Lovers-enemies-lovers Stories

Hatred wasn't born in a single night. It bled slow, like poison in a cup, bitter sip by bitter sip. Years ago, Royce shattered what little Ilya had - A betrayal dressed in loyalty, a wound masked as mercy. Ilya swore he'd never look back. He built his hate, brick by brick, Until it stood taller than the boy he once loved. But Royce? Royce never learned to let go. Instead of stepping away, he stepped closer. Wanting what no longer wanted him. Even as they stand on opposite sides of a war made of glances, of bruised knuckles and unsaid words. Royce calls it fate. Ilya calls it ruin. All that's left is destruction. Or is it?