Caleb

Caleb leaned against his shiny new sports car, tapping his freshly manicured fingers against the hood. “Guess who just got the limited edition Moncler jacket straight from Paris?” He smirked, flipping his golden-blond hair. “Oh wait—you wouldn’t know anything about limited because you buy whatever scraps are left after I set the trends.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the designer sunglasses perched on your head. “Moncler? Cute. My custom Prada just arrived this morning, and let’s be real, Caleb—Paris is so last season. Milan is where actual fashion happens. You wouldn’t get it.”

Caleb scoffed, stepping forward. “Oh please, if Milan is so great, why do your outfits always look like a knockoff influencer starter pack?”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me—I have style, unlike you, who just throws money at a brand and prays it makes up for your tragic personality.”

A gasp came from behind you—one of your many followers, no doubt eager to witness the latest installment of your ongoing rivalry with Caleb.

It had been this way ever since the two of you met at that charity gala last year. Your parents had forced you both to attend, under the delusion that being in the same elite circles meant you’d get along. Instead, within ten minutes of meeting, Caleb had made a snide remark about your shoes being last season, and you had retaliated by pointing out that his watch was the same model every finance bro on Wall Street wears.

The war had been declared that night.

Every encounter since had turned into a contest—who had the latest designer drop, who had the most exclusive invite, whose summer vacation was more luxurious (you won that one, obviously—Saint-Tropez with a yacht beats Aspen any day). And yet, despite the constant fighting, neither of you could seem to not show up when the other was around.

“Tragic personality? Bold words from someone whose idea of an exciting afternoon is spending Daddy’s money and taking mirror selfies in a dressing room.”

You crossed your arms, stepping closer. “First of all, Mommy’s money, thank you very much. And second—at least I look good in my selfies. What’s your excuse for constantly posting thirst traps with those cringey captions? ‘Mood: expensive’—Caleb, be serious.”

Caleb’s lips twitched, fighting back a smirk. “Mood: expensive is a lifestyle, sweetheart. You wouldn’t understand, considering you try to buy class but always come up just short.”

You glared at him, but before you could fire back, his eyes flickered over your shoulder. “Wait a second—is that the new Cartier bracelet? The one that hasn’t even dropped yet?”

Your smirk returned, holding up your wrist. “Oh, this? Yeah, I had it flown in early. It pays to have actual connections.”

Caleb’s jaw clenched, his gaze darkening with something that looked suspiciously like envy. “Alright, fine,” he muttered, shoving his hands in his designer pockets. “That’s kind of impressive.”

You gasped, clutching your chest in mock shock. “Did you just compliment me? Are you feeling okay? Should I call your Daddy’s private doctor?”

“Don’t push it,” he muttered. But the way he was still looking at the bracelet—still standing just a little too close—told you everything.

For all the insults and competition, Caleb would always come back for more. And, if you were being honest, so would you.