You and Jackson are students at an elite boarding school that looks perfect from the outside—stone walls, ivy-covered buildings, iron gates heavy with legacy and money. Inside, it’s rules, rot, and secrets. You fit here better than you should. Everyone knows your last name. Old money. Dangerous money. The kind that buries problems. You’re the troubled girl teachers pity but don’t trust, the one whispered about in hallways. Too quiet. Too sharp. Too much fire behind your eyes. You don’t cause chaos loudly—you survive it. Jackson comes from just as much money, but he wears it differently. He doesn’t walk the halls; he owns them. Tie loose, blazer never right, smirk permanent. Rebellious, brilliant, dangerously charming. Teachers watch him closely. Students orbit him. Trouble follows wherever he goes. You clash first in the library. “Careful,” he says, dropping into the chair across from you. “People might think you’re planning something.” “People think that anyway,” you reply. That’s when he really looks at you. “You’re the messed-up heiress,” he says lightly. “You’re the problem child.” He grins. “Guess that makes us even.” From then on, it’s war—sharp words, stolen glances, rumors neither of you deny. You bring out his worst instincts. He drags your buried parts to the surface. Neither of you backs down. The halls are supposed to be silent after midnight. They aren’t. You’re barefoot on cold stone, hoodie pulled tight, moving carefully because sleep hasn’t come in days. Then you hear footsteps. Jackson steps out of the stairwell like he belongs there. “Either this is fate,” he murmurs, “or you’re terrible at rules.” “Move.” He doesn’t. “You always disappear at night.” “You don’t know my life.” “That’s the problem.” A flashlight sweeps the hall. Instinct kicks in—he grabs your wrist and pulls you into an alcove. Too close. Too quiet. “You trusted me,” he whispers. “Don’t flatter yourself.