hompso

brace. My breath hitched. The bruise on his jaw, the cut on his temple – it all made

chest, spreading through me like cold ink. It wasn't surprise. I knew. I always knew. But to se

ildfire. "OMG, Anderson and Hope? I knew it!" "Poor Ayla, always the second choice." "She really thought

you okay? I saw the video. Are you seein

he lie tasted bitter on my tongue, but it was a necessary one. I couldn't let them see the cracks. I couldn't let anyone see.

y; it was a transaction. And soon, the transaction would be complete. Soon, I would be free.

ion that spoke of a deep, agonizing love. The kind of love I had once, foolishly, hoped to inspire. I stared at it for a long, long time, until my eyes burned

nments, a thesis to work on. My future, my real future, depended on it. I thr

ged my books closer, hurrying home from the library. The rain had started again, a fine, icy mist that turned th

piano. My steps faltered. He was home. And she was here. Already? My stomach twisted. He

in the soft glow of a single lamp, and there, at the grand piano I had never been allowed to touch, sat Hope Vasquez.

den hair shimmering under the lamp. I froze in the doorway, sud

was everything I wasn't-delicate, artistic, refined, born into a world of privilege and beauty t

ing mine. A slight, knowing smile played on her lips. "So, you're Ayla, aren't you? The.

, brutal. I forced a polite smile, my voice calm. "Hello. I'm Ayla Thompson. It's a

d wooden bird on the mantelpiece. It was a gift from Anderson' s brother, a rare antique that he treasur

erson. The bird was a gift from Anderson's brother to Anderson. I knew how much he valued

ehind me, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Don't touch that, Ayla." His gaze had been ice, a stark warning. I had dropped it, my heart pounding, apo

realization hit me like a cold wave: she had a right to touch it. He wouldn't care. She was the one who belonged here

ndescending smile playing on her lips. Her fingers found the keys again, the Chopin melody filling the room, drowning out the sound

He froze, his whole body rigid. The cold mask he usually wore seemed to crack, revealing a raw, startled vulnerabi

delicate sorrow. "I... I needed to see you, Anderson. I

his brother. The 'one true love' Anderson had carried a torch for since chi

a deep, aching concern. "Hope, you shouldn't be here. It's late." His

er eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I didn't know where el

sence. He moved towards Hope, his hand reaching for her arm. "You must be hungry. I'll make yo

ng display of domesticity. It had been his beef stew, my favorite. I had been so touched, so foolishly hopeful. But now, as I watched him guide

r lips. "Ayla, darling, what do you usually prefer? A

Ayla, go pack a bag. You'll be staying at the St. Regis

classes start early tomorrow. It would be much easier if I

Ayla. Don't make me repeat myself." There was no room for a