The rain fell heavily that night.
Not the calm kind of rain that helped people sleep peacefully.
This one felt angry.
The black car sped through the empty road while thunder cracked loudly across the sky. Roman sat in the back seat, staring blankly out the window, his heartbeat strangely uneasy.
Something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
“Dad…” he called quietly.
His father did not answer.
Mr. Styles kept both hands firmly on the steering wheel, his sharp eyes focused on the dark road ahead. The expensive watch on his wrist glimmered whenever lightning flashed across the windshield.
“Dad?”
Still nothing.
Roman frowned slightly.
His father was always serious, always composed, but tonight felt different. His jaw was tight. His breathing looked heavier. Almost like he was expecting something.
Then suddenly
Headlights appeared behind them.
Fast.
Too fast.
Roman sat up immediately.
The black SUV behind them sped closer, almost kissing the back of their car.
“Dad…” Roman whispered again.
This time his father spoke.
“Lock the doors.”
Roman froze.
The tone in his father’s voice did not sound normal.
It sounded afraid.
Before Roman could react, the SUV slammed violently into their car.
Roman’s body jerked sideways.
“Dad!”
Another hit.
Harder.
The tires screeched loudly against the wet road.
Roman gripped the seat tightly, panic rising in his chest as the car lost control for a second before his father steadied it again.
Then his father finally looked at him.
For the first time in Roman’s life…
He saw fear in his father’s eyes.
“If anything happens tonight,” Mr. Styles said heavily, “you run.”
Roman shook his head immediately. “What are you talking about?!”
“Roman.” His father’s voice deepened. “Listen to me carefully.”
The SUV rammed into them again.
Glass shattered.
Roman yelled as tiny pieces cut against his skin.
“They’re here because of me,” his father continued painfully. “Not you.”
The world suddenly became too loud.
Rain.
Thunder.
Tires.
Fear.
Roman’s breathing became uneven.
“Dad, who are they?!”
But before his father could answer
A gunshot echoed.
The car swerved violently off the road.
Everything happened too fast after that.
Metal twisting.
Glass breaking.
Pain.
Then silence.
Roman opened his eyes slowly, his ears ringing badly.
Smoke filled the air.
Blood trickled down the side of his forehead.
“Dad…?”
No response.
His shaking hands reached forward.
“Dad…”
Still nothing.
Then Roman saw it.
A shadowy figure standing outside the destroyed car.
Watching.
Waiting.
Lightning flashed across the sky for one brief second.
And Roman saw the symbol carved into the man’s wrist.
A black serpent.
The figure smiled faintly before disappearing into the rain.
Roman stared after him, trembling violently.
That was the night Roman Styles stopped being just Berkley High’s golden boy.
That was the night revenge was born.
The morning sun bled across the glossy floors of Berkley High, casting long golden streaks over the streams of students rushing to their lockers, shoving books into bags, swapping gossip that would die by lunch.
But amid the chaos, there was one certainty — when Roman Styles walked in, the air itself shifted.
Heads turned, conversations dipped, footsteps faltered.
Roman did not demand attention, he commanded it, just by existing.
Today he wore a white leather jacket tossed over a simple black turtleneck, dark ripped jeans, and silver chains that caught the light with every casual stride. His hair, that perfect, tousled mess girls daydreamed about, fell across his forehead just right, like it had been styled by the gods. He did not smile yet, he did not need to. His presence alone was enough.
Roman Styles: the undisputed king of Berkley High.
Heir to the “STYLES” empire.
The hottest thing since fire was invented.
Playboy. Heartbreaker. Fashion icon.
And absolutely, completely uninterested in anything resembling real emotions.
His rules were simple:
No juniors.
No falling.
No drama.
No exceptions, not for anyone.
Roman walked like he had the world in his pocket, dodging a few hopeful smiles, some daring winks. His phone buzzed lazily in his pocket, but he ignored it. Probably another girl trying her luck. He would answer later. Maybe.
By the lockers, a familiar figure leaned back, arms folded, waiting.
Daniel Macov.
The quiet storm behind Roman’s wildfire.
Dark hair, steel framed glasses, and a face too handsome for someone who could explain the theory of relativity in under sixty seconds. Daniel was the guy who did not say much but when he did, you listened. He had this brooding genius vibe going on, but anyone who knew him well, like Roman, knew he was just as chaotic as the rest of them underneath all that cool.
Roman smirked.
“Late again, Macov. Thought you got abducted by your science club.”
Daniel snorted, adjusting his glasses. “Nah. Had to finish designing a lens for my new camera. You know… brain stuff. You would not understand.”
Roman laughed, a rich, effortless sound that made a few freshmen trip over themselves.
She practically materialized beside him — Davinna Thompson, the school’s permanent storm cloud.
Blonde curls bouncing, dressed in head to toe designer, her manicured nails clutched at Roman’s arm with practiced familiarity.
Her smile was perfect, too perfect. It did not reach her eyes.
Roman’s entire body stiffened, the easy grin slipping a fraction.
“Davinna,” he said, coolly stepping just out of her grip, like he had practiced it a hundred times. Because he had.
Davinna’s lips twitched, pretending not to notice the rejection. “I was thinking,” she purred, voice syrupy, “we should go together to the Styles Fall Launch. Everyone expects us to show up together, after all…”
Roman’s jaw tightened. His rules were clear, especially with her.
In public, he was polite.
In private, he was brutal.
“I am good, thanks,” he said, voice light but sharp as glass.
Davinna’s smile cracked for a breath, a flicker of anger, but she stitched it back into place fast. “You will change your mind,” she sang, flipping her hair before disappearing down the hallway, heels clicking angrily.
Daniel gave Roman a look.
Roman shrugged it off, but inside, a dull irritation burned.
Davinna Thompson, daughter of Berkley High’s proprietor, and his personal nightmare.
Everyone knew she was engaged, arranged to marry Steve Cameron, the ice cold president of AR Industries.
Everyone also knew she hated him with a passion, enough to publicly slap his hand away when he tried to hold hers.
But none of that mattered.
In Davinna’s mind, Roman Styles was the prize she was supposed to win.
And Roman? He had no intention of being anyone’s trophy.
“Let us get outta here,” Roman muttered.
Daniel smirked, and they made their way into the cafeteria, a sprawling, noisy kingdom, and they were the rulers.
At the center table sat the rest of the group.
Daisy Wesley spotted them first, waving with the kind of excitement only Daisy could pull off without looking desperate. She was a literal burst of purple today, hair, dress, even her shoelaces. She was bright, bossy, beautiful, and practically the mother hen of their chaotic flock.
Next to her was Esmeralda Desmond, her smile easy, her outfit crazy in the best way. She wore one of her own designs, a patchwork denim skirt and oversized hoodie combo, and bounced in her seat as Roman and Daniel approached.
Across from them, with headphones slung around his neck, sat Kim Wu Simon, the upcoming Korean rap sensation in training. He barely glanced up as they sat down, his fingers drumming a silent beat against the table, but a wide grin broke across his face anyway.
Roman slid into his usual seat, the chatter folding around him like a warm, familiar blanket.
He belonged here.
Amongst the laughter, the snark, the realness.
It was one of the few places he did not have to perform.
“You’re late,” Daisy teased, stealing one of Roman’s fries without shame.
Roman arched an eyebrow. “You are lucky you are cute.”
Daisy grinned. “Facts.”
Kim Wu tossed a bottle cap at Roman. “Davinna again?”
Roman caught it mid air, sighing. “Like a bad romcom that refuses to end.”
The group laughed, but beneath it, Roman felt a flicker of unease.
Davinna was not the kind to take rejection lightly.
She would push. Harder.
She always did.
Still, for now, he pushed the thought aside.
The cafeteria buzzed around them, football players tossing a ball over someone’s head, the theater kids arguing about scripts, the debate team locked in heated conversation even while eating their sandwiches.
Berkley High was alive.
Messy.
Perfect in its imperfections.
Roman leaned back, letting the noise wash over him, a small, real smile tugging at his mouth.
This was his kingdom.
This was his life.
And he had no intention of letting anything, or anyone, mess with it.
He did not know it yet.
But by the time the year was over, everything would be different.
Because somewhere in the sea of students…
A new heartbeat had just entered Berkley High.
And Roman Styles was about to break every rule he had ever made.
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