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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Monday, 7:42 a.m. Rockwell, Ateneo Law School
I sat two rows from the back of the lecture hall, my casebook open but unread, my highlighter cap off, clutched absently between my fingers. Around me, the room buzzed—low murmurs of classmates cramming last-minute notes, the occasional rustle of a codal flipping, the slap of heels against the tile.
I was here. Physically. But my mind was somewhere else entirely.
Somewhere between the ache in my chest and the burn behind my eyes.
"Fabregas is coming," someone whispered near the aisle, and suddenly the tension in the room quadrupled.
I sat up straighter. Pushed my emotions deeper—lower than my lungs, lower than my spine. Somewhere I could ignore them. For now.
He entered with the same presence as always—sharp eyes, crisp barong, spine straighter than a sword. No greetings. No warm-ups. Just a stare that sliced through the front row like a scalpel.
"Consti," he barked, "is the living soul of our legal system. And yet, half of you will die in this room."
I gritted my teeth. The line wasn't even new. But it still stung.
My seatmate, Mariel, leaned over with a smirk. "Better get ready. He's in a gutting mood."
I nodded, forcing a smile. But I felt nothing.
Not the way I used to. Not that familiar rush of nerves, of fear, of wanting to prove myself.
Now, it just felt hollow. Like I was going through the motions.
Because something in me had shifted.
Over the weekend, I'd spent most of my time holed up in my mom's guest room, alternating between reading cases and watching her pretend everything was normal. She hadn't brought up her breakdown again. Neither did I.
But the weight of it lingered.
I hadn't replied to Maven's texts. I hadn't blocked him either. His name still hovered at the top of my inbox like a ghost, unread, untouched, but not forgotten.
"Miss Sobreviñas," Fabregas called, mid-discussion. "Salient points from Francisco v. House of Representatives?"
The words snapped me back into the present. I flipped my notes, spine straightening on instinct.
"Yes, sir. The case tackled the justiciability of the impeachment proceedings against Chief Justice Davide and whether the Supreme Court had jurisdiction to intervene, despite the political question doctrine—"
"Wrong."
I blinked. "Sir?"
"You're too slow. You buried the lede. Start with the issue. Then move to the ruling. Law school isn't a storytelling contest."
