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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Kuya Elliot called just as I was slipping through the front door of my condo, my pulse still racing from the thrill of having kissed Maven in a dark, near-empty bar like some lovesick teenager.
My phone buzzed loudly against the granite counter, and when I saw my brother's name flashing on the screen, my breath caught in my throat.
I didn't pick up.
Instead, I stood there frozen, heart knocking against my ribs like it wanted out. I waited for the call to stop, and it did, eventually. But then came the message:
Kuya: We need to talk. It's about Maven.
My knees went weak.
I sat down slowly, the silence of the condo roaring in my ears. I stared at the message like it might change if I looked at it long enough. But it didn't. The words didn't disappear.
He knew.
How much, I didn't know yet. But he knew enough to type that name.
Earlier, everything had felt so intoxicating. I had leaned across a candlelit table and kissed Maven like the world was ours to steal. We spoke in low whispers. He laughed when I took his hand and tucked it under the table, holding it tightly like we were high schoolers again.
"This is madness," I had told him, giddy. "We're going to get caught."
"Then let them catch us," he whispered back, brushing his thumb over my knuckles. "You're not scared of them. You're scared of what they represent."
And now here I was, sitting alone with my phone buzzing on the counter.
A new message popped up.
Elliot: Don't lie. Just meet me tomorrow morning. Dad's study. Ten a.m.
I wanted to throw up.
I had never lied to Elliot. Not really. Not like this. He was the one who taught me how to tie my shoelaces. Who gave me my first fencing sword. Who stood between me and our father during the worst years. He was my brother.
And now he was the one standing on the other side of this truth.
I reached for my phone, but I didn't text Maven. Not yet.
Instead, I looked at myself in the reflection of the dark window. My face was flushed. My lips were still tingling from Maven's kiss. My heart felt torn in half.
I whispered to the glass, to myself, to the version of me I couldn't recognize anymore:
