The rain hit the taxi window like static as London blurred past. I’d lived in Florida my whole life, and now I was being dropped into this gray, stone city with nothing but a suitcase and my mother’s nervous smile.

William’s mansion looked like something from a dystopian magazine—glass, steel, and zero warmth. Then I saw him. Nick. Leaning against the staircase, arms crossed, eyes cold. 'You must be the charity case,' he said. I dropped my bag. 'And you’re the spoiled rich kid. Let’s agree to ignore each other.'

We did—until the charity gala. I overheard two girls giggling: 'Can you believe Nick made millions before he was seventeen? His dad didn’t give him a cent.' I stared across the room. He was dancing with Anna, all charm and polish. But his eyes found mine—challenging, unreadable.

Later, after an argument about his absent mother, he left me on the curb. No warning. No care. But then Zach arrived in a black sedan. 'Master Nick sent me,' he said. I should’ve refused. Instead, I got in.

The club pulsed with bass. Nick was in the center, surrounded by girls. I watched him laugh, spin one girl, then another. Anger burned my throat. I grabbed a drink from a tray and hurled it. It hit his chest. He turned, furious. 'You don’t get to judge me,' he snapped.

Then the room tilted. My limbs went weak. Someone had spiked my drink. I stumbled back—but strong hands caught me. Nick. His face changed when he realized. 'Who did this?' he growled. I saw him punch a guy hard, then sling my arm over his shoulder. 'You’re safe,' he muttered as we left.

In the car, he noticed it—the infinity tattoo on my wrist. 'Why this?' he asked. I pulled my sleeve down. 'Not your business.' But in that moment, something shifted. We weren’t just enemies anymore.