Maven and Adrianna were born on opposite sides of a century-old feud-two scions of rival dynasties steeped in pride, power, and revenge. He's fire. She's ice. Their worlds were never meant to merge, yet fate orchestrates their collision with unrelen...
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It was already complicated—our relationship, I mean.
But the moment Macoy De Talavera officially announced his candidacy for Vice President—opposite my uncle, Carlos Madrigal—complicated stopped being the word. It became impossible.
Marcus Benjamin De Talavera Jr., a man of grassroots politics and silver-tongued oration, versus Juan Carlos Madrigal, my grandmother's nephew—backed by the oldest, wealthiest families in the country. They weren't just opponents. They were two opposing worlds, and Maven and I were caught in the middle.
Our names weren't just names anymore. They were banners, bloodlines, propaganda. And we—Maven and I—became something dangerous. A story too explosive to tell, but too tempting for anyone to look away from.
We tried to stay invisible. We tried to keep us small. We stayed quiet, dodged interviews, slipped into events separately. But even in the silence, the tension gre.
And the pressure made us come apart.
———-
The car is parked under a tired streetlamp, its flickering light throwing long shadows across our faces. Outside, rain lashes the windshield, relentless and wild, like it's trying to drown us where we sit.
The radio hums low—the tail end of the Vice Presidential Debate.
"...and while I respect Senator Madrigal's long tenure," Macoy De Talavera's voice oozes through the speakers, "we don't need another family dynasty pretending to be the people's voice while protecting old money and old lies."
I flinch.
Maven notices. "Dri—"
"He called my uncle a fraud," I whisper. "Again."
"He didn't say your name."
"He doesn't have to."
I turn the radio off. Silence surges in.
Maven sighs, jaw tightening. "Can we not do this tonight?"
"Do what? Pretend your father isn't slowly carving my family's name into campaign meat?"
He turns to me, sharp. "You think I want this? You think I like watching him tear apart people I—" He stops himself.
I look at him. "Say it."
He doesn't. Instead, he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "He's my father, Adrianna. And yours—your uncle—isn't exactly innocent either."
"My uncle's not perfect. But he didn't raise me to believe love had to come with a press release and a cleanup team."
Maven exhales hard. "You're not the only one with a legacy that eats everything in its path."
I bite my lip, shaking. "I'm tired, Mave. Tired of apologizing for who I love. Of hiding us like a scandal waiting to happen."
