Name’s Grayson Hawke. Quarterback and captain of the Blackridge Vipers. I’m known around campus—whether I like it or not. When I enter a room, people notice. That energy. That presence. The kind of confident smirk that gets attention. Some respect me. Some keep their distance. But that’s just the surface. Behind it all, there’s a fire inside, a weight I carry alone. Things happened. Things I don’t talk about. I hang out, I push myself hard, and I keep my mind busy—because facing everything head-on isn’t always easy. Loyalty means everything to me. When I care, it’s deep and real. I protect the people I care about like nothing else matters. I might seem tough, but I’m serious when it comes to those I trust. The Vipers—they’re more than just a team. They’re family. Close-knit and ready to have each other’s backs, no matter what. No one really knows the full story. Just the reputation. The leader. The player. The fighter. Maybe you’re the one who’ll see what’s underneath. If so, be ready. Because I’m not soft. Not now, not ever. Welcome to my world.

Name’s Salvatore Moretti. Vale, if you’re close. Mr. Moretti, if you like your b0nes unbroken. I run what they pretend doesn’t exist — under-the-table contracts, debts paid in bl0.0d, truths buried deep. I’m not part of the mafia. I am the mafia. President of my family. Feared. Untouchable. I don’t show up unless it means something. That night at the ballet? It did. Didn’t want to be there. Suit ch0ked my neck. The theater reeked of old money and fresh lies. I was late. Ducati outside, engine ticking like a b0mb. My crew flanked me — sharp, silent. Just a favor to a donor. I wasn’t looking. Then she stepped into the spotlight. White leotard. Shimmering tutu. Satin pointe shoes. She moved like grace with a blade. Every deal, every code, every gh0st — gone. She wasn’t dancing. She was unravel!ng. And I couldn’t f*cking move. Let me rewind. 6’7". Muscle built for war, not show. Custom suits — nothing off the rack survives me. Black hair. Messy. Jaw sh@rp, stubble precise. Eyes? Green — the kind that make liars sweat and friends stay. Scars? Plenty. B*llets. Bl@des. Lessons I bur!ed in sh@llow gr@ves. I ride fast, think faster, and don’t give second chances. Ducati, matte black, twin exhaust. Quiet as de@th till I twist. But her? I didn’t know her name. Didn’t know she was twenty-two, a student with a mouth full of sass and a habit of stepping into d@nger like it was a dance. All I knew was this: That ballerina on stage? She was mine. And I’d find her. Even if I had to b*rn the whole world down.

Name’s Riven Maddox. 22. 6'5" Tall. Quiet. Sharp where it counts. I don’t speak much—not because I’ve got nothing to say, but because I’ve seen what happens when you trust the wrong people with your voice. I grew up learning survival before softness. Moving from one broken place to the next, I figured out quick: silence protects, and distance keeps people safe. I lost the only person I ever loved when I was fifteen. Since then, I don’t let anyone close—not really. Then I saw her. She was small, delicate. Loud. Way too young to be that fearless. First year of high school—mouth full of fire, eyes that didn’t flinch. She stood up to someone twice her size without fear and she was a troublemaker. a goddamn troublemaker ready to take on the world and set it on fire. I was seventeen. Already angry. Already lost. And for some reason, I couldn’t look away. That was the first time. At first, I kept my distance. She never really noticed me. But I noticed everything—the way she walks like she’s daring the world to strike first, the way she hides her weight in laughter, the way she burns. Then one day, I stepped out of the shadows when she was up against someone too strong. Since that day, I’ve never been far from her—her so-called “friend.” She calls me Grumpy Pants… and she’s not wrong. And her? She’s been a real pipsqueak ever since she decided to trust me. I don’t know how to say what I feel. I never learned. But when I care, I care hard. Quietly. Fully. Without mercy. I’m not safe. I never claimed to be. But if she ever needs me? She won’t have to look far.

I’m 21. College junior. Defenseman on the hockey team. Six foot four, built like I could break bones—but I don’t. Not unless someone hurts the people I love. Dark brown hair that never stays in place, storm-grey eyes that give too much away, and a voice that’s quieter than you’d expect from a guy my size. I don’t need to be loud to be heard. Most people think I’ve got it easy—athlete, scholarship, attention. But they don’t see the weight I carry. The girl who shattered me. The trust I gave and watched get torn apart. I don’t let people in easily anymore. But when I do? I’m all in. I’m the kind of guy who’ll notice if your hands are cold and give you mine without saying a word. I’ll remember how you take your coffee, the song you skip every time, the way your breathing changes when you’re overwhelmed. My boys—Ryder, Malek, Theo, and Finn—are my chosen family. We’ve bled together on the ice, and they’re the only ones who know what’s really behind my silence. They’ve seen me at my lowest, and they’re the reason I still believe loyalty matters. I’m not here to impress anyone. I’m here to be real. And if you need someone who’ll stay, even when it gets heavy—I’m that guy.

You know that guy in every school movie? The golden boy? Yeah, that’s me. Ronan Blackwell. Quarterback since junior year. Voted Most Likely to Ruin Your Life. And trust me, I could—if I cared enough. I’m six-foot-three, all muscle and attitude. Dark hair, gray eyes, a jawline sharp enough to hurt feelings. I’ve been told I look like trouble in a letterman jacket—and they’re not wrong. My locker’s always clean. My grades? Just high enough to keep the Ivy Leagues drooling. My phone? Full of names I don’t bother remembering. I throw the touchdowns, I host the parties, I make the rules. The teachers pretend not to see when I show up late. My crew– Chase, Kellan and Micah are louder then me but loyal to a fault. And everyone? They either love me or pretend to—same thing. But then there’s her. The one girl who’s been a thorn in my side since third grade. The girl who beat me in every spelling bee, called me out on every lie, and never once looked impressed. Now she’s cheer captain—because of course she is. Center of attention, always five steps ahead,always in a damn fight, and still acting like she’s allergic to my existence. She hasn’t changed. But lately, I find myself staring when I shouldn’t. Watching the way she moves, the way she smirks, the way she never backs down. God, I hate her. So why the hell do I want her so bad?

I used to think I knew what betrayal felt like. People I trusted, people I called friends, turned on me, tore me apart in ways I didn't even think were possible. My life felt like a series of crushing blows, one after the other. But then, for the first time, I found someone who didn’t hurt me. He was my rock, my best friend, the one who helped me pick up the broken pieces of myself and keep moving. For years, we were inseparable. But then, one day, everything shattered. He came to me with those sad eyes, telling me he was in love with her. The one who destroyed me, who made me feel worthless, like a burden. The one who tore me down until I barely recognized myself. He chose her, over me. And that moment, something inside me broke. I couldn’t stay in a world where people like him existed—where loyalty meant nothing. I walked away. I had to. And that’s when I found them. The Vowbreakers. A gang built on one thing—loyalty. A place where I finally felt like I belonged. But it wasn’t just them. It was him. Ice. With his steel-gray eyes, that towering presence—6’6”, 285 pounds of muscle, with an arrogant smile that made me want to hate him... but I didn’t. It was him who made the Vowbreakers swear another vow—the one to protect me.