A Criminal Kiss [Max Verstappen]

chapter twenty eight

I woke to the sound of birds chirping outside my window. Their song felt mocking, a contrast to the heaviness in my chest. My engagement was now official, and every fiber of my being rebelled against it.

I sit before my vanity, staring blankly at my reflection. My maid pulls a brush through my hair with mechanical precision, but her chatter—something about the flowers in bloom—sounds like a distant hum.

All I can think of is Max.

The argument with him was still fresh, raw. His rejection echoed in my mind, each word cutting deeper than the last.

"We could never be at peace, Annie. You know that."

He'd looked at me with so much sadness, so much longing, and yet he still made me walk away.

Annie.

His name for me lingered, soft and intimate, something no one else had ever  called me. It felt freeing, as though he saw me not as a duchess, not as a duty, but as a person. And yet, he still refused me.

I had been so angry. Angry at him for not fighting for us. Angry at myself for thinking he ever could. I suppose it was selfish. But now, as the light of day filtered through the curtains, the anger subsided, leaving only a hollow ache.

And now, I am left to face the reality he so plainly laid out. My engagement to Lord Tompkins is not a nightmare I can wake from. It is my future, and no amount of wishing or dreaming will change that.

I draw a sharp breath and straighten my spine. If I must endure this, then I will. But my heart burns with the realisation I can no longer deny: I love Max.

Not with the fleeting infatuation I had thought myself capable of before, but with a depth and certainty that leaves me breathless.

I loved him.

It was a realisation as clear and sharp as glass. All I had ever wanted in my very boring life was to find a man who made me want to live. Not in a grand, all-consuming way, but in those quiet, tender moments that stir the soul. The kind of love that lights a fire within, that makes the mundane feel extraordinary.

Max was that man.

And yet, here I was, preparing for a day with my fiancé, Lord Tompkins—a man who could not have been more opposite to Max.

He is the only one who has ever seen me, truly seen me. And knowing that I must now let him go feels like carving out a piece of myself.

"Miss?" my maid says tentatively, pulling me back to the present. "Lord Tompkins has arrived."

Of course, he has.

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Lord Tompkins is precisely the kind of man I have always dreaded.

He is tall and broad-shouldered, with the air of someone who has never had to question his own importance. His suit is immaculate, his hair slicked back, and his every word reeks of entitlement.

He has been droning on about the same topic for the past half hour: hunting. Just like he did the first time we met.

I sip my tea and nod at the appropriate moments, though I can feel my patience wearing thin. Hunting is of absolutely no interest to me—still— but he seems to have an unfathomable love for the sport.

"In the spring," he says, gesturing grandly, "we'll have to take you out for a proper hunt, Duchess. I dare say you've never experienced anything quite like it."

I force a polite smile, the kind I have perfected over years of enduring these kinds of conversations. "That sounds... thrilling," I lie.

But even as he talks, I find my mind wandering. It is not Tompkins' deep voice I want to hear; it is Max's. I long for his wit, his warmth, his infuriatingly blunt honesty. He would never dwell on about something so dull without asking what I thought, what I wanted.

I think back to the first chapter of my life, the endless string of suitors who all followed the same tedious script. Gentleman after gentleman, they came to the door in their fancy suits, flowers in hand. They never asked about me, never cared to know who I truly was.

Lord Tompkins is no different.

And yet, I am expected to marry him.

The thought sends a fresh wave of misery through me. My hand tightens on the teacup, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

The rest of the day drags on in a haze of pleasantries and forced smiles. By the time Lord Tompkins finally departs, my face aches from feigned cheerfulness.

I retreat to my room, collapsing onto the bed with a sigh. My chest feels heavy, like I'm suffocating under the weight of my own life.

I think of Max again, and my heart twists painfully.

I want him near me—not just as a fleeting secret, but as something real and lasting. When he is close, it's as if the world sharpens, becomes brighter and more alive. A burning desire courses through me, a need to hold onto him, to fight for him.

But how can I fight when the battle feels so impossibly one-sided?

I close my eyes, and for a moment, I imagine what it would be like to live the life I want. To walk through the village with Max by my side, to laugh with him openly, to love him without fear.

The thought warms me, but it is quickly swallowed by reality. That life will never be mine.

And yet, my heart whispers a quiet rebellion: Perhaps it's worth fighting for anyway.

For now, though, I am left with nothing but this ache, this fire that will not be extinguished.

And I wonder how long I can endure it before I burn.

My heart ached for Max. For his easy laughter, his teasing remarks, the way he called me Annie like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I thought about sneaking out, about finding him, but the memory of his rejection stopped me. He didn't want this—didn't want me.

And yet, I couldn't let him go.

I loved him.

It was a quiet, steady love, the kind that crept up on you and took root before you even realized it. A love that made the world feel brighter, even in its darkest moments.

But loving him didn't change my reality. I was engaged to a man I didn't care for, bound by duty to a future I didn't want.

A future that was nearly impossible to avoid.

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