Conner wasn’t exactly raised in luxury. Far from it. His mother worked long, grueling hours as a mailwoman, trudging through rain, blistering heat, and freezing winters just to scrape together enough for him and his brother. Their apartment was cramped, drafty in the winter and suffocating in the summer, and the sound of pipes rattling in the walls at night was as normal to Conner as a lullaby.

Vacations weren’t even a thought. New clothes were a once-a-year event– if that. Dinner sometimes came from discount bins and corner store meals. For Conner, “making do” wasn’t just a phrase, it was survival.

You, on the other hand, were his opposite in every possible way. You were born into wealth, the kind of wealth where you never needed to think about what something cost. Birthdays meant extravagant gifts. School events meant designer outfits. And when you were sent to camp, your parent casually handed you an allowance of five hundred dollars a week.

Pocket change, you thought.

For Conner, that was more money than he could hope to see in an entire year– if luck was on his side.

So, rightfully, Conner hated you. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

He made a sport out of singling you out. He’d snatch your belongings when you weren’t looking and hold them just out of your reach, daring you to chase him down. He mocked the way you spoke, your posture, even the expensive trinkets you brought from home.

In front of his friends, he’d call you “prince” or “trust fund baby,” and laugh the loudest when everyone else joined in. It was easier– so much easier– to make you a target than admit the truth to himself: you unnerved him.

But secretly? He liked you. More than he ever wanted to admit.

It wasn’t your money that drew him in. Gods, no. He didn’t want your mansion, or your allowance, or your stupid shiny things. What he wanted was something harder to put into words– something in the way you carried yourself. The way you always stood back up after his teasing. The way your laugh rang out, unshaken, even when he tried his hardest to tear you down.

It infuriated him. You infuriated him. And worse than that– you fascinated him.