Born enemies, bound by something far more dangerous.
Maven is fire. Adrianna is ice. Their attraction was never meant to exist-and once it does, it refuses to fade.
Every choice costs them something. Every moment together risks everything.
They were...
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Why is it that the right person always seems to arrive at the wrong time?
It should have been a passing thought—simple, romantic, harmless. But instead, it clung to me like perfume in my lungs. A sweet kind of ache.
"Adrianna?"
Rocco's voice grounded me, gently tugging me back to the ballroom—chandeliers and strings, the distant hum of approval as he spun me through the final turn of the waltz. His hand was steady in mine. Familiar. Expected.
I smiled back. Of course I did.
But I was trembling underneath.
Because I felt it.
His eyes.
Somewhere across the room, Maven de Talavera was watching.
Always watching.
He never flinched when caught. Never hid behind pillars or polite conversation. He didn't have to.
His gaze was a flame. And I walked willingly into it.
Then came the moment I'd been dreading.
A tap on Rocco's shoulder.
We turned.
There he was.
Tall. Calm. Unbothered by the heavy air of centuries-old rivalry that hung between our families like a noose.
Rocco's brows lifted, puzzled, but Maven didn't falter. Commanding, dangerous, smooth as sin, he said, "May I steal a dance with Miss Adrianna?"
My breath caught. That voice—husky, velvet on a blade.
Rocco turned to me, uncertain. "I don't mind... kung okay kay Dri—"
But he knew. He always knew.
Before I could even find my voice, Rocco had already stepped aside. "It's fine with me."
The world paused. My heart pounded as I stared into Maven's eyes—dark, gleaming, full of mischief and meaning. I glanced back at Rocco, his face clouded with quiet confusion, and then at Maven again.
My hand hesitated... then gave in. I placed it into his.
Warm. Strong. Possessive. Dangerous.
"Maven," I breathed.
As he drew me into the center of the ballroom, heads turned. Eyes followed. The de Talaveras and the Sobreviñas did not dance together. Not in this lifetime. Not without consequences.
Cousins whispered.
Kuya Joaquin tapped my older brother's shoulder.
Tito Carlos lowered his glass. And somewhere near the archway, my Abuelita's smile faltered.
