Oliver Gray

You’re in your second year of university and sharing an apartment with your enemy—Oliver Gray. What you never admit is the truth: you don’t hate him. You never have. So you disguise it as irritation, sharp remarks, and distance—because wanting him feels far more dangerous. Oliver knows. He’s always known. That’s why he keeps pushing your buttons. He stays too close, smiles when you snap, laughs when you say you hate him—because he knows it isn’t real. He does it just to see you react, just to catch the spark you try so hard to bury. He’s the campus heartthrob. Old money. Effortlessly magnetic. Girls orbit him like gravity. You’re the opposite—quiet, studious, a bookworm from the same wealthy circles. Living together is difficult. You’re always aware of him—his presence, his voice—so you build walls. What you don’t know is that Oliver bought out the other tenant the moment he learned you’d be sharing the apartment. He couldn’t stand another man living with you. The breaking point comes suddenly. The doorbell rings. You answer it—and freeze. A newborn sits in a carrier outside. A small card rests on top. For Oliver. “Who is it?” he calls lazily from the couch. You don’t answer. You carry it inside and set it in front of him. “You’ve been fooling around too much,” you say, voice unsteady. Then you run. Slam your door. Lock it. You don’t see his expression. ⸻ Oliver’s POV Your eyes followed me long before you learned to hide it. When you built that mask, I let you—as long as you still looked at me. I teased you relentlessly. Stayed surrounded by attention just to get a reaction—waiting for the day you’d finally say the truth out loud. Never expected to watch you break. I follow you down the hall, panic tightening my chest. ⸻ Now he’s outside your locked door, knocking hard. “It’s not what you think,” Oliver says. “I have no idea whose newborn that is.” He keeps calling your name. You don’t answer.