The evening air was thick with awkward memories and expensive perfume. Althea wandered into the Velasco Garden, needing a break from all the we're so blessed conversations and fake smiles that had drained her.
Everything was too neat. The gravel crunched beneath her feet in a way that felt like it might trigger a butler to appear and politely ask her to walk quieter. She just needed air. And possibly an exit plan that didn't involve scandal, ruin, or fainting into a koi pond.
She sighed and walked along the gravel path, muttering to herself. "It's going to be fine Althea... Ignore the fact your future is being arranged like a catering order."
She turned a corner by peonies and paused. Voices. One of them—
Adrian.
She didn't mean to eavesdrop—okay, maybe she did a little—but the garden was public property, sort of. She slowed her steps and peeked around a vine-covered pillar like a spy who watched too many soap operas. No shame.
There he was. Adrian Velasco. Shirt sleeves rolled up, hands mid-gesture, that "I'm-too-charming-for-confrontation" tone in his voice.
Standing under the dim glow of a garden light, in front of a girl who looked like she walked off the cover of Vogue. Jet-black hair in a sleek braid falling over her right shoulder, red silk blouse with high-waisted pants, heels too intimidating to be legal. Tanned skin that glowed, even under harsh light.
Was this a model? A celebrity?
Althea didn't get time to think before it happened.
And then—SMACK.
Althea blinked. Did she just—did she really?
Yup. That was a full-powered, cheek-reddening slap.
Adrian's head snapped to the side like he'd just been slapped by karma herself.
Althea's mouth dropped open. "WHAT. JUST. HAPPENED."
The mystery girl leaned in, her voice sharp and low. "Fuck yourself and your whole family."
And then she turned. Didn't even notice Althea watching like a drama-hungry ghost behind the bushes.
Adrian stood frozen for a beat, rubbing his jaw. "Okay. That could've gone better."
Althea was, in a word, horrified.
Suddenly, her idea of Adrian—charming, controlled, golden-boy material—started to glitch.
She tried to sneak away, but her sandal betrayed her with a crunch on the gravel. Adrian turned, spotting her instantly. "…Althea?"
She blinked. "What slap? I didn't see a slap. I was admiring this… bush."
Adrian sighed and walked over, brushing nonexistent dust off his sleeve like he hadn't just been publicly humiliated. But then he smiled—that classic Adrian Velasco smile, polished and pretty and practiced.
"Oh, that?" he said, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder. "Just a bit of a misunderstanding."
Althea raised a brow. "Ah, yes a misunderstanding where she looked like she was about to bury you alive...?"
Adrian chuckled, then glanced in the direction Alaya had disappeared. "That was Max's girlfriend. Alaya. They're... dramatic."
Althea blinked. "Max's?"
"Yeah," he said smoothly, his hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable. "They have this whole enemies-to-lovers thing going on. Explosive chemistry."
Althea crossed her arms. "Explosive, sure. Saw the way you got smacked."
He let out a soft laugh and tilted his head. "Trust me, Max will probably be the one with broken bones by tomorrow."
Somehow, that didn't sit right with her. Not just the slap—or the lie she could almost taste under Adrian's nervous tone—but the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. And for the first time, she saw nervousness in him. Genuine emotions.
Althea looked away. "She's... gorgeous."
"She is," Adrian said, a little too quickly. Then he cleared his throat. "But insane."
Althea nodded slowly, lips pursed. "Right. Max's girlfriend."
Adrian's phone buzzed, and he glanced down at it before giving her another too-bright grin. "Anyway, thanks for checking in on me. Want to head back inside before my mom sends a search party?"
She gave a tight smile, her thoughts tangled and a little bitter. "Sure."
As they walked back, Althea's mind was still on the slap, the lie, and the strange hollow echo it left in her chest. She walked next to him, matching his pace, nodding at whatever small talk he tossed her way, but her brain had completely defected to its own programming.
That girl was not just some "dramatic" girlfriend.
There was something sharp in her eyes—like she knew exactly who Adrian was and didn't want anything to do with him anymore, or maybe she did? Who knows. And the way she strikes something in Adrian.
Max's girlfriend, my foot, she thought, shooting a sideways glance at him.
It wasn't even the lie that hurt. Not really. It was how easily he'd said it. How cleanly he'd distanced himself from that girl—as if she meant nothing. Like Althea hadn't just watched a very real, very red slap of heartbreak happen right in front of her.
And yet, here she was. Walking beside him. Letting her stupid heart trip over itself just because he looked like a daydream and sounded like charm in a bottle.
He probably doesn't even know how many times I've replayed that one time he threw the juice can at me like a rom-com lead. God, I'm pathetic.
Her heel caught on the edge of a stone, and she stumbled slightly. Adrian instinctively reached out, steadying her with a light touch on her arm.
"Careful," he said with a soft smile.
Her heart stuttered. Ugh. Stupid, stupid heart. Maybe I'm the one who needs slapping, she thought grimly. Either he's shameless or I am.
As they neared the back door, Althea forced herself to breathe. She was not about to turn into one of those girls who cried over a boy who couldn't even remember if she liked her coffee with sugar.
Still… her thoughts whispered. Why did he lie?
A few days passed by—quietly, pointlessly, like pages of a book being flipped without really reading.
Althea's routine had flattened into a loop: wake up, drag herself to the office, attend whatever polite meetings the Velasco's scheduled for wedding formalities, then return home to an overcooked dinner and an undercooked sense of purpose.
Maximilian didn't make another appearance. Not a sarcastic eyebrow or headphone in sight. If she hadn't been so busy trying not to combust from stress, she might've thought she imagined him altogether. But no—there was no imagining that storm of a man.
Still, her thoughts didn't hover there long.
It was Alaya who lingered occasionally.
Althea wasn't trying to think about her, not really. But every now and then, that girl flashed behind her eyes. The weight of that girl's presence. Gorgeous, fierce, unapologetic. Everything Althea wasn'tthat day.
And more than that—Adrian's reaction. That carefully constructed calm.
Max's girlfriend, he had said. Sure. And Althea was the queen of France.
She hadn't confronted him about it. What was the point? They were all playing roles now, anyway. Polite future in-laws, the perfect couple-to-be.
Sometimes, Althea caught herself watching Adrian too long. Trying to find cracks in his perfectness. Looking for... something.
And sometimes, in the back of her mind, she wondered what Max's expression would've been like if he had gotten slapped by a girl in red.
Probably sarcastic. Probably a shrug and a dry, "Well, I deserved that."
She shook her head, pushing away the thought as quickly as it came.
Both of them are messed in the head, she thought. No time to think about tornado boys. She had a wedding to plan.
It was a Thursday.
Nothing monumental had ever happened on a Thursday in Althea's life, unless you counted the time she accidentally microwaved aluminum foil.
But that Thursday? Monumental things were apparently scheduled.
Althea sat behind her desk at the marketing firm's quiet little office downtown, surrounded by spreadsheets, coffee cups, and a desktop wallpaper of a beach she hadn't seen in years. She had been staring at the same cell in Excel for eight minutes. Technically working. Mentally spiraling.
The hum of the air conditioning was the only sound, aside from the rhythmic tap of her pen against the desk. Her calendar had back-to-back meetings with Velasco staff and a reminder to act like you have your life together.
Then—
Knock knock.
"Come in!" she called, hastily fixing her hair and sitting straighter.
The door opened.
And in walked her.
Althea's stomach dropped through the floor and into the parking garage.
Raven-black hair, perfectly straight and parted sharply down the center, falling over her back like a shampoo commercial had been shot on the way up. Red lipstick, matte, not a smudge out of place. Long lashes that somehow blinked with condescension. She wore an ivory blazer over a sleeveless black top tucked into high-waisted, wide-leg trousers—designer, obviously. The kind of outfit that said, I don't just own this room. I own the building. She had heels on too. Not office heels. Statement heels. Pointed, glossy, and soul-piercing; one hit and I'm gone heels.
Althea's brain did a violent cartwheel.
Alaya.
Why was she here? In this office? In this dimension?
Althea blinked rapidly. Maybe she fell asleep and was dreaming in designer.
"…Hi?" she offered, trying not to sound like she just swallowed a marble.
Alaya smiled. "Hi. You must be Althea." Even her voice was flawless. Smooth, precise. Not a syllable out of place. Like the human version of a closing argument that always won.
"I am. And you're…"
"Alaya. Alaya Serrano"
Althea wanted to curl into a recycling bin and disappear.
Instead, she gestured stiffly. "Please, have a seat." Or levitate. Whatever suits your power level.
Alaya walked to the chair with the kind of elegance reserved for runway finales and intimidation tactics. Her perfume followed — something dark and expensive and probably named after an emotion Althea couldn't afford.
Alaya crossed her legs with effortless elegance, folding her hands in her lap. She looked like she walked out of a museum painting and politely asked the gallery to hold her earrings.
"I hope this isn't a bad time," she said, voice soft, lilting. Sweet. Not even fake-sweet — real sweet. The kind that tasted like honey and confidence.
Althea, who was already gripping her chair like it was a lifeboat, blinked. "Not at all," she said. "Just working on some documents I plan to ignore for another hour."
Alaya laughed.
And not just a polite "you're funny, peasant" laugh — it was warm, soft, and utterly charming. Her eyes crinkled slightly. Crinkled.
Althea's brain short-circuited.
To hell with the Velasco brothers.Alaya could slap me and I'd apologize.She's divine. She could start a cult and I'd join, no questions asked.
"So…" Alaya began, looking around the modest office, not judging a thing. "I've heard quite a bit about you."
"I just thought I should introduce myself," Alaya said. "Since we'll probably be seeing a lot of each other."
Seeing a lot of each other? Is she being polite? Does she want to be best friends? Does she want to adopt me?
Althea cleared her throat. "Yeah… yeah, that makes sense. So… you and Maximilian?" She said, her voice wobbly, traitorous, absolutely not thought through.
Her raven-black hair shifted over one shoulder like it was in on the drama. Her lips quirked into the faintest smile.
"Oh?" she echoed, like the word was a delicate thing she wanted to taste.
Althea suddenly wasn't sure if she'd imagined the slap. Maybe she'd hallucinated the whole scene. Maybe everyone was gaslighting her, and the Velasco estate had hallucinogenic flowers. Yes. That seemed likely.
"Max and me?" Alaya asked lightly, almost amused. "Is that what they're saying now?"
Althea blinked. "I mean… that's what Adrian said."
There was a beat.
And then Alaya laughed. Not a full belly laugh, not a mocking one — just a soft, elegant, I-know-more-than-you-think-I-do kind of laugh.
"Hmm," she hummed. "Interesting."
That was it. That was the whole reply. No denial. No confirmation. Just that one maddening little sound. Althea stared at her, flustered. "So… you're not?"
Okay maybe not a cult. But a fan club. I'd be treasurer. And secretary. And mascot.Who gets dumped by her? WHO? You don't leave Alaya. Alaya leaves you.The Velasco brothers are morons. Certified. Top-tier idiots. If they fumble a woman like this, imagine the rest of their lives.
Alaya raised a brow. "Do I look like Max's type?"
Althea opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "…I don't even know Max's type."
"Exactly." Alaya finally smiled wide, like she was sparing Althea from more emotional combustion.
Alaya smiled again and stood up, smoothing her blazer. "I should go," she said. "Just wanted to say hi."
"Don't worry," she said, reaching for the door again. "You'll figure everything out. Eventually."
And with that, she disappeared into the hallway, leaving Althea alone with her thoughts — which, by now, resembled a group of headless chickens screaming about mystery women and brother-shaped lies.
The office fell into silence again. Althea just sat there, staring at the door like it had personally betrayed her.
To hell with the Velasco's.I'm switching teams. I'm fighting for HER.How dare she be gorgeous, graceful, AND kind. That's illegal. There should be a tax.Anyway, I need to go lie down and rethink my entire life.
End of chapter 5.