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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The morning after felt like a cruel joke.
The sunlight streaming through the cracks in Maven's blackout curtains was gentle, golden, almost mocking. I laid there in silence, tangled in his sheets, the scent of him still clinging to my skin—sandalwood and sweat, desire and memory. My body ached, not in pain, but in the echo of the night before. The way he touched me. The way I let him.
I should've left the second I stepped into his apartment. I should've handed him the books, made a polite excuse, and gone back to my own world—the safe one. The one where I wasn't falling into the arms of someone I had no business craving.
But I didn't. Because I wanted him. Because he looked at me like I wasn't just Adrianna Sobreviñas, daughter of a broken family, survivor of a thousand secrets. He looked at me like I was someone who mattered.
Now, hours later, I stared at the ceiling, my heart a mess of emotions. Shame. Guilt. And beneath it all, a raw hunger for more.
What was wrong with me?
I shifted quietly, careful not to wake him. He was still asleep, his hand stretched across the empty space where my waist had been. His brows were relaxed, mouth slightly parted, soft. He looked young. Unburdened. Peaceful.
He deserved someone simpler. Someone who didn't come with baggage heavy enough to drown an ocean liner.
I pulled his shirt over my head and padded barefoot to the bathroom. The cold tile bit at my feet. I turned the water on, letting the steam cloud the mirror as I stared at myself.
My reflection didn't lie. My lips were swollen. My skin marked. My eyes—guilty. I looked like someone who made a mistake and already knew she'd make it again.
I braced myself against the sink.
This thing with Maven... it wasn't supposed to happen again. And yet it had. And God, it felt so good. So right in all the wrong ways.
The problem wasn't that I didn't want him.
The problem was that I did.
Too much.
And that kind of wanting? It burned everything in its path.
I stepped into the shower, hoping the water would wash off the night, the memories, the guilt. It didn't. I still felt him on me. In me.
And worse—I didn't want it gone.
———————
The sky outside Maven's windows had shifted from night to early morning gray. Pale light filtered through the sheer curtains, softening the sharp corners of his condo. I sat at the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but one of his shirts—white, soft, and smelling faintly of sandalwood and him. My knees were drawn up to my chest, arms wrapped around them like I could hold myself together.
