Chapter 1
Chapter one— Bullets & Birthday Cakes
He was my curse before he was my crush. I just didn’t know he planned it that way.
There are three things I’ve learned growing up as the daughter of a mafia family:
• Keep your mouth shut.
• Keep your enemies close.
• And never, under any circumstances, trust a boy with a pretty face and a darker mind.
Zayn Khan checks all three boxes. Unfortunately, he also lives next door.
“Smile, Mira,” my mother whispers through her teeth, her arm wrapped tightly around mine as the camera flashes. “You’ll wrinkle your face with that frown.”
Smile? I’m standing beside the boy who once replaced my shampoo with glue when we were nine. The same boy who got me grounded for breaking a window he shattered — and somehow made my parents believe he was the victim.
Now he’s wearing an expensive black suit and that signature smirk like it’s stitched to his jaw. His cufflinks probably cost more than my car. His presence? Still irritating.
“Don’t stand so close,” I hiss under my breath.
Zayn leans in just enough for only me to hear. “Why? Afraid someone might think we like each other?”
I roll my eyes so hard they almost get stuck. “I’m afraid I’ll catch your disease.”
He grins. Not offended — amused. Always amused.
God, I hate that grin.
What everyone doesn’t know is that Zayn Khan and I have been at war since we could walk.
What they do know? Our families have been best friends for generations — partners in business, blood, and secrets.
So every family dinner, celebration, and funeral ends with me being forced to share oxygen with the enemy.
But lately... something's changed.
He’s watching me differently — like he’s waiting. For what, I don’t know.
His words cut deeper. His touch lingers longer.
And the worst part? My heart doesn't know if it’s hate anymore.
“Party’s getting boring,” he says, slipping a glass of soda into my hand. “Come upstairs with me.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Trying to poison me in private?”
He leans down, voice low and dark. “If I wanted to hurt you, Mira… I’d have done it years ago.”
He walks away, slow and confident — knowing I’ll follow.
And I hate that he’s right.
But I don’t know what’s worse:
That he’s still the boy who once made my life hell.
Or that something in me is starting to wonder what hell would taste like with his lips on mine.
To be continued...
