(Midnight Wishes Don't Lie)
The principal nearly had a heart attack. Actually, scratch that—he definitely had one.
After confirming that Rowan Hale was, in fact, not planning to leap off the roof like a tragic drama protagonist, the man wiped his forehead with a trembling hand. "Why are you even up here?" he snapped, his chest still heaving. "Do you have any idea what kind of report I'd have to file if something happened to you? And how exactly do I explain that to Ms. Aria Larkspur?"
That name again.
Rowan's fingers tightened against the railing. It was ridiculous how just hearing her name on someone else's lips could do this to him—a strange, painful cocktail of warmth and ache settling deep in his chest.
*See? Even the world knows she owns you.*
And somehow, that thought only made his heart beat faster.
"Sorry, sir," Rowan said quietly.
The principal squinted at him, still suspicious. "Get back to class. High scores don't give you permission to wander around like a lost philosopher."
Rowan nodded obediently, but his thoughts were already miles away. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Three times a minute? That was a massive understatement.
**That Evening**
The Larkspur estate felt unusually quiet. Rowan stepped inside, dropping his bag with a soft thud, and there she was. Aria Larkspur, sitting by the window, reading. Her silver-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of her nose, the soft lamplight catching the sharp edges of her profile. For a moment, her usual aura of razor-wire tension seemed to dull into something almost… gentle.
Almost.
Rowan paused. *Why does she look like that?* She looked like a figure in a painting that people would fight wars over.
"Ms. Aria," he said, stepping closer. "Don't read so close. You'll ruin your eyesight."
Aria looked up, mildly startled, then immediately narrowed her eyes. "You spoke first. Voluntarily."
"Is that illegal now?"
"Not illegal," she replied, her voice cooling instantly. "Just rare. I was starting to think you'd taken a vow of silence."
Rowan didn't respond. His eyes drifted down to the book in her hand: *Smart Guardians Learn to Let Go.*
A very loud silence filled the room.
Rowan: "…"
Aria: "…This is not mine."
Rowan raised a brow.
"I found it here," she added quickly, her cheeks flushing a faint, betraying pink. "Clearly someone with abysmal taste left it behind."
"Of course," Rowan said, his expression perfectly neutral.
"Don't look at me like that," she snapped. "I don't need parenting manuals."
"You're right."
"I am."
"You're worse."
Aria blinked, then narrowed her eyes. "Careful, Rowan. Confidence looks good on you, but it won't save you if you keep pushing your luck."
A faint smile tugged at his lips. Dangerous territory. Very dangerous.
"Massage?" Rowan offered, catching her off guard.
Aria didn't even pretend to hesitate. "Obviously."
She leaned back in her chair like royalty accepting tribute. Rowan stepped behind her, his hands settling on her shoulders with a precision that was almost surgical. He knew her habits, her pressure points, the exact rhythm that made her defenses drop.
That was the problem. The more he noticed, the harder it became to ignore everything else—the curve of her neck, the soft lines of her skin beneath her collar. His breath hitched, just for a second. *Stop. You're crossing a line.*
"Rowan."
He froze. "…Yes?"
"Did you just zone out while touching my shoulder?" Aria asked lazily. "That's impressive. A masterclass in multitasking failure."
"…No."
"Liar."
She shifted, breaking the contact.
"Tomorrow," she said casually, "you're not going anywhere."
"Why?"
"I have something for you to do."
"What kind of something?"
Aria smirked. "The kind where you listen and don't ask questions."
"…That sounds suspicious."
"Everything I do is suspicious," she replied. "You're still here, aren't you?"
Touché.
**The Next Morning**
Something was off. Rowan noticed it the second he woke up—servants whispering, people avoiding eye contact, decorations being half-hidden. Movements were too coordinated, too secretive.
Before he could process it, a cloth covered his eyes. "Walk," a voice commanded.
Rowan didn't resist. He didn't need to. Deep down, he already knew.
When the blindfold came off, the sky seemed to explode. Fireworks. Color. Light tearing through the darkness. The entire courtyard had been transformed. Balloons drifted upward, music played, and he saw familiar faces—Kabir waving like an idiot, Anaya smiling softly.
Rowan stood frozen, his chest tightening. Then he saw her. Aria was standing slightly apart, calm as ever, untouched by the chaos she had orchestrated.
*She did this. For me.*
"Oi!" Kabir slung an arm around his shoulder. "Birthday boy! Stop buffering and move!"
Rowan shrugged him off and walked straight to Aria. He held out his hand. "Will you… join me?"
Aria looked at his hand, then at his face. Something unreadable flickered in her eyes.
"…You're making this very public."
"Is that a problem?"
She scoffed softly. "Tch. Fine." She placed her hand in his.
The candles flickered. Voices rose in a chorus, and Aria sang along—her voice low, controlled, and ridiculously good. Rowan didn't hear anyone else. Just her. When the song ended, she nudged him. "Make a wish."
Rowan didn't close his eyes. He just looked at her. "I want to stay with you."
Silence fell. A few guests glanced over, confused. Aria blinked once, then flicked his forehead. "Idiot. You're not supposed to say it out loud."
"…Too late."
"Now it won't come true."
Rowan smiled faintly. *It already did.*
**Later That Night**
The party was too loud. Rowan endured it, smiled when required, and drank just enough to blur the edges of his anxiety. Eventually, he slipped away.
He found her on the fourth floor, curled up on the window seat in the moonlight, draped in a thin blanket. She was either asleep or pretending.
Rowan crouched beside her. "Aria."
She stirred, eyes opening slowly. "…You left your guests," she murmured.
"I left the noise."
He held out a small plate—a piece of cake, saved just for her. "For you."
She raised a brow. "Bribery?"
"Selective sharing."
"…Acceptable."
"Sing again," he said softly.
Aria stared at him. "You're demanding."
"Just this once."
She moved to the piano nearby, her fingers brushing the keys. Soft music filled the room, and her voice followed—gentle, unpolished, real. Rowan watched her like a starving man staring at bread. Like this moment was the only oxygen in the room.
At midnight exactly, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him to the window. Outside, the fireworks returned, but this time, they spelled out words in the sky: *HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROWAN HALE. STAY SAFE. STAY UNBREAKABLE.*
Rowan's throat tightened. "…You did this, too?"
Aria shrugged. "Seemed excessive. So I approved it."
"That's not how that works."
"It is when I say so."
He laughed quietly. Then, the silence returned, heavy and full. "Why?" he asked.
"All this?"
Aria tilted her head, thinking. "Because I can," she said simply. Then, softer: "…And because you matter."
That hit harder than anything. Rowan looked away, his vision blurring. *Don't be pathetic.*
But it was too late. Somewhere along the way, this had stopped being gratitude, stopped being dependence, and turned into something dangerous. Something irreversible.
Aria stretched lazily. "Don't overthink it."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"…Maybe."
She smirked. "Try less. It's unattractive."
"Noted." A long pause. "I'm happy I stayed."
Aria didn't look at him, but her lips curved in the dark. "Obviously."