Eighteen Below Him
Samira James has two weeks left.
Two weeks until she turns eighteen.
Two weeks until everything changes.
And a few months left trapped in high school with the boy she hates most.
Calvin Simms has been her enemy for as long as she can remember. Popular, untouchable, and the living reminder of a childhood misunderstanding neither of them ever corrected. Their interactions are sharp, heated, and carefully controlled.
Until they aren't.
As months pass, tension replaces silence.
Jealousy replaces indifference.
And lines blur where hatred once lived.
With rivals watching, secrets resurfacing, and temptation growing harder to ignore, Samira must decide if sticking to her rules is worth denying what her body and her heart are already choosing.
Because some mistakes feel too good to stop.
And sometimes...
you don't fall for the person you want.
You fall for the one you swore to hate.
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Chapter 3
Samira's POV
Mondays were always the worst, but today felt personal.
I pushed through the sliding doors of Saint Trenton High, my backpack snug against my shoulder, and immediately saw him.
Why is he everywhere lately?
Of course he had to be leaning casually against his locker, talking to Frederick, Denver, and Chris as if they owned the hallways. His raven hair fell perfectly over his forehead, and he was smirking at something Chris said. He looked effortless, untouchable, and infuriating.
I groaned under my breath and adjusted my bag strap. Two weeks until my birthday. Two weeks to make my plan real. And yet I was stuck in the same hall with the one person who made me want to tear my hair out.
"Morning, Sam!" Novia's voice cut through my internal panic.
I forced a smile. "Morning."
Amanda tugged at my sleeve, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Did you see him yet?"
"Yes. I saw him. And yes, I still hate him." I muttered.
Novia smirked. "Hate is a strong word for someone you cannot stop noticing."
I rolled my eyes and stepped aside to avoid a rushing freshman. Observing Calvin Simms from a safe distance was purely scientific. At least, that was the lie I was telling myself. Actually, I was perfectly fine before they suggested him as the perfect candidate.
Still, I could not help it. There was something about the way he carried himself, calm and confident with a quiet danger hidden in his relaxed posture, that made him impossible to ignore. He made it far too easy to notice him.
I shoved the thought away and made my way to Advanced English. Mrs. Huntington was calling roll, and the room buzzed with whispers about last weekend's football game and fresh gossip about Ashley Johnson's latest scheme.
Ashley. Perfectly curled hair, a designer bag swinging from her shoulder, and a smile sharp enough to cut glass. She spotted me, and her expression shifted instantly. Her hatred mirrored mine perfectly.
I ignored her and sank into my seat, hoping to blend into the background. She continued whispering to her friends, tapping her manicured nails and plotting. I looked out the window, letting the slow drift of the clouds draw my attention.
My heart skipped a beat. Calvin had walked in with his friends. He scanned the room, and then his gaze landed on me.
Great. Fantastic.
I shoved a pencil into my bag and tried to focus on Mrs. Huntington's lecture about symbolism in Romeo and Juliet. Classic tragic lovers doomed by hate and circumstance. How original.
"Samira." Mrs. Huntington called.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Read the passage aloud."
I cleared my throat and walked to the front of the room. Calvin's gaze followed me, unwavering and heavy. I refused to meet his eyes. From their desks, Novia and Amanda gave me subtle gestures, reminding me to stay calm and follow the plan.
I read the passage steadily, even as my mind screamed to glare at him, storm off, or throw the book across the room.
"Very good. Sit down."
I returned to my seat, my cheeks warm. Calvin's eyes lingered a moment longer than necessary. Then he looked away as if nothing had happened at all.
The day dragged. Math, history, and chemistry each passed with stolen glances and whispered comments. Denver passed by, grinning. Chris waved at Novia. Frederick laughed at Calvin's joke. I sat in the corner of the cafeteria, burrito in hand, plotting my escape before Ashley could try to corner me again.
By third period, the halls were alive with chaos. Lockers slammed, friends yelled across the corridors, and Calvin's crew strolled past like they owned every tile on the floor.
I tried to walk straight toward my locker when Ashley Johnson blocked my path, arms crossed over her chest.
"Look who it is." she purred.
I raised an eyebrow, matching her tone. "Ashley. Always a pleasure."
She smirked. "I hope you survive senior year without collapsing under the pressure. You do know about the senior party, right?"
I ignored her jab and fumbled with my locker combination. "Not interested."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Everyone is curious, especially Calvin Simms."
I could tell she was fishing for a reaction.
"What should I do with that information?" I asked, leaning forward slightly.
"Oh, you know." she said, stepping back with a fake smirk. "We all know you only pretend to hate him." Her minions laughed right on cue. "He will always choose me."
I slammed my locker shut. "Cute. You really need a hobby, Ashley."
Before she could respond, Calvin and his friends appeared at the other end of the hall. I froze.
"Hey, ladies." Denver said, nudging Frederick. Chris smirked at Novia and Amanda as they walked over to stand with me.
Calvin stopped, his gaze locking on me as if he could read every one of my thoughts. I looked down, pretending to tie my shoe, though no one was fooled. By the time I looked up, the crew had disappeared.
Ashley raised an eyebrow, clearly upset that his attention had not been on her, and walked off down the hall.
Novia nudged me. "Smooth, Sam. He definitely saw you."
"I did not. He did not. Novia, stop!" I hissed, shoving her lightly.
Amanda giggled. "Sure, Sam. Keep telling yourself that."
"He seemed distracted in English." Novia jeered.
My stomach twisted. "Distracted? By what?"
I wondered if they had noticed the same tension I felt. The hallway erupted again, and I hurried to class, hoping the next period would feel normal. It never did.
Lunch ended, and I found myself in English again, this time partnered with Calvin for a project. Fantastic. My plan to avoid him had failed miserably.
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and eyes sharp. "Don't waste my time, Sam."
I rolled my eyes. "Please. You look like you are waiting for me to mess up."
He smirked, that infuriating, arrogant smirk. I fought the urge to punch him and grabbed my notebook instead. The assignment was to analyze the themes in Romeo and Juliet.
"What is your take?" he asked, leaning closer than necessary.
"Sometimes people hate each other so much they cannot see what is right in front of them." I cleared my throat, trying to sound professional.
His smirk faltered briefly. "Cute. Very literary."
"Shut up." I muttered.
We spent the next thirty minutes silently competing. Every glance, sigh, and correction became a small battle. Every movement twisted my stomach in ways I refused to admit. By the time class ended, I was mentally drained and emotionally furious.
"Good luck surviving the rest of the day." Novia whispered as we exited the room.
"I will survive." I muttered, ignoring the flutter in my chest when Calvin's gaze lingered a fraction too long as I walked away.
Then came the announcement I had hoped to avoid.
"Attention, students." the PA crackled. "The senior party will be hosted at the Simms residence this Friday. Invitations are going out today."
My stomach dropped. Calvin's house. My enemy's territory.
Ashley definitely didn't know the venue yet, or she would have rubbed it in my face.
Novia elbowed me. "Looks like our plan just got a lot more interesting."
I clenched my fists. "Great. Just what I needed. Him, his friends, and a party where everyone will stare at me like I am supposed to swoon."
Amanda sighed. "Sam... two weeks until your birthday. You are working on our plan, right?"
I exhaled slowly. Two weeks to stick to my rules, stay detached, and avoid falling apart in front of him. And yet I had a sinking feeling that by Friday, nothing would be the same. Calvin Simms had a way of showing up everywhere I did not want him to be.
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7.3
I found out my husband of three years had cheated on me and his mistress is the one who told me-because he didn't have the balls to do it himself.
I move out and get a new apartment, a job as a bartender, and try to move on with a broken heart. I wonder where it all went wrong, if I hadn't been enough for him, if I'd been stupid for marrying him in the first place.
I'm at work one night when he walks inside-the most beautiful man I've ever seen. He sits at the bar and a forest fire burns between us. I was depressed the moment before he entered, but the second I look at his blue eyes, I forget the dumpster fire that my life has become. I invite him back to my place and it's the most passionate night of my life. I expect to never see him again.
I just want him as an anti-depressant-but he wants me all to himself. I just got my heart ripped out of my chest so I want something easy and no-strings-attached, but he wants all the strings because he's hooked.
I don't get much of a say in the matter, and that's not surprising when I learn why-because he's the Butcher. The crime lord of all crime lords, the boss that overshadows all of Paris, that makes everyone abide by his rules-or pay.
And now I'm his.
9.3
She sells flowers. He spills blood. And he will stop at nothing to make her his. Elena Rossi has always lived quietly among roses and lilies, dreaming of love as gentle as the petals she arranges. She thought she found it in Daniel, the man she planned to marry. Until her wedding day when a dangerous stranger walked into the church and shattered everything. Adrian Volkov is a king in the underworld, a man feared for his ruthlessness and power. But to him, Elena is not just a prize. She is an obsession. A storm he cannot live without. And he will burn the world and anyone in it, to claim her. Torn from the life she knew, Elena resists him, manipulates him, and even runs from him. But Adrian is relentless. His love is dark, his touch both punishing and tender, and his obsession inescapable. When betrayal and bloodshed close in, Elena must face the truth: She doesn't just fear him. She doesn't just hate him. She loves him. Petals and Blood is a haunting, passionate tale of obsession, betrayal, and the dangerous kind of love that blooms in shadows.
7.6
When the Pollard family kicked Alyssa out into the freezing rain, Walter threw a ten-thousand-dollar check into a dirty puddle.
"Take it and get out. Don't ever come back," he sneered.
Her adoptive mother and stepsister stood on the mansion's porch, mocking her as a worthless country girl who tarnished their wealthy name. They laughed, claiming she wouldn't even be able to afford community college and would be begging on the streets in a week.
They looked at her cheap clothes and worn backpack with absolute disgust.
They were completely unaware that for the past five years, Alyssa was the secret mastermind who had built their failing gallery into a multi-million-dollar investment empire.
Every key investment, every fortune they made, came from the anonymous notes she had slipped into their unread books. They genuinely believed they were business geniuses, while treating the true architect of their wealth like a stray dog.
Looking at their smug, arrogant faces, Alyssa didn't feel a shred of sadness, only a cold, sharp irony.
They actually believed they had raised her.
She stepped close, whispered the master code to Walter's most secret offshore account, and watched the blood completely drain from his face.
"I raised you," she said, turning her back on the mansion without hesitation.
Walking into the storm, she pulled out a heavily encrypted phone and gave a single, cold order.
"Initiate a full hostile takeover of the Pollard Group."
It was time to end this little game and step into her true life—as the world's most elusive medical genius, and the long-lost billionaire heiress of the Summers dynasty.
9.4
Michael Carter is an undercover FBI agent on a mission to take down ruthless mafia king Fernando Ramírez-the man he believes killed his sister. But getting close to Fernando means playing a dangerous game, one where seduction and power blur the lines between enemy and lover.
When Michael uncovers a shocking truth, his thirst for revenge turns into a fight for something far more dangerous-his own heart. Now, torn between duty and desire, he must decide: destroy the man he swore to take down or surrender to the one thing he never saw coming.
Love has never been more lethal.
8.7
I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape-the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return.
8.0
After fifteen years of marriage and a brutal battle with infertility, I finally saw two pink lines on a pregnancy test. This baby was my victory, the heir that would finally secure my place as the wife of mob capo Marco Vitiello. I planned to announce it at his mother's party, a triumph over the matriarch who saw me as nothing but a barren field.
But before I could celebrate, my friend sent me a video. The headline read: "MOB CAPO MARCO VITIELLO'S PASSIONATE NIGHTCLUB KISS!" It was him, my husband, devouring a woman who looked like a younger, fresher version of me.
Hours later, Marco stumbled home, drunk and reeking of another woman's perfume. He complained about his mother begging him for an heir, completely unaware of the secret I held. Then my phone lit up with a text from an unknown number.
"Your husband slept with my girl. We need to talk."
It was signed by Dante Moretti, the ruthless Don of our rival family.
The meeting with Dante was a nightmare. He showed me another video. This time, I heard my husband's voice, telling the other woman, "I love you. Elara... that's just business." My fifteen years of loyalty, of building his empire, of taking a bullet for him-all dismissed as "just business."
Dante didn't just reveal the affair; he showed me proof that Marco was already stealing our shared assets to build a new life with his mistress. Then, he made me an offer.
"Divorce him," he said, his eyes cold and calculating. "Join me. We'll build an empire together and destroy him."