Ginevra's face flushed—so quickly it was almost visible to the naked eye, like a tide racing up her cheeks.
She held her breath and stared, hard, at Jayna's innocent expression.
"Shameless"—those two words really weren't unfair. If anything, Jayna looked… honored. As if she'd just been handed a medal.
"Giny," Jayna leaned closer, laughing softly as she studied Ginevra's sulky little face. "I told you—I've got people backing me today. Don't bully me."
"Didn't I tell you," Ginevra frowned, "not to call me that?"
That nickname always felt like Jayna had stolen something from her—some tiny advantage, some private territory.
Jayna shrugged, instantly putting on a repentant face. "Okay, okay. Giny, I won't call you Giny anymore."
But I can't promise I'll actually keep that.
Ginevra had a very real suspicion that, if she lost control for even a second, her hand might move all on its own and smack Jayna.
This girl was practically begging for it.
"You did that," Ginevra asked, voice tight, "because it makes you happy?"
"Did that" meant the thing Jayna had just done—leaning in, biting off the half-strawberry from Ginevra's fingers as though it were hers by right.
It had made Ginevra burn with embarrassment.
Jayna's gaze drifted away. She bit her lip, a habit she didn't even seem to notice anymore.
Yes. The joke had gone too far.
But could she really say she'd meant to do it?
She could almost claim it was her body acting first—an impulse she couldn't stop. Because the truth was… the strawberry Ginevra had bitten into looked far more tempting than the ones lying safely on the plate.
"If you feel like I offended you," Jayna said, suddenly sincere, "then I apologize."
Her tone was so earnest that it caught Ginevra off guard.
Ginevra stared at her, cold-eyed—yet something in her loosened, softened by half a degree.
"You do owe me an apology," she said.
"But," Jayna continued, inching closer, eyes locked onto Ginevra's, voice unhurried and sharp in its logic, "if you really felt offended, why didn't you push me away immediately?"
Jayna tilted her head, watching for a reaction.
"With your reflexes? With the way you move? You absolutely could've shoved me off. You didn't. You just… blushed."
It was infuriating, how reasonable it sounded.
And Jayna, drunk on that reasoning, moved closer still—brazen now, because she knew she was safe. Mr. Volkova and Mrs. Volkova were home. She had shields. She had an audience she could run to.
So she tested the edge of Ginevra's restraint on purpose.
A fingertip reached out and poked Ginevra's burning cheek.
This time, Ginevra did not endure it.
She caught Jayna's wandering finger with speed that left no room for escape—and closed her hand around it, firm, deliberate. Not crushing. Just… enough.
Jayna's smugness evaporated on the spot.
"Ow—ow ow ow ow—" she yelped, face contorting into instant misery.
"Tu es en colère ou je suis en colère ?" Ginevra snapped—Are you the one who's mad, or am I?, not even caring that the French made no sense. Grammar could burn. She was past that.
She'd been indulging Jayna's bottomless boundary-testing for too long, and it was getting dangerous—dangerous for her own composure.
Jayna's whimpering didn't move her. If anything, it only made Ginevra step closer—one step, then another—until Jayna had no choice but to look at her. Up close, those pitiful eyes were almost convincing.
She's acting, Ginevra told herself.
Jayna lifted her gaze, offended and wounded at once. "You actually used force on me?!"
"Apologize." Ginevra raised her brows, looking down at her like a judge delivering sentence.
Jayna glared back, stubbornness flaring. The fact that Ginevra was three years younger made it even worse—how was Jayna the older one and still the one getting pinned like this?
It was just a strawberry.
One strawberry.
Was it really necessary to be this serious?
Ginevra kept advancing by inches, her presence pressing in. The slow way she closed distance made Jayna furious—and, maddeningly, made her heart do something she hated.
What is wrong with me?
"I'm not apologizing. I didn't do anything wrong." Jayna shook her head hard, defiant. "And if you hurt me, I'll go tell Uncle and Auntie you're bullying me. They like me a lot!"
Ginevra let out a short laugh—more like she'd been provoked into amusement against her will.
Then she deliberately cooled her face, and her voice dropped.
"Be quiet."
Jayna shut her mouth instantly.
She had survival instincts, at least. When Ginevra spoke in that eerily calm tone, the best thing in the world was to stay far away.
But there was nowhere to go.
Ginevra kept moving forward; Jayna kept backing up, step by step, until Jayna met the black depth of Ginevra's eyes and felt a pressure sweep through her body—an attack hidden inside stillness. Ginevra's usual cool distance shifted into something sharper, more predatory.
It was wrong.
It was frightening.
And it pulled at Jayna all at once.
"What… what are you doing?" Jayna swallowed, throat tight.
Ginevra's brow lifted, the corner of her mouth barely tilting.
"What do you think?"
"Apologize?" Jayna blinked rapidly, voice softening despite herself. "Then I'll… I'll be careful next time…"
Her breathing wasn't steady anymore. Maybe because her finger still ached in Ginevra's grip. Maybe because something else in her had started trembling.
Her cheeks were hot. Her chest rose and fell too quickly. Even the corners of her eyes looked damp, as if a thin mist had gathered there.
"It hurts," she whispered, almost unwillingly.
"You're nervous," Ginevra said, gaze unwavering.
"No, I'm not!" Jayna snapped, but her skin felt like it was humming, restless, as though every nerve had woken up at once.
Ginevra meant to tease her a little longer.
But the sight of Jayna like this—tense, prickly, frightened in that stubborn way—made something twist inside Ginevra's chest.
A faint mercy.
She pulled her aura back, reining it in, and released Jayna's hand.
Jayna cradled her fingers immediately, making a show of being wronged.
Ginevra felt guilt rise—quiet and irritating. She had controlled her strength. She had. Still, Jayna's finger was red.
Ginevra stepped forward, intending to check—
And Jayna, the moment she saw Ginevra's perfect face draw close, stumbled backward in a panic.
Her heel slid.
She was about to hit the wall—
Ginevra caught her in time.
An arm around her. A firm pull.
Jayna was yanked straight into Ginevra's chest.
For a brief, terrible second, Jayna felt the shock of it—warmth, breath, the undeniable solidity of someone holding her. And she heard it: the sound Ginevra made, a helpless sigh that slipped from deep in her throat, soft and unbearably intimate.
The air turned thick—awkward, overheated, threaded with something neither of them had the courage to name.
Ginevra retreated first, stepping back quickly, restoring a polite distance like a doctor re-buttoning a coat after an accident.
Her voice came slow, measured.
"There's a dartboard behind you."
It was an explanation. A justification. I only pulled you because you would've gotten hurt.
Jayna turned her head and saw it—on the wall, a dartboard with a few darts already stuck into it. So that was why.
So she hadn't been pulled in because Ginevra wanted to—
It was just bad luck.
Or good luck.
Or something in between.
But in that instant, Jayna decided—entirely without evidence—that the pounding she'd heard in Ginevra's chest must've been Ginevra's heart.
She was nervous too.
The thought made Jayna's mood bloom.
And then—because Ginevra had scolded her, because Ginevra had deliberately hurt her finger, because Jayna couldn't resist retaliation—she lifted a hand to her face and let out a pathetic little whimper.
"My hand hurts so much…"
Ginevra sighed again, long-suffering now, and walked over.
"Let me see."
Jayna extended her hand with zero shame. "Look. It's red." She thrust it closer. "You were so rough. If you don't rub it, it'll bruise tomorrow."
"You're messing with me," Ginevra said flatly.
Jayna's eyes widened, innocent and threatening at the same time. "Then I'll go tell Uncle and Auntie. Sorry—tattling is my natural talent."
Ginevra stared at her, the earlier dominance gone, her composure slowly collapsing under Jayna's relentless nonsense.
Jayna's finger really was a little red.
And Ginevra, knowing she was at fault, knew she couldn't win this argument.
She turned her face away slightly, muttering, "I just saved your life."
"Two different things," Jayna argued shamelessly. "And even if I hit the wall, I might not have hit the darts."
She watched Ginevra's body shift as if to leave, and Jayna—fearful of losing ground—blurted out something outrageous.
"I gave you my first time and you're still so cold!"
Ginevra stopped dead.
"S-sorry?" She frowned, waiting for the inevitable scandal.
Jayna blinked, as if offended she'd been misunderstood. "My first hug," she said quickly, then deliberately made it worse with a grin. "I've never hugged anyone before. So—since you took my first hug—can you rub my hand, Giny?"
Ginevra, whose very name seemed to promise distance and untouchability, silently took Jayna's hand and began to rub it.
Quiet. Thorough.
Her movements were so practiced it was almost insulting—like a young therapist in a massage clinic. Like she'd done this before.
Jayna's mouth twitched.
No. She hasn't.
Still.
The warmth of Ginevra's fingers kneading her own made Jayna's body loosen in places she didn't want to admit.
"Mm—right there," Jayna sighed, a small sound slipping out through her teeth, careless and sweet. "A little harder."
Only then did she finally look satisfied.
In the sunlight, Ginevra's lashes trembled as she focused. Jayna stared at her—at that face that could make any brand beg to sign her as a model—then realized belatedly she was being indecent.
But regret never lasted long in her.
Because she didn't regret it at all.
"Miss Volkova," Jayna said, voice pure as snow, smile bright and shameless, "I didn't bring money today. How about… I sleep with you tonight to cover the fee?"
"Free," Ginevra replied, rejecting the "transaction" with chilling politeness.
Jayna leaned in, licking her lips, still trying to seduce her way into staying the night. "You sure you don't want to reconsider? It's a great deal. I can keep you company, warm your bed—full service."
Ginevra's brows knitted, genuinely baffled.
Jayna had an endless supply of filthy new phrases, like she was collecting them.
Without engaging, Ginevra dragged the desk chair out and gestured for Jayna to sit. She treated all of Jayna's behavior as what it probably was: a delay tactic to avoid homework.
Jayna sat obediently, because she wanted what she wanted and knew when to play nice.
Ginevra dumped the workbook into her arms, expression severe, and indicated she had to finish everything before five-thirty.
Jayna's mind spun.
"What if I can't finish?" she asked quickly, brightening with false innocence. "Does that mean I can stay over and finish tomorrow?"
She even hooked her arm around Ginevra's pale one, clinging like she belonged there.
To Ginevra, Jayna looked like a cat in heat—rubbing on every surface it could reach, desperate to touch, to claim, to test.
Ginevra had always hated being touched by others.
And yet—tragically—she didn't hate this.
Worse.
When Jayna said she wanted to stay the night, Ginevra's heart gave a small, traitorous thud.
That was exactly why Jayna couldn't be allowed to stay.
Rationality whispered, steady and stern:
Absolutely not.
"You can try," Ginevra said, after a moment, forcing a thin smile.
Jayna shivered, suddenly alarmed. Right—she'd seen it before. Under Ginevra's composure, there really was something devilish.
"Pleasing you really is a hard job," Jayna muttered, sulking as she turned back to the workbook. "You even have a dartboard. Terrifying. I don't know what the hardest thing in the world for you is."
"Putting up with you," Ginevra answered without thinking.
Jayna froze.
"…Wow."
Fine.
She'd been offended. Deeply.
This cold, sharp-tongued Ginevra truly had no mercy for her pride—never had, from the beginning.
As the saying goes: a powerful dragon can't overpower the local snake.
After all her whining and coaxing failed, Jayna could only sniffle dramatically and start doing the problems.
"Two minutes left," came Ginevra's cool voice from behind her.
Jayna bristled, writing furiously. "Don't look ay me! You being behind me makes me nervous. And don't rush me—one more problem!"
Ginevra watched her scribble with surprising intensity and couldn't help a small, amused curve of her lips.
So even Jayna could be serious—when she had no choice.
Then—
A shrill alarm rang out.
Ginevra had actually set a timer.
Jayna jolted like she'd been shocked.
"You're still writing?" Ginevra said, merciless. She reached forward and pulled the workbook away.
"Just a little more," Jayna begged, voice turning mournful.
Ginevra stared at her, then said coldly, "Do you say that to exam proctors too?"
Jayna muttered, "Heartless," and scooted aside, yielding her seat with the exaggerated fury of someone wronged by the world.
But she also, very consciously, reached for the strawberries on the nightstand and pulled them close—protective, like a hostage negotiator guarding leverage.
Ginevra lowered her head and began grading.
Jayna ate strawberries one by one, sneaking anxious glances at her, pulse still a little too quick.
After a while, Ginevra spoke.
"You do have some foundation."
"Of course," Jayna said quickly. "My grades were actually good in middle school—"
Ginevra's eyes flicked up, as if to ask then why?
But she saw Jayna's expression and didn't finish the question.
Jayna stared at the strawberries for a long moment, then gave a crooked smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"It's nothing," she said, and then, as if the words had been waiting too long, they spilled anyway.
"My parents… divorced when I was really little. My mom went back to her country. My dad told me—he kept telling me—that when I finished middle school, they'd get back together."
Jayna's fingers tightened around the strawberry stem.
"So I worked hard. I thought… if I was good enough, if I became someone worth returning for… I learned piano too. I did everything."
Her voice thinned.
"And then, when I was graduating, I got my mom's number by accident. I called. A man answered." Jayna's breath hitched almost imperceptibly. "That's when I found out my dad had been lying. My mom… she'd already remarried in the her country. She had a daughter. A happy family."
She'd seen the photo—her mother smiling brightly, holding a little girl with pigtails, the child beaming as if the whole world belonged to her.
That child wasn't Jayna.
By the time she finished speaking, a fog had gathered in her eyes. She turned her face away as if she couldn't bear to be watched.
"Don't look at me with pity," she snapped, trying to armor herself with sharpness. "I just… I felt like nobody cared. No matter how hard I tried to prove myself, it didn't matter. I waited for her to call me just once."
Jayna laughed, brittle and small.
"She never did. She's doing fine. Like I never existed."
Then she added quickly, forcing steadiness. "I don't blame my dad. Back then I was just sad. Angry. A little rebellious. It's better now."
Ginevra stared at her, suddenly at a loss.
She wasn't good with comfort. She wasn't good with soft words. And now she felt oddly urgent—as if she needed to do something, anything, to keep Jayna from sinking.
So she slid the plate of strawberries toward Jayna.
And, very awkwardly, she offered the only thing she could think to offer.
"Do you want… strawberries?"
Jayna wiped at her eyes, then burst into laughter, surprised by how ridiculous—and how tender—that was.
"You really only know how to tell me to eat," she said, voice warm despite the tears.
She popped a strawberry into her mouth.
Sweet.
Her favorite kind of sweet.
Ginevra lowered her gaze and said quietly, "I don't think nobody cares about you."
Jayna scoffed, half self-mocking. "Don't comfort me. I know what I am."
"I'm not comforting you," Ginevra said. "I'm telling the truth."
Jayna paused, then looked at her more seriously.
"The person you mean… is that you?" she asked, blunt despite her trembling.
Ginevra held her gaze.
She didn't answer immediately. Her shyness—her restraint—was old, deep, woven into her bones.
Jayna panicked and tried to rescue the moment with a joke, with brightness, with anything that didn't require her to be vulnerable.
"I'm kidding," she rushed, smiling too hard. "I'm just… jealous. Your mom is so good. I think it's that feeling—when you see someone else's mom being kind to you, it makes you want to cry. You're really lucky, Ginevra. I mean it. I envy you."
Her nose stung. Old memories rose—cruel classmates, ugly whispers, the way loneliness could turn into a label others threw at you like dirt.
"Jayna," Ginevra said softly.
Jayna lifted her head, eyes glassy, expression heartbreakingly lost. It was almost painful to see that someone who laughed so easily could hide this much sorrow.
"If you don't mind," Ginevra said, voice gentle, eyes bright as if a quiet constellation lived there, "you can think of my mom as your mom too. She likes you a lot."
Jayna stared, overwhelmed. She lifted both hands to cover her face, laughing through what she couldn't quite cry.
"Then… you don't mind?" she asked, muffled behind her palms. "You don't mind your parents' love being shared?"
"I don't mind," Ginevra said.
Because it's you.
So I don't mind.