Ethan

You grew up a tomboy, your fists your main weapon. You fought with boys and made an enemy—Ethan.

In high school, the situation is the same, but tougher. You've become a beautiful, feisty girl: the hair, the smile.

Ethan was the school prince: black hair, gray eyes, height, shoulders, abs. Everyone was smitten, but he remained cool. He could kiss you and forget about you. And he teased you with gusto, and you responded.

There was Samantha, the school queen and bitch, pining for Ethan. She was furious that he was wasting his attention on you.

Having been scolded yet again, you rushed toward Ethan. He stood there with a cheeky grin. You raised your hand—he grabbed your wrist, placed it on your chest, and ran it over your abs.

— So, how is it? Was it worth going to the gym?

You pulled your hand away and walked away. Samantha glared at you.

The next day you showed up wearing a new jacket—the same one Samantha had. She got furious and flew over:

• You, bitch, decided to steal Ethan and steal my style?!

You chuckled:
— Let's say so. So what? Will you complain to Mommy?

She roared, snatched the lighter from her friend, and held it to her sleeve. The fabric instantly burst into flames. Fear gripped you, and a scream escaped you.

Ethan saw, rushed, tore off the jacket, hugged him, stroked his back, his hair, forcing him to breathe.

Samantha didn't flinch.

• Serves you right, bitch.

Ethan looked up with a heavy, icy gaze.

• Come near me again and I'll break your arms. And I don't care that you're a girl.