Rhys tossed an envelope onto the table in front of me. A stack of cash was visible inside—exactly the amount of his tuition. A lazy, confident smile played on his dangerously handsome face. "Your money. Thanks, Princess."

The moment he left, I was suddenly the talk of the Yale campus.

My friend grabbed my arm, her voice a frantic whisper. "Camila, are you crazy? That guy's a social climber! I heard he'd do anything for a scholarship. His eyes are pure ambition—you have to stay away from him!"

A nosy sorority sister sidled up, her eyes sparkling. "Wait, you actually know Rhys? Can you get me his number? Oh my god, he was so hot at the last debate tournament!"

I just stood there, completely stunned.

After class, a tall, arrogantly confident figure blocked my path. It was Rhys, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing strong forearms. He let out an appreciative whistle. "Come see my 'studio' with me."

A group of his equally ambitious friends behind him hooted with laughter.

"Rhys, she looks too delicate. Where's the fun in that?"

"Yeah, that hottie from the art department is way more interesting. That body, that look!"

My face went pale. Like a frightened rabbit, I dropped my head and scurried away.

Their loud laughter chased me all the way back to my dorm.

Back then, I truly hated him. He was a wolf from the wilderness, and we were from different worlds.

But Rhys was relentless. He showed up every day, refusing to be ignored.

Everything changed the day a notoriously rigid professor singled out one of my arguments in class and began systematically tearing it—and my confidence—to shreds.

Just when I thought I was going to fail the course, Rhys materialized like a knight in shining armor. He calmly dismantled the professor's argument with logic and data, leaving the man speechless.

He stood before me, his arm wrapping gently around my shoulders. His voice was softer than I had ever heard it. "Don't be afraid. I'm here."

That day, he walked me back to my dorm, his deep eyes glowing under the streetlights as he watched me disappear inside.

In that moment, the walls around my seventeen-year-old heart crumbled.

First love is a tornado—raw, powerful, and utterly unstoppable.

Rhys and I started dating, dreaming of the business we would one day build together. Then my parents found out.

They were furious. They froze my credit cards and demanded I cut all ties, insisting a boy like him was dangerous and would ruin my future.

But all I could think about was Rhys.

For seventeen years, I had been the perfect, obedient daughter.

Rhys was a hammer, shattering the rules of class and pulling me into a world that felt dangerous but real.

He would sneak me off campus to informal pitch meetings, where we would argue late into the night over business ideas. When I cried my eyes out after failing my first major exam, he stayed by my side, clumsily but determinedly trying to cheer me up.

Swept up in what I believed was destiny, I dropped out of Yale and followed him to Silicon Valley.

In the car on the way to California, he held me so tightly I could feel his heart pounding like a war drum.

He asked me, "Camila, if you're with me, you won't have your family's protection. We'll have to make it on our own. Are you scared?"

I looked up at him, my eyes shining. "I'm not scared."

"Good. I swear, Camila. If I ever betray you, I deserve to lose everything."

His vow, back then, felt sincere.

And the days that followed were brutal.

We crammed into a tiny garage apartment, surviving on instant ramen and free snacks scrounged from startup events. The winter nights were so cold we had to huddle together just to stay warm.

Rhys would give me the only hot slice of pizza and use his own body to warm my freezing feet.

We fought desperately for a better life.

Rhys was smart and fearless, recruiting other talented engineers and slowly building his team.

I shed my naivete and remade myself from a sheltered rich girl into his sharp, capable co-founder.

We moved from that rundown garage to a real office, and eventually to our own corporate campus.

At the celebration for our company's Series B funding, he knelt on one knee before all our colleagues and proposed. The entire company erupted in cheers.

I thought that was our happy ending, that we would be together forever.

Until that young, up-and-coming influencer appeared. She was so young, and she looked at him with the same adoring gaze I once had.

Rhys fell for her.

We argued, we threw things, and our fights escalated into business attacks and betrayals.

We went from soulmates to sworn enemies.

The apartment door was thrown open. An eighteen-year-old Rhys walked in. But when his eyes met mine, the boyish adoration was gone. In its place was something that made my stomach drop—the same complex, dark exhaustion and resentment from years of fighting.

In a single glance, I understood.

He had been reborn, too.

And he knew that I knew.

Standing in this shabby apartment, once filled with sweet memories, the air was thick with our unspoken history. My heart hammered against my ribs.

"About the sailboat," Rhys cleared his throat, his voice hoarse. "I was out of my mind. I wasn't thinking straight... I wasn't myself."

I stared at him, the absurdity of it all hitting me at once.

Years ago, in this very room, he had held me and whispered, "My Camila, I'm so sorry you have to suffer like this. I promise, when my company goes public, I will give you the grandest wedding."

Back then, I believed he was sincere.

Just as I'd believed he was sincere when he humiliated me on the sailboat.