I snuggled deeper into my thick black leather jacket, sipping the sizzling hot coffee in an attempt to keep the cold away. The weather in Africa is... unique, to say the least. Cold days are rare; most of the time, the sun just tries to burn your skin to a crisp. So yeah, today was a strange day for such a hot place.
Through the glass walls of the kitchen, I watched the sunrise spill its healthy orange glow across the horizon. The light painted the sky in muted colors, soft yet beautiful. The pool rippled and splashed lazily, and for a moment, the morning felt wrapped in a vague atmosphere of comfort.
But inside me, comfort was the last thing I felt. I had never been as lost as I was now. It's one thing to forget someone—it's another to realize that the person you forgot has been beside you all along.
Nathaniel Thorne... and the little boy from years ago... were the same.
It wasn't surprising that I had forgotten him. I've always been good at burying certain memories deep in the corners of my mind, in places I could never reach them again. A self-defense mechanism, I guess. To protect myself from the things I didn't want to remember. But that very defense was what left my mind such a crumbling mess now.
Nathaniel is important to me, that much is true. But the fact that he had been a stranger just moments ago—and suddenly became someone I had known, someone I had liked as a child—was something I couldn't easily accept. The contrast was too sharp, and it made me dizzy just thinking about it.
When I thought of him, a storm of emotions swirled in me: anger, happiness, joy, sadness, fear, hatred.
And then there was something else. Something subtle. A feeling alien to me, yet undeniable.
Possessiveness. In all its unholy glory.
I clutched the coffee cup tighter and bit my lip, shaking my head to scatter those maddening thoughts. No, I was handling this all wrong. We were kids back then. Now, we're different. Time changes people, and I'd bet he isn't the same boy I once knew. He might not even remember me at all. So why open a door we'd both rather leave shut?
No. I'd just have to bury those memories again. And again. And again. Until they vanish like they did before. Hopefully for good.
I drew in a deep breath, leaned back on the kitchen chair, and poured myself another cup. The taste was warm, nourishing—steadying my nerves just enough to make me exhale in relief.
That was relaxing.
Just then, Mum walked into the kitchen, probably aiming for her usual morning bowl of cereal. She froze when she saw me, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before she hesitated and moved closer. Sitting across from me at the kitchen bar, she reached over, gently tucking a few strands of hair behind my face. Concern lingered in her eyes.
She was dressed in golden nightwear that smelled fresh and soothing. I sighed. I really needed that too.
"Sweetie, you're cold," she said with a frown. "Why didn't you just turn the warmer up a few degrees? Is freezing yourself some new TikTok trend now?"
I rolled my eyes. "Luke's coming in a few minutes. We've got a class picnic at some tourist forest a few kilometers north. Since I'll be outside most of the day, I might as well get used to the cold."
Honestly, the whole thing felt awkward. Ever since Mum came home, we hadn't had a proper conversation—at least not one where we exchanged more than five words. I knew she was trying to bridge the silence now, but that didn't mean taking that step would be easy.
As for Dad... well, the happy-go-lucky old man was just thrilled to have his wife back. Which left me as the only one standing outside the family dynamics, watching from the edges.
After the drama of the day she returned, whatever remained of our already fragile relationship had been shattered beyond repair. She might as well save her energy.
She smiled at me, and for some reason, that only made me shift uncomfortably.
"Honey, you don't have to force yourself to reply if you don't want to. I'm not so unfamiliar with you that I can't tell when you're irritated."
"Well, that makes things easy," I said flatly. "I'd really like to be alone, if you don't mind."
She pouted. "Actually, I do mind. Quite a lot."
I turned back to the glass walls. I wasn't ready for her nonsense—not now. Two could definitely play this game.
Then she rubbed her forehead, and for the first time since she came back, I caught a glimpse of something I'd never associated with her. Vulnerability. She looked... tired. And scared.
"Whatever happens," she said softly, "I want you to know that I will always love you. I may not be the most perfect, sweet-talking, angelic mum most girls your age have—but that, I can promise you, is true."
That made me turn back to her. Part of me wanted to keep ignoring her, to pretend she wasn't even there. But I lost that battle. That didn't mean we were suddenly going to return to how things once were. I just... needed a reason to despise her less.
"I don't buy your excuse about being held up in Washington," I said, lifting my mug and taking a slow sip. "But if that really was your reason, then what you're saying now makes you a hypocrite."
She smiled thinly. "You want to know why I refused to come home for months, don't you? I guess it was stupid of me to keep it a secret. I just didn't want you to get involved. See, honey... your mum is adopted. I went on a little adventure to find my birth parents. But I attracted some... unwanted attention along the way, and it wouldn't have been safe to come home before erasing my tracks."
I froze, narrowing my eyes and setting the mug down carefully. "What kind of trouble exactly? And... did you find them?"
"The woman who gave birth to me died years ago," Mum said. "She did marry, had a family, probably lived a satisfying life. But there were no records of who got her pregnant with me. Either she was very good at keeping it hidden, or... it was someone she couldn't name. Her relationship history was spotless. Narrowing things down meant digging into possibilities—and that attracted attention I didn't need. Trouble I had to... deal with."
She was downplaying it, I could tell. Whatever she ran into was serious enough to keep her away. But one part of her confession grabbed my attention.
"So... I have step-cousins now?" I asked, my voice layered with emotions I couldn't untangle. "I think I'll need time to process that."
Mum laughed, her voice ringing like soft, melodic bells. Suddenly, she didn't seem quite so hateful in my eyes—but only a little.
Before I could say anything more, footsteps drew our attention. Luke walked into the kitchen, ever the picture of elegance: a scarf draped around his neck, hands tucked neatly in the pockets of his polished black trench coat. He smiled at Mum, and I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. Great. Now he wanted to charm her too.
"Good day, Mrs. Storm," he greeted smoothly, standing behind me—and stealing a sip from my coffee without permission. "I trust you're having a pleasant morning?"
"Oh, I was," Mum replied, her lips curling into a smile. "But your presence has elevated that pleasantness into something quite... enchanting."
"Oh, I'm honored," Luke replied with a grin, setting my empty coffee cup back on the table. "Perhaps I should make myself more present in your mornings—give you more of these enchanting experiences."
I grimaced, the urge to punch this bastard in the gut rising with alarming force.
"But I must admit, Luke, you've disappointed me," Mum said. The way she glanced at me before continuing sent a bad chill through my stomach. "I expected that by the time I came home, you'd have already swooned my daughter into becoming your girlfriend. It seems your skills are... lacking."
My eyes flew wide, my heart hammering like it wanted to escape my chest. And then came Luke's words—the ones that nearly stopped my breathing.
"That appears to be true," he said, his voice so steady I couldn't tell if he was joking. "It seems I'll have to try harder."
I had never felt more flustered in my entire life. Heat climbed up my neck as I scrambled out of the kitchen chair, desperate to escape.
"I... I'll wait in the car," I muttered, already walking out before either of them could say another word. Their voices carried faintly behind me, Mum's laughter threading through the air like some cruel background music.
The moment I stepped outside, the cool air hit me, and I breathed in like I'd been drowning. Making my way to Luke's Porsche, I slipped into the passenger seat, trying to compose myself. My security detail mirrored the movement, sliding into their car, engines rumbling to life.
Embarrassed. Shy. Awkward. Maybe all three. Whatever this mess was inside me, I couldn't name it. But what I did know was that Luke was playing with fire—and my emotions—and it was starting to feel... infuriating.
He walked out of the house not long after, waving like nothing had happened, a grin plastered across his face. Sliding into the driver's seat, he stretched with a yawn, as if he hadn't just lit my nerves on fire.
"Hey," I snapped, turning to face him. "What was that all about?"
"What was what?" he asked, all feigned innocence.
"Don't play dumb, idiot." I narrowed my eyes at him. "That performance with my mother. What the hell was that?"
"You mean the part about making you my girlfriend?" His voice was low, teasing.
I didn't answer—just glared at him. I could only hope he was joking. Because anyone who tried dating this playboy was begging for heart problems. And that someone was definitely not me.
"Relax, Ada. It was just a joke," Luke said with a laugh, mumbling something under his breath as he started the car.
I froze. Luke only mumbled when he was lying. And that single fact sent a rush of confusing emotions through me—annoyance, dread, something else I didn't dare name.
For the first time ever, Luke and I drove together in silence.