation that matches my own. His tongue slips past my lips, claiming, exploring, and I lose myself in the heat of it.

When I pull back, he gasps for air, his lips flushed and swollen. My thumb sweeps over his bottom lip, and I smirk. I’ve wondered how it would feel to kiss him since the first day I saw him—maybe even obsessed over it a little. Now that I know? I want to do it again. And again.

He leans forward, his lips ghosting against mine, but the sharp vibration of his phone cuts through the moment. He jerks back, glancing at the screen with a frustrated sigh.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost uncertain.

“Sure thing,” I reply, winking at him.

A rare smile spreads across his face before he turns and rushes off, disappearing into the night. I watch him go, my chest tight with something I can’t quite name.

I don’t know what love is. But whatever it is, I think I just found it.