Althea sat curled up on the corner of her bed, her knees drawn tightly to her chest. The room was dim, save for the warm glow of her desk lamp. Her thoughts weren't quiet—they ran like waves crashing against the walls of her mind.
She rested her chin on her knees.
"Was it always like this?" she whispered into the still air. "Was I really so naive to believe this was about me?"
A soft ache built in her chest. She wasn't heartbroken. Not in the romantic sense, not yet. This was the kind of heartbreak that came from disillusionment—from realizing her life was being steered by people who never really saw her dreams as valid.
She had tried—she really had. Smiled when she was supposed to. Nodded through decisions that were never really hers. Told herself it would all make sense eventually.
Why doesn't it feel right?
The silence was broken by the faint buzz of her phone against her blanket.
She blinked, startled, and reached for it.
A single message lit up the screen:
Adrian: My house, tomorrow, 5pm. Mom & Dad's wish.
She stared at it for a moment.
Just a meeting time. A reminder of what her life had become—appointments, expectations, and people making choices for her.
She locked the phone and let it drop onto the bed beside her. She pulled her knees closer to her chest, resting her forehead against them as the thoughts flooded in.
Two months ago, under that soft orange sky, she had seen something in his eyes—kindness, maybe. A quiet sort of warmth. She thought it meant something. She thought it meant he saw her the way she saw him.
Just a girl weaving stories out of stolen glances and polite smiles. Delusional enough to believe he might be thinking about her too.
Her chest felt tight. Her breath shallow.
Outside her window, the wind rustled the balcony curtains gently, brushing against her skin like a ghost of something never quite real.
The next morning arrived like a slap to the face.
Althea's alarm blared at 10:00 a.m.—two hours later than she'd planned. She blinked at the ceiling, hair sticking up like a startled porcupine, and groaned into her pillow.
"Fantastic. Late to meet the boy who's probably plotting a PowerPoint presentation on how to ditch me."
She dragged herself to the mirror. Puffy eyes, hair messy, the subtle look of a girl deeply, deeply betrayed by both capitalism and conditioner.
She got dressed in something casually impressive—a sleek black dress that hugged her figure in just the right places. Her feathery gold earrings brushed against her neck with every turn of her head, catching the light like little flashes of defiance. She swiped on a bold red lipstick—and let her wavy blonde hair fall loose. And just enough makeup to say I woke up like this, but prettier, and perfume that lingered like a secret.
Althea didn't just look ready—she looked like a statement. One she hoped Adrian would finally read.
By 4:50 p.m., Althea stood in front of the Velasco family's gate, feeling like a reluctant extra in someone else's drama. The guard gave her a polite nod and buzzed her in. Inside, the foyer was a marble jungle. Expensive, cold, and echoing like a cathedral of awkward conversations. A maid passed by and gave her a tight smile, then disappeared into another hallway.
Althea stood there, unsure whether to sit, walk, or just evaporate on the spot.
Adrian's voice echoed from somewhere deeper in the house. "Althea? That you?"
She looked up as he stepped out from what looked like a study. Crisp shirt, perfect posture, that effortless glow of someone who never had to panic about being five minutes late. And then there was his smile—charming, polite, the kind that could ease you into believing everything was fine. But it didn't quite reach his eyes. There was something reserved there, tucked just behind the warmth, like he was thinking about someone or something else entirely.
Althea felt a flicker in her chest—was it nerves? Disappointment? She couldn't tell. All she knew was that the Adrian standing in front of her wasn't the boy she remembered from that park two months ago. Or maybe… he never had been.
Before she could answer, a loud thud followed by a dramatic ow came from upstairs.
A second voice—not Adrian's—cut in, muffled but sharp.
"Maybe if you didn't rearrange the entire bookshelf like a Pinterest mom, I wouldn't trip over a chair, Adrian!"
Althea blinked. What?
Then someone rounded the staircase. A guy—tall, dressed in an oversized hoodie and joggers, he had that kind of presence that didn't ask for attention — it commanded it. His dark brown hair was slightly tousled, like he'd run a hand through it one too many times in annoyance, not effort. His skin was a few shades warmer than Adrian's, with a naturally golden undertone that made him look permanently sun kissed.
He looked like the kind of guy who read heavy books with coffee he didn't sweeten, who didn't smile unless absolutely necessary, and who could probably ruin someone's life with just a well-placed sentence. Not that she was planning on testing that. Hopefully.
Headphones hung around his neck. He had that reckless sort of face. The kind that could make eye contact feel illegal.
He looked up and met her eyes.
Paused.
"…You're not the florist."
Althea blinked. "Do I looklike a florist?"
He glanced at her, eyes scanning her from head to toe with zero attempt to be polite. "No. Florists usually don't wear death-stare lipstick and heels like they're headed to a courtroom drama."
Althea frowned. "You could've just said 'no.'"
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You could've just been the florist."
She opened her mouth, unsure if she should be insulted or concerned—and then Adrian sighed, already defeated.
Althea crossed her arms. "You always greet strangers with botany-based accusations?"
Max gave her a lazy two-finger salute and walked past her without a second glance, muttering something under his breath about "soap opera entrances."
Althea stood in the hallway, wondering what in the fresh hell had just happened.
"Who the hell was that tornado in a dress shirt?" she thought, staring after him.
That was Maximilian Velasco? The younger brother? The quiet one?
That wasn't quiet—that was a walking existential crisis in designer loafers.
"That was my brother—sorry about that," Adrian said. His tone, as charming as ever, smoothed over the awkward tension like silk.
Althea blinked. Twice.
"Is he always like that?"
Adrian chuckled, hands in his pockets. "Only when he's had coffee. Or hasn't. Hard to tell."
"I thought he was going to exorcise me," Althea muttered.
Adrian laughed. That soft, perfect laugh that didn't reach his eyes but still managed to tug at something inside her chest.
He looked over his shoulder at her. "You're handling it pretty well. Most people cry the first time they meet Max."
"Really?"
"No. But it's funnier if I say that."
Her heart was already doing cartwheels. Adrian's smile, his effortless charm, the way his shirt sleeves were casually rolled up like he just walked out of a coming-of-age indie film—it was too much. Maybe he was the Adrian she saw at the park that day. Just a glimpse.
Her brain short-circuited for a second.
Maybe Max is rude to everyone. Maybe Adrian's just… complicated in the charming, secretly-soft-underneath way. Maybe he stares at the stars and writes poetry when no one's looking.
She nearly tripped on the rug.
Adrian looked back. "You okay?"
"Peachy," she said, trying not to sound like she was having a full-blown identity crisis over the arch of his eyebrows.
They reached the sitting room doors.
"You ready?" he asked, lowering his voice in that careful, gentlemanly way—like they were stepping onto a stage and he was her co-star.
No, she wasn't ready. Not for whatever deal was about to be negotiated with their names stamped on it.
But Althea nodded anyway. "Let's go."
The sitting room looked like it had been pulled from a luxury furniture catalog—minimalist, quiet, too polished to feel real. The sunlight filtering in through the wide glass windows made everything look golden, expensive… untouchable.
Adrian's parents were seated elegantly on one side, sipping tea with unnerving poise. Her own parents sat a bit stiffer, trying to match the effortless grace of the Velascos.
Adrian gently touched the small of her back as they stepped in, and Althea jolted at the contact. She wasn't used to people being this casually… prince-like.
"Sorry we kept you waiting," Adrian said smoothly, guiding her to the couch beside him.
His mother smiled politely. "Not at all. We were just getting to know each other better."
Althea's mother shot her a subtle glance—half warning, half reminder to sit straight. So she did, knees together, hands folded like she was interviewing for a position called Perfect Daughter-in-Law.
Adrian glanced at her, then leaned slightly closer, voice low so only she could hear. "If you're overwhelmed, just tap my hand or something. I'll pull out my emergency act."
"Emergency act?" she whispered back.
He winked. "Tears. Works every time."
Her lips twitched. God why is he charming even when he's ridiculous? she thought.
But it wasn't just charm. Adrian was nice—at least. He was easy to talk to. He made things smooth. And she wanted to believe there was more behind that grin. She wanted to believe she wasn't alone in how deeply she'd been thinking of him since that day at the park two months ago.
But…
From the corner of her eye, she could still picture that furrowed brow, those headphones, the whole stormy attitude that had barged into the scene.
Who even enters a room like that? Like the world should already know their name and get out of the way?
Althea let out a sigh, trying to redirect her thoughts back to Adrian, who was currently charming the adults into laughing at some perfectly timed comment. He was the golden boy, the one she was supposed to be daydreaming about. The one with flawless hair, expensive shoes, and that polished way of smiling like the world was always mildly impressed with him.
And yet…
Why am I thinking about the rude one again?
The question floated up in her mind with irritation, but also curiosity. It wasn't just that he was infuriating. It was that he'd arrived in the middle of her carefully arranged puzzle and knocked over half the pieces without even looking back. Like a storm that didn't apologize after breaking windows.
Adrian gently cleared his throat. "We'll do what our parents think is best. Right?" he asked, still looking at her.
It took her a second too long to answer. "Yeah… of course." Her parents beamed. His parents nodded approvingly.
Everything was going according to plan—if the plan was hosted by expensive tea and suffocating smiles. Still, Althea had this nagging feeling that life was secretly preparing a plot twist behind her back. And it probably looked like it hadn't brushed its hair in two days and had a PhD in sarcasm.
End of chapter 4.