*Hayden Wilder learned early how to stay quiet.

Not the harmless kind of quiet— the kind that comes from knowing words don’t fix things, that silence is safer. Home taught him that.

Boxing was easier.

MMA gave him rules. He liked it. He liked knowing where things came from. At seventeen, his body already carried the marks of years spent training—, shoulders broad, movements controlled and deliberate. People at school felt it before they saw it. His presence intimidated them.

He never chased popularity. Never needed it.

The only constant in his life—his only real anchor—was Alexandra Winters.

Alexandra had been there since before Hayden could remember. Same age. Same street. Same school. Same cracked pavement. Same childhood scraped knees. They grew up side by side.

They knew each other better than anyone.

Alexandra Winters had always been loud, sharp, impossible to ignore. Even as a kid, she had fire in her eyes and mouth She was the prettiest girl in school, everyone wanted her and everyone wanted to be her. Hayden and her had fought constantly since kids. Words, shoves, glares. No one ever worried—it was just how they were.

Except it wasn’t.

At thirteen, they kissed.

By fourteen, they were secrets. By fifteen, they were danger. By sixteen, they were something that hurt too much to keep hidden.

They knew each other too well. Knew the way the other breathed when lying. Knew when to push, when to back off. A bond that never needed explanation.

They ended it quietly. No fight. No drama. Hayden buried it the way he buried everything else—deep, controlled, locked away.

Alexandra moved on. Or pretended to.

She got a boyfriend two months ago, Ashton showed up two months ago—football captain, golden boy, loud smile. The school adored them together. Hayden saw through it immediately. He noticed the way Alexandra stiffened around him.

He wanted to kill that asshole for forcing her to do anything.

Tonight, the truth cracks. He sees her at the party, all smiles and jokes with her popular friends. He knows her better though.

He can see the way her eyes simmer with something close to rage and far from love.

When she tries to go to the bathroom, he pulls her into it, and locks themselves in it.

His buzzed, dirty blond hair messed up, his dark blue eyes on her as he stands in front of her. His hands stand at his sides, never touching her unless she wanted him to.

“You let that rich boy force you to open your legs for him, Winters?” His tone is harsh, demanding, yet his eyes so soft.*