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 4
Samira's POV
The second day back after the weekend always felt like walking into a war zone created by Monday.
Saint Trenton High smelled like cafeteria pizza and industrial hand sanitizer. The halls were a chaotic symphony of loud laughter, shouting, and the occasional slamming locker. I tried to walk calmly, keeping my backpack pulled tight against my shoulder, but of course he was there. He was standing by the lockers with his friends, arms crossed over his chest, smirking at something Chris said.
I groaned silently. Two weeks remained until my birthday. And yet, I could neither avoid him nor approach him with any sense of dignity. This was proving to be harder than I imagined.
Novia and Amanda appeared at my side like guardian angels or mischief incarnate.
"Good morning, Sam." Amanda said, nudging me with her elbow. "Ready for another thrilling day of high school survival?"
I rolled my eyes. "Thrilling? I would settle for uneventful."
Novia smirked, her eyes scanning the crowd. "Uneventful is boring, and boring does not get you ready for college or for him."
I groaned again, feeling my stomach twist into a complicated knot. "You two are truly insane."
First period was math, thankfully. It was a subject where I usually found some logic, but even there, I could not hide in the corner like I wanted. Calvin walked in five minutes late, his backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder, moving as if he owned the very air in the room. He caught my eye just briefly and then let that smirk play on his lips.
I quickly looked down at my notebook, pretending to be deeply focused on the equations Mrs. Talbot was scrawling on the board. My pen tapped a nervous, rapid rhythm against the paper. I could feel him watching me. I knew it. My heartbeat picked up speed, though I told myself it was just my imagination fueled by my friends' nonsense.
Passing periods were significantly worse. I tried to make it to my locker without running into the crew, but as I turned the corner, there he was again. He was leaning against a locker, one foot propped up casually against the metal.
"Fancy seeing you here." he said, the smirk dancing on his lips.
I rolled my eyes, refusing to be charmed by his proximity. "I am everywhere, apparently, just like you."
His smirk widened, reaching his eyes. "Touché."
I tried to keep walking, but he stepped slightly into my path. "Where are you rushing off to, Sam?"
"To avoid talking to you." I muttered.
He chuckled softly, a low sound that made an annoying heat rise to my cheeks. "Harsh. And here I thought we had a solid foundation of mutual disdain."
I scoffed. "We do. It is very mutual."
He leaned slightly closer, just enough for me to feel the sudden weight of his presence. "Then why do you seem so annoyed at me all the time?"
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Because you are infuriating."
"That is fair." he said lightly, finally stepping aside so I could pass.
I moved past him with my head held high, fighting the desperate urge to glance back over my shoulder. My stomach fluttered in a way that was definitely not annoyance.
By the time lunch rolled around, I was emotionally exhausted just from navigating the hallways. Amanda and Novia were waiting at our usual table, already deep in a discussion about some new gossip involving Ashley Johnson.
"You are late." Novia said, grabbing my arm to pull me into the seat. "Did Calvin harass you in the hall?"
I groaned, dropping my head toward the table. "Yes. He is everywhere."
Amanda smirked. "And you liked it."
I nearly choked on my soda. "I did not!"
"You did." Novia insisted, waving a salty fry for emphasis. "Do not lie to us. That little smirk you get? You know the one I mean. Your cheeks literally turn red."
I groaned again and buried my face in my hands. "You two are hopeless."
Novia leaned back, clearly enjoying my distress. "We are just trying to help you use your natural strengths."
"Strengths?" I asked warily.
Amanda tilted her head, looking thoughtful. "Your wit, your allure, and your ability to make him frustrated while you look perfectly composed."
I blinked, confused. "I am not trying to do that."
"Sure." Novia said. "Keep telling yourself that. But we all know you are going to enjoy the process."
I groaned again, feeling both irritated and something else I was not yet ready to put a name to.
Third period was English again. I had hoped that by partnering with someone else for the next stage of the project, I could avoid the storm that was Calvin Simms. Of course, my hopes were dashed before the bell even stopped ringing.
"Sam." Mrs. Huntington said, checking her clipboard. "You are with Calvin Simms."
My stomach sank. The boy I hated and had a complicated, confusing history with was now my forced collaborator once again. He leaned back in his chair, that smirk still firmly in place.
"Don't waste my time, Sam." he said.
I raised an eyebrow, finding my voice. "Excuse me? I was about to say the exact same thing to you."
He chuckled, and I wanted to throttle him. He was calm, composed, smirking, and infuriating. The perfect trifecta of annoyance. We got to work on our analysis, but our hands occasionally brushed over the notebook, causing me to tense with every accidental touch.
"You know..." he said softly, "You could actually be less hostile if you really wanted to."
I snorted. "I could say the same thing about you."
He leaned just slightly closer, enough that I could catch the faint, clean scent of his cologne. My pulse jumped, and I quickly looked away to the text. "Stop leaning." I muttered.
"Stop glaring." he countered, his voice low and teasing.
We spent the next forty minutes in a subtle war of words and glances. Every correction he made and every smirk he shot my way made my pulse race. I did not want to feel this way, and yet, I did.
After class, we headed back toward the cafeteria. I was halfway through my sandwich when I noticed Calvin talking to a girl from another grade. He was laughing, leaning in toward her casually.
Jealousy hit me like a physical blow before I could stop it. My friends noticed the shift in my mood immediately.
"Uh-oh!" Novia whispered, elbowing me sharply. "Look at you. Jealous already."
"I am not." I said, shoving another fry into my mouth to keep from speaking.
Amanda smirked. "Sure you are not."
I glared at them but could not tear my eyes away from him. He was laughing, so casual, and yet I found myself wanting him to notice me instead. Not that I would ever admit that out loud.
Ashley Johnson appeared behind him a moment later, whispering something into his ear with a triumphant look. My stomach twisted. I was not even sure what I was feeling-anger, jealousy, or something hotter-but I clenched my fists under the table until my knuckles turned white.
Novia leaned in. "See? We told you. He notices you, and now he is officially intrigued by the competition."
I groaned into my napkin. "I do not care."
Amanda snorted. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that, Sam."
By the end of the day, I was exhausted. It wasn't from homework or upcoming exams, but from surviving Calvin and my own body's betrayals. Walking out of the school, I exhaled a long breath and tried to collect my scattered thoughts.
Two weeks until my birthday. Two weeks until my carefully crafted plan could finally be put into motion. Even now, thinking about the upcoming party, the teasing, the hallway collisions, and his constant smirk, I knew something was going to go very wrong or very right.
And somehow, I was not entirely sure which one I wanted more.
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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.
7.4
I thought my life was over when my sister died, leaving me to raise her two babies in a world that wanted to swallow us whole. Then I made the mistake of a lifetime: I left a bold, humiliating voicemail for the one man I should have feared most.
Anton Oryolov.
The ruthless king of the Oryolov Bratva. A billionaire monster who rules the city with ice in his veins and blood on his hands.
I expected him to fire me. I expected him to destroy me. Instead, he gave me a choice that felt like a death sentence: sign a contract and become his.
The rules were simple. I belong to him. I live in his shadows. In exchange, he protects the children. But as the doors of his mansion locked behind me, I realized the "forced proximity" wasn't just a business arrangement. It was a cage.
He thinks he can use me as a pawn in his dark mafia games. He thinks the children are just leverage to keep me in line. But he's starting to look at me with a hunger that isn't in the contract, and I'm seeing a man beneath the monster that I never expected to find.
In the Cruel Paradise of the Bratva, loyalty is a lie and love is a weakness. Our deal is signed in ink, but it's going to end in blood.
He owns my signature. He owns my safety. Now, he wants my soul.
7.1
For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne.
But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.”
My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love.
He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party."
9.0
"You and your baby are mine whether you want it or not."
Renata Neroni's life was shattered the moment she discovered her boyfriend and stepsister's betrayal. In a rare lapse of judgment fueled by grief and alcohol, she spent a single, anonymous night with a stranger, unaware that she had just surrendered herself to Domenico Veronesi, the most formidable figure in the global underworld.
That night left Renata with more than just a memory; she was pregnant with the heir to a mafia empire.
As her father, desperate to free himself from the debts, prepares to marry her off to a man nearly his own age, Renata finds herself trapped. Her only escape arrives in the form of Domenico himself. Asserting his claim, he interrupts the arrangement and brings Renata to his secluded estate.
Within the fortified walls of the Veronesi estate, the man known for his cold, merciless exterior reveals a singular obsession: the protection of Renata and their unborn child.
However, Domenico's readiness to provide is met with a wall of ice.
Despite his efforts to provide for her, Renata's resentment initially hardens into a wall of silence.
To her, Domenico is simply another powerful man attempting to control her fate. However, as she is forced to navigate the inner workings of his life within the mafia world, she begins to see the man behind the fearsome reputation.
Renata discovers the deeper layers of Domenico, a loyalty and a hidden vulnerability regarding their child, and the fear that once defined her begins to dissolve.
9.1
I walked into the wrong hotel room...
To a naked man fresh out of the shower.
Now, I'm pregnant with his baby.
I should've left as soon as I saw him.
He was too beautiful to be real.
I got halfway to the door...
And then he saw exactly what I was trying to hide.
"Who hurt you?" he said when he glimpsed the bruises. "Let me fix it."
I should've said no.
But honestly? I deserve a little luck from the universe.
And if it wants to provide that luck in the form of a gorgeous, six-foot angel of darkness...
Well, I won't turn my nose up at that.
But nothing in this life comes without strings attached.
My angel gives me a night from heaven...
When morning comes, though, he turns into a devil.
And not just any devil.
This devil knows where I'm from.
Who I am.
What I've done.
And he's determined to make me pay for all of it.
9.0
I spent a year scrubbing floors in my fiancé’s club, hiding my identity as the daughter of the Capo dei Capi.
I needed to know if Connor Bishop was a King worth merging empires with, or just a puppet.
The answer came walking in wearing a neon pink dress.
Jaden Juarez, a civilian he was infatuated with, didn't just treat me like a servant; she deliberately poured scalding espresso over my hand because I refused to be her valet.
The pain was blinding, my skin blistering instantly.
I video-called Connor, showing him the burn, expecting him to enforce the code of our world.
Instead, seeing his investors watching, he panicked.
He chose to sacrifice me to save face.
"Get on your knees," he roared through the speaker. "Beg her pardon. Show her the respect she deserves."
He wanted the daughter of the most dangerous man on the East Coast to kneel to his mistress.
He thought he was showing strength.
He didn't realize he was looking at a woman who could burn his entire world to ash with a single phone call.
I didn't cry. I didn't beg.
I simply hung up the phone and locked the kitchen doors.
Then, I dialed the one number everyone in the underworld feared.
"Dad," I said, my voice cold as steel. "Code Black. Bring the papers."
"And send the wolves."