We stayed in silence, eyes locked, and every time his hardened, I felt my rage soar. He got it all wrong. He thought—that I... and Tristan... He got it all fucking wrong.His eyes lit up—snarky, intrusive, amused—as he raised his glass, swirling the deep crimson liquid with a dark kind of menace. The silence grew heavier, and for just a flicker of a moment, I swore I saw something cross his face. Regret? No. That couldn’t be it.Or maybe the terror was finally making me lose my damn mind."You’re ruining everything I’ve built." His voice came soft, dangerous, a murmur threaded with warning, like he was talking more to himself than me. I froze."Tristan isn’t just anyone," Domenico continued, his eyes flicking up to mine, sharper than a knife. "He’s my sweat, my blood, and my empire."I stopped, narrowing my eyes.He said it like that meant something. Like Tristan wasn’t flesh and bone, wasn’t someone who laughed, who smirked, who... cared. No—Domenico didn’t see Tristan as a person at
My fingers dug into the edge of the table, knuckles white, as I leaned in. "All I ask is for a chance to prove myself, and you won’t fucking let me!" "Mind your language, Myles Astor," Coach Daniel snapped, his gaze flicking up briefly. The words were cold, indifferent. Like I was some kid throwing a tantrum. Outside the office, cheers roared from the party in full swing. Each burst of laughter and clinking glass grated against me, a reminder that while my life was falling apart, everyone else was having the time of theirs. They were celebrating *him*—Tristan Medici, the golden boy with the golden ticket, stepping right into my spot, *my fucking spot*, on the team. My chest tightened. I wasn’t breathing. "Please." My voice cracked, more fragile than I wanted it to be. I hated myself for it. I took a step closer to his desk, my hand resting on the edge for support. "At least let me play the next match." The next match meant everything. NHL scouts would be there, watching, eval
The shrill sound of my alarm clock wasn’t what jolted me awake. It was the yelling. My stepfather’s voice cutting through the walls. I stared up at the ceiling, straining to hear my mom’s voice fighting back, but it never came. It never will.. “If this was toast, the whole of America would be fucking dead!” His voice boomed again. I sighed, sitting up in bed. Pain shot from my hips and... lower down, a raw reminder of last night. It wasn't a dream. It happened. *“Changing the list?” The phone camera clicked. “You little devil.”* “Listen, it’s not what you think,” I had said, heart pounding. “Oh, I know *exactly* what I think.” His voice dripped with amusement. Shit. “But I’ll keep my mouth shut," he whispered, stepping closer, "if you fuck me." I shook my head, the memories flooding back with nauseating clarity. The worst part was I didn’t even know who he was. Yet, I had agreed. “Myles?” My mom’s voice, soft and hesitant, floated through the door. “You’re late for school
“Yes, Myles, what’s the answer?”I blinked, yanked out of my trance by the teacher’s voice. The whole class turned toward me, eyes wide, some barely stifling laughter. I stood up, trying to shake the fog from my mind.“Sir… could you repeat the question?”“Repeat the question?” He raised an eyebrow. “Caught you smiling. Figured you knew the answer.”If only class made me smile that much. But no, my smile was all because of the little chat I had with Coach Daniel earlier."I had a nap and realized I wasn’t fair to you. There’s a way to get you back on the team, but it’ll cost you your dignity."That “dignity” translated into being the water boy during training, just so I could hold on to a sliver of a chance of rejoining the team. It was humiliating, but at least it was something.“Sir, I have no idea.”“The answer is ‘cell,’” a soft voice offered from behind. “The smallest unit of life.”Natalie. My brows furrowed as I turned to see her offering a small, sympathetic smile. I nodded in
I dropped my gaze to my still throbbing fingers, feeling Coach's eyes on my face. It was the day after the brawl at the rink, and I hadn't even fully entered the school gate before Coach's voice came over the speakers, demanding to see me in his office. "...We had a deal, Myles. What were you thinking?!" I had no clue, but I knew what I thought after it all happened: run! And I did—taking my bag and the strange money home after the biology teacher discovered no one else's was missing. Things to worry about just kept multiplying. Now Coach stood up straight. "All you had to do was lay low." "Which I did." "That wasn’t laying low, Myles." "He fucking came at me!" When Coach said nothing, I quickly toned down my voice. "I know you're trying to help, but goddammit, it gets hard when you're punched in the midsection." Coach sighed and sat down. "I understand." He gestured for me to sit down too, but I didn’t. "That’s why I said it’s going to be hard. George doesn’t want y
**TRISTAN** My phone buzzed. One new message. *"You're sick… Use that money to get your head checked."* And right below it: *"This person is not contactable."* I pinched the bridge of my nose, holding back a chuckle as the coach stood in front of me. There was something about the brown-haired rascal that amused me—something I hadn’t quite figured out yet. Maybe it was the way he overflowed with emotion. *"You hate emotions."* Maybe. But they suited him—better than those coffee-brown eyes or the slight athletic physique hidden beneath oversized hoodies. *"He hates you."* Why should I care? At first, all I felt was guilt. The morning after, when I placed a hand on his shoulder and he flinched, I realized—his first time. And I hadn't even noticed. It was no coincidence he was the first I laid my eyes on when I walked into the school that evening. The brunette surrounded by friends and staring at the wall. Habits died hard, so once again, like the life I kept a secret from e
**MYLES** I gripped the marble sink, glaring at my reflection. The image of his smug smile wouldn’t leave my head. He’d looked at me like I was some kind of snack. *Snack?* Was that the best I could come up with? Christ, Myles. What the hell have you done? I staggered back until I hit the wall, sliding down to the floor. Never in a million years would I have guessed he was the one. Now that I knew—and had a clue where the money came from—there was only one option left: leave the country. I clutched my hair, frustration boiling inside. But that wasn’t possible. The next choice? Return the money and tell the bastard to back off. But I wasn’t sure I was ready to face him yet. A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts, followed by my mum’s voice. “Myles, are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been acting strange.” I raised my head, catching my pale reflection again. “Yeah... I’ll be out in a minute,” I called back, the words sounding distant even to me. There was a long silence b
Was I really doing this? I stared at the entrance wide-eyed, hoping it stayed this quiet, stayed this still while I deciphered my thoughts. That was too much to ask. "Hey!" Diego yelled from where he was pressed to his stomach by the men on top of him. "That's you fucking daydreaming again?" One of the men palmed him hard against the back of his head. "Can you just shut the fuck up for once in your life?" Their words were like echoes, shadows. Ones I wished would just cease existing. The old man slowly limped up to me while I struggled with my thoughts, and I wasn’t aware until he placed a hand on my shoulder. "Myles, I hate to tell you this, but stalling won’t help you people." "I'm serious," I insisted, then swallowed when he raised a brow at me. "Wait here," I announced, sprinting back into the room. Hurling the bed up was quick, but at the first sight of the money, I froze again, desperately dragging my hands through my hair. One feel of that money, and I'd have a le
We stayed in silence, eyes locked, and every time his hardened, I felt my rage soar. He got it all wrong. He thought—that I... and Tristan... He got it all fucking wrong.His eyes lit up—snarky, intrusive, amused—as he raised his glass, swirling the deep crimson liquid with a dark kind of menace. The silence grew heavier, and for just a flicker of a moment, I swore I saw something cross his face. Regret? No. That couldn’t be it.Or maybe the terror was finally making me lose my damn mind."You’re ruining everything I’ve built." His voice came soft, dangerous, a murmur threaded with warning, like he was talking more to himself than me. I froze."Tristan isn’t just anyone," Domenico continued, his eyes flicking up to mine, sharper than a knife. "He’s my sweat, my blood, and my empire."I stopped, narrowing my eyes.He said it like that meant something. Like Tristan wasn’t flesh and bone, wasn’t someone who laughed, who smirked, who... cared. No—Domenico didn’t see Tristan as a person at
TRISTANThroughout the ride to the Manor, Myles doesn’t look at me. His eyes stay fixed on the windshield, watching the lights spill onto his ashen face. His fingers tighten around the strap of his bag.The vans continued to follow behind us, their bright lights illuminating the road. Each time they beeped, Myles flinched.What was going through his mind? I wanted to know. If only I could read his eyes, but he didn’t spare me a glance.“Questions you want to ask?” I broke the silence as I parked in the center of the Manor's compound, questionable-looking men surrounding us, surrounding him. Waiting for us to get out.Myles finally looked at me, his eyes hard and accusing. “Something tells me I’m about to have them answered anyway.”It stung.I shut my eyes and exhaled. “You’ll be out of here in no time. He’s my uncle; he’s not going to hurt you.”But Myles, a bitter smile crossing his face, glanced around the compound and muttered, “Your uncle. Well,” his hand reached for the door, wh
EROSThe chase had stopped, ever since the night they spotted him scaling Jade's window. He hadn’t seen them again.Perhaps the Godfather decided Myles wasn’t worth the fuss now that he was no longer seeing his most priceless possession. But the real question was—would Tristan keep it that way?Eros had known the bastard since they were eleven, the grey-eyed boy whose gaze was just as soulless as the Boss’s—maybe worse. The only human who could make the Boss’s demeanor shift.They became friends, more out of necessity than connection, but as days passed and chaos surrounded Eros at every turn, he realized maybe the grey-eyed monster wasn’t so bad. Eros knew bad—his father, his stepbrother—but Tristan? Tristan had looked out for him.So, they became best friends. Even though Tristan was always one step away from plunging him into his grave, he had also always found a way to get him out of it.It was over, right? His father didn’t want him dead anymore, right? So why was he squatting by
‘Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep…’ The sound grated against my nerves, cutting through the quiet of the afternoon. Standing at my window, I resisted the urge to grab my hockey stick and chuck it at the smug bastard below.Tristan sat casually in the driver’s seat of his sleek black car, his head tilted back like he had all the time in the world. He didn’t look impatient—no, that would require some level of normal human behavior. Instead, his gaze was locked on me, sharp and unyielding, as if daring me to ignore him.I cursed again, clutching the strap of my practice bag. He said four. Four! Not three, not three-thirty—four. And yet here he was, honking like a madman an hour early, as though time itself bent to his whims.I glanced at the clock again. 3:01.He’d been here for one minute and already made it feel like an eternity.Taking a deep breath, I swung the window open and leaned out. "Tristan, what the hell are you doing?"He grinned up at me, that infuriatingly perfect smi
JADE "What the hell is he doing?" Natalie sneered, her eyes—along with hundreds of others—fixed on the figure at the center of the school wielding a water pipe. "That's nudity! How do they allow it?" Leo cleared his throat loudly, flipping a page of his book. "Apparently, you're the only one not into him. Right, Myles?" Myles frowned at Leo. "What does that mean?" Leo said nothing, returning his gaze to the show before us. At the center of the school compound, watering the flowers lined along the walls, was Tristan. But somehow, it seemed the pipe had gone out of control, drenching the thin white shirt he wore. The material clung to his skin, leaving little to the imagination. From the second floor, we had a perfect view, close enough to make out every swell of his muscles—and by God, was this Greek god built. Girls oohed and ahhed, swooning each time he moved, each time he looked up squinting, and every damn time he "accidentally" flexed. But I saw it. None of this was a clums
**TRISTAN**After the brawl in my house days ago, I drove back to the condo, three pairs of eyes digging into my face, waiting for me to spill. I walked past them, striding to my room and turning in the key.In the darkness, I lay, watching the wall, my phone beside me, waiting for the call, yearning for the ring. His rage etched on his face replayed in my head. For an addict desperate for a taste of him, I really continued to fumble things up.He was going to call. He had to call.Two days later, he did. "Can you pick me up?"He didn’t need to ask twice. I just didn’t expect to see him there—in the parking lot of a hidden bar. Stopping right in front of him, Myles dove into the front seat, eyes pinned out of the windshield, hands still stuck in his pockets.Without another word, I drove down the road to the condo, waiting for his protest, but it never came. I kept the silence, my thoughts filling with questions I needed to ask.But it was as though Myles was hell-bent on making me su
JADE "Jade, it's me, Eros... Shh, don't make a noise." I stood there with my back pressed to his pounding chest while the crashing continued in the sitting room. My body relaxed, almost fainting, but then I saw the gleaming muzzle of a pistol in his hand. My body went rigid, and my heart sank. "You really saw him get in here?" A voice bellowed from the sitting room. "If he's on the run, you think he'd just dive into some house?" "I know I saw him scale the barbed fence," another frustrated voice responded, followed by something heavy being pushed. "O penso." "Oh now, you fucking think? This is what the boss means when he says you're getting in over your head, silver. Now you ruined the fucking place!" With his grip still tightened on me, Eros pulled back until we were hidden behind my thick dark curtains. Just two seconds later, my room door slammed open, accompanied by a snap. "We wouldn’t be fucking here if you had just kept your mouth shut and aimed right." My body stiffened
JADE'The number you're trying to call is switched off, please try again later...'I turned to my side on the bed, the covers up to my chin, staring at the blank screen of my phone.Another weekend, and once again, Myles wasn’t picking up. Which meant one thing—Tristan.I had given up trying to understand why Tristan got to him like that. Ever since the project day, when Tristan sent George to the hospital for making a move on Myles, things had been a mess.Did Myles hate him or not? Should I wish Tristan death or not? The thoughts clawed at my head so badly it was hard to concentrate. It didn’t help that Myles had been scarce ever since the coach made it his mission to ensure Myles was more than ready.Why did Tristan leave the team? Why let Myles stand in his place? So many questions swirled in my head, and not even that fucking Eros wanted to help.Urgh.I’d cornered him once, pushing a black parcel into his locker. He turned, his eyes falling on me with my arms akimbo. He shut the
I stared, frozen at the door, at his forehead pressed against the wood, dark hair hiding half his face. It was him. It was him, alright. But Tristan… Tristan would never apologize to me. So what was this?“I know,” he said, his voice low. “It doesn’t matter if it was a mistake or if it wasn’t your mother’s calls. I shouldn’t have been doing that in the first place.”My grip on the door slackened, my thoughts going quiet. What was he doing?As if sensing the shift, he pushed himself off the wall, standing before me. He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking up at me while I still hadn’t found my words.“I’m not usually like this,” he continued, his eyes searching mine. “But since you ask why, I guess I have to say something.” He dropped his gaze to the floor. “Watching you that day, I realized I did steal your position. So… I gave it back. It was never mine in the first place.”I pushed the door wide open and stepped aside.He glanced at the open doorway, then back at me. I turned