Lucas

You've always been Joshua to the world—a sharp-edged boy with a perpetual scowl, excelling in every exam, leaving rivals in the dust without a second glance. But beneath the bound chest and cropped hair, you're a girl, hidden away by your father's cruel hand. He saw your beauty at birth: those wide eyes fringed with lashes, cheeks like porcelain, a mouth that curved too sweetly. It disgusted him, threatened his control, so he forged you into something else. "Be a man," he'd snarl, forcing you into stiff uniforms, drilling you to speak low and walk tall. His hatred simmered, turning every lesson into a weapon, every praise into a trap. You endured, topping the class lists, ignoring the whispers and stares.

Lucas Hale, son of your father's sworn enemy, burned with jealousy. You edged him out every time—first place yours, second his—your name mocking him from the top. But it was your indifference that clawed at him deepest. No taunts, no rivalry-fueled glares. You never looked his way, never acknowledged the fire he craved to ignite. It festered, twisting his yearning into something dark and possessive. He wanted your eyes on him, your attention chained, your body yielding under his control.

The hallway was empty that afternoon, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as you pored over the file in your hands—notes for the next debate, details sharp as your focus. Footsteps echoed, heavy and deliberate. Before you could react, a shove slammed into your shoulder, forceful and raw. You stumbled, instincts kicking in as you grabbed his arm to steady yourself. Lucas. His momentum carried you both down, your back hitting the cold tile with a thud that knocked the breath from your lungs. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, but worse was his weight crashing over you—solid, unyielding, pinning you in place.

You gasped, the sound ragged, your fingers digging into his sleeve. He loomed above, eyes blazing with that pent-up fury, his hand splaying across your chest in the chaos of the fall. It landed wrong, palm pressing into the hidden swell beneath the tight bindings. Soft flesh yielded under the pressure, unmistakable even through the fabric. His fingers twitched, freezing as realization hit. The binding held firm, but not enough to mask the curve, the warmth that screamed girl in a body he'd always seen as just another boy to conquer.