(Side Chapter)
It started with a message from Alaya.
He hadn't heard from her in weeks. Not since the last fundraiser, where her smile had been sugar-dusted with lies and her perfume too familiar. They'd danced around topics like they always did — two exes pretending the past was a misunderstanding. So when her name lit up his screen, Max paused.
Alaya Serrano:"Adrian told Althea everything. She knows now. I think she's breaking. Can you check on her? Just make sure she's okay. Please, Max."
Max had stared at the message for a long while. He didn't reply. Not immediately.
He didn't know Althea. Not really. Not like Adrian did, or even Alaya, maybe. But he remembered the first time he met her. The girl, expression unreadable, sipping lemonade while everyone else drank wine. She had looked... composed. Fragile, yes, but not weak. Like someone who had learned to carry breakable things alone.
And now, apparently, Adrian had managed to fracture her.
He didn't ask what Althea had said, or if she had cried. He didn't ask how Alaya felt knowing she was part of the reason. He just dropped his phone on his bed and started getting ready for the event he never had a plan to attend.
He didn't know why he cared. Maybe because of Alaya. Maybe because he remembered the look in Althea's eyes that day when she got lost.
He found her easily at the event — near the dessert table, alone, stuffing what looked like a tart into her mouth like it held all the answers.
And for a moment, he did nothing.
She looked like a contradiction. Red lips, half-done hair, fingers dusted with powdered sugar. She was stunning in the kind of way that crept up on you — not the kind that demanded attention, but the kind that made you stare without meaning to. She looked like she was holding herself together with pastry crusts and denial.
She'd been waiting for someone to throw the first punch just so she could fight. And he let her. Teased her back. Let her dig her heels in and bite with her words, because it was better than silence. Silence would've cracked her. And he could see she was already on the verge.
Max watched her carefully. Not just her lips or her eyes — but the way she blinked a little too fast, the way she touched her braid like a tether. Like if she could keep it together, she wouldn't fall apart.
he just stood there. Beside her. She was pretending not to hurt. So he'd pretend not to see it — until she wanted him to.
But then came the chaos. Alaya. Of course.
Althea saw her and immediately panicked like someone had yanked the ground from beneath her. She ducked behind a plastic flower column, grabbed Max without warning, and dragged him with her.
He let her. Didn't ask why. Didn't need to.
She was crouching, whisper-yelling, eyes wide with disbelief. He watched her fall into a spiral and honestly, it was… kind of incredible. The drama. The absurdity. The way she looked like she was seconds away from declaring war in a ballgown.
He smiled, despite himself. She was impossible not to choose.
And then she said, softer this time, like it stung:
"She looks like the type Adrian was supposed to end up with."
He wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her that Adrian didn't need someone like Alaya — he needed a mirror, maybe a slap — but not another perfectly dressed illusion.
But Max just said, "Maybe the universe has a thing for plot twists."
She looked at him. Really looked. Like she didn't expect him to say something that didn't hurt. And for a brief second, she softened.
Then she looked away. Althea always looked away when it started to feel real. And Max let her. Because maybe, just maybe, she needed someone who didn't chase — but waited. Who stayed. Quietly. Like gravity.
And when she whispered, "Abort mission," and they crouched together behind synthetic hydrangeas like children hiding from ghosts, Max didn't think about Adrian or Alaya or whatever mess had brought them here.
He wouldn't force anything open. He'd just stay. If she needed the silence, he could offer it. If she needed to scream, he could listen.
But if she needed someone to not leave — even just for a while — he was here.
She didn't even notice the way she clutched the cupcake like armor, or the way her laugh cracked at the edges — but Max did.She's like a flower, he thought, but not the delicate kind.The kind that blooms through cracks in concrete — wild, a little defiant, maybe even a little dangerous. And maybe that's what scared him the most.
End of Chapter 11.