Nathaniel wasn't sure if it was fate or a cruel coincidence, but there she was again—Dorothy. Dressed in soft cream and gold, with a tennis racket in hand and that same radiant smile that haunted him since their first accidental encounter.
They bumped into each other near the garden side of the club, and she paused, startled. "Oh! You again," she said, surprised but pleased.
Nathaniel smiled faintly. "Seems fate is determined to keep throwing us together."
"Or maybe it's just tennis season," she teased, laughing lightly. Her voice had a warmth that unsettled him.
He opened his mouth to finally say his name, but just then—
"Dorothy!"
Theo's familiar voice rang out as he approached with Dorinda in tow. He rushed forward and wrapped his arms around Dorothy in one of his typical brotherly bear hugs.
"Hey Nathaniel," Theo said with a friendly nod. "Have you two been properly introduced yet? Well, here you go. Meet Dorothy Basiliou—my cousin and twin sister of Dorinda. I'm guessing you've already met her?"
Nathaniel froze.
The smile slipped from his face as his heart slammed against his chest.
No… it can't be her…
Dorothy? Dorothy Basiliou?
He managed a stiff nod and forced a smile. "Yes, we've… met. Briefly."
She smiled at him, unaware of the storm brewing inside him.
So this is her. The woman Denmark gave everything to. The woman who—according to Dorinda—had him wrapped around her finger. The woman who discarded him like trash when he was no longer of use.
As the conversation moved on, Nathaniel barely heard a word. He observed instead.
Dorothy was graceful, confident, and—by all appearances—genuinely kind. But to Nathaniel, everything about her suddenly reeked of manipulation, charm, and ambition cloaked in elegance.
They spoke later, away from the others. He let her talk about her passion for tennis, her love for fast cars, and her dreams of expanding her uncle's company.
Ambition. Power. Prestige. That's all she wants, Nathaniel thought bitterly. She sees people as tools… or stepping stones.
And yet…
Even as his mind screamed enemy, his heart wasn't listening.
The way her eyes lit up when she laughed… The way she absentmindedly twirled a strand of hair when deep in thought…
He was falling for her.
Damn it, he cursed silently. Why her?
But no matter how much his feelings tangled, Nathaniel made a silent vow under his breath:
"Dorothy Basiliou… you may have fooled everyone. You may have charmed the world. But you can't charm justice. I will make you suffer for what you did to my brother. Even if it destroys me."
And with that, he smiled at her—cool, polite, and hollow.
The game had begun.
—-
Theo was sitting on the edge of his bed, Dorothy's photograph in his hand. His eyes lingered on her smile, the same one he had seen since they were children—unaware of how deeply it had carved a place in his heart.
A soft knock on the door drew him from his thoughts.
"Come in," he said.
His father, Mr. Josh, stepped in, eyes settling on the photo. A knowing smile crossed his lips.
"You like her, don't you?" he asked gently.
Theo didn't answer immediately. He just stared down at the photograph, then gave a small nod.
"I do, Dad. I always have. But I'm afraid... afraid she'll say no, and I'll lose her friendship. I can't bear to lose her, even as a friend."
Mr. Josh sat beside him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Then you have to fight for her. If she's worth loving, she's worth taking the risk. You won't know unless you try—and if you don't try, someone else will."
Those words echoed in his mind that evening when the Basilious gathered for dinner in the courtyard under the soft evening glow. Laughter floated through the warm air, clinking glasses and the occasional clatter of silverware creating a cozy ambiance.
Just then, the gates opened and Nathaniel walked in—unannounced, confident, and charming as ever.
"Evening," he said casually. "Hope I'm not interrupting. I was just passing by and thought to say hi to my friend Theo."
"Ah, Nathaniel," Mr. Josh said, rising to greet him with a firm handshake. "Nonsense. Come, join us. There's plenty of food."
As Nathaniel took his seat, he scanned the table, but his eyes locked immediately with Dorothy's. She smiled—polite, warm—but Nathaniel held her gaze with a quiet intensity that didn't go unnoticed.
Theo shifted slightly in his seat, clearing his throat.
"Nathaniel, you know Dorothy is really good at tennis," he said with a smile that masked his discomfort. "She beats me all the time."
Dorothy chuckled softly. "Oh, Theoo, don't exaggerate."
"It's true," he insisted, laughing nervously. "She's unbeatable."
Nathaniel leaned forward, folding his hands under his chin. "Is that so?" he said, his eyes still on her. "Well then, I'd be honored to challenge you to a match tomorrow."
Dorothy blinked, slightly surprised. "You want to play me?"
"Why not?" he grinned. "I don't mind being humiliated by a beautiful woman."
She smiled faintly. "Alright. Challenge accepted."
At the far end of the table, Dorinda frowned slightly, her fork paused mid-air. Mrs. Sarah noticed the growing tension in his expression and leaned in.
"She's doing it again," she whispered. "Flirting like always. Can't help herself."
Mr. Josh heard her, but his jaw tightened. His eyes darted from Dorothy to Nathaniel—and then to Theo, who was smiling on the surface but fidgeting with the edge of his napkin beneath the table.
Nathaniel, meanwhile, leaned back, content. Every move was calculated. Every word, every smile, was a carefully laid trap.
He didn't care about the tennis match. He cared about breaking Dorothy—piece by piece.
And yet…
A part of him wondered if he could truly go through with it. Because that smile—that effortless smile—kept tugging at something he thought he had buried long ago.
The sun hung high above the court, casting shadows over the players and the small crowd gathered at the tennis park. Excitement buzzed in the air as Dorothy tied her hair back, adjusted her visor, and stepped onto the court. Theo gave her a thumbs-up from the sidelines. Dorenda sat quietly, her eyes flicking between Nathaniel and Dorothy with growing unease.
Ham, Bailey, Sonia, and her fiancée Tia all sat under the shaded bleachers, cheering and laughing—until the match began.
The tension hit immediately.
Nathaniel was ruthless. He slammed the ball over the net with intense power, his every movement sharp and calculated. He wasn't playing a friendly match—he was making a statement. With every stroke, it was clear: this wasn't a game to him. This was punishment.
Dorothy struggled to return the balls, but she held her ground. Her focus narrowed, her footwork light and precise. She refused to be intimidated. But even she could feel the heat—this wasn't normal. Nathaniel was trying to break her.
"Come on, Dorothy!" Theo shouted, standing. "You've got this!"
Bailey, who was marking the scores, frowned. "Nathaniel's not even trying to hold back... something's off."
Then it happened.