It is the short story of two boys more like an enemies eventually got into sexually relationship.

Story begains with glossy, suffocating atmosphere of Bangkok's elite society, Kinn Theerakul was a king without a crown he dared to wear. He was the heir to Theerakul Industries, a conglomerate so vast its shadow covered half the city. To the world, Kinn was the picture of masculine perfection six feet of chiseled jawline, expensive suits that cost more than a working-class monthly salary, and an arrogance that rivaled the sun. But beneath the veneer of his royal status lay a secret that could shatter his empire: he was gay.

Fear of judgment from his father, the formidable patriarch of the business world, kept Kinn locked in a closet of his own making. He dated women, he toasted to business deals, and he played the part of the perfect heir, but when the lights went out, he craved something else entirely. To satisfy his urges without risking exposure, Kinn had become a patron of the night, a regular at rent-boy agencies, using his money to buy men who would worship him and disappear by dawn. He liked the distance; he liked not knowing their names. He was a man who lived in the light but died in the dark.

On the other hand If Kinn was a god of the upper echelon, Porche ( Bottom ) was a soldier fighting for survival on the battlefield of the lower class. Porche isak was eighteen, and his world had shrunk to three things: tuition fees, his mother’s medicine, and the endless cycle of part-time jobs that kept him awake until dawn.

With a scholarship to the prestigious business management college and a dead father’s crushing debt on his shoulders, Porche had no room for mistakes. He was sharp, sarcastic, and perpetually exhausted, hiding his anxiety behind a tough exterior. He was on a mission to graduate, pay off the loans, and ensure his mother didn't end up on the streets.

It was in the sterile, fluorescent-lit corridors of the university that their worlds collided. Porche was trying to navigate through a throng of students when he was deliberately cut off. He looked up to see a pair of designer loafers and the hem of a bespoke suit.

"Watch where you're going, poor boy," a voice sneered, rich with condescension.

Porche looked up, locking eyes with Kinn. The rich heir stared down at him, his expression bored, looking as if he’d stepped in something disgusting. The air between them crackled with immediate animosity.

"Watch your step, rich boy," Porche shot back, his voice steady despite the adrenaline spike. "Or you might fall into a hole of your own making."

Kinn raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh? And who's going to pick you up?"

Porche bristled. "I don't need anyone to pick me up. I carry my own weight."

Kinn took a step closer, invading Porche's personal space, his cologne overpowering. "That's cute. But you look like you're about to collapse. Maybe you should let me buy you a drink. On me."

"Forget it," Porche snapped, pushing past him. "I don't drink free shit."

As Porche walked away, he could feel Kinn’s gaze burning into his back—a gaze that wasn't just looking at him, but dissecting him. He didn't know it then, but that meeting was the beginning of a war he didn't know he was signing up for. Kinn wasn't just annoyed by the insolent scholarship student; he was intrigued. And in his world, intrigue was the first step to obsession.

To be continued,