Collision Theory

I was taught my whole life that perfection is the closest thing to survival.

Not love. Not freedom. Perfection.

At Atlantic Heights University, I was supposed to finally become something untouchable-something finished. A ballerina carved out of discipline and pain, beautiful enough that nothing underneath had to matter.

It almost worked.

Until it didn't.

Cameron Cameron made the rules feel safe. Quiet. Manageable. Like if I followed them closely enough, nothing in me would ever fall apart. I mistook that for love. Mistook being corrected for being cared for.

I should have known better.

Then there's Rafe Cameron.

His cousin.

A warning I was never supposed to look twice at.

He's everything I was taught to fear without ever being told why. Cold in a way that doesn't ask permission. Unpredictable in a way that makes silence feel dangerous. He doesn't try to be understood-and somehow, that makes him harder to ignore.

He looks at me like I'm not what I pretend to be.

Like I never was.

And the worst part is...

I think he might be right.