I don’t even know why I’m still here.

I was on the gym, minding my own practice, running drills, the squeak of sneakers echoing in the empty space. Then Leah and Axel decided to go full soap-opera mode and start kissing.

After the pool party fiasco, Axel’s been on his knees, metaphorically, apologizing to Leah. She confronted him the second Logan hauled Diya home, and one thing led to another. Turns out, the great Axel-the-Playboy has a heart after all, because he actually confessed. And Leah, apparently, had been waiting to hear it.

So here we are, two lovebirds making out in the middle of the gym. And the odd one out in all this is Diya.

She’s got that sunshine smile…bright, blinding and exhausting. The kind of smile that makes you wonder what’s underneath.

It has to be fake. Nobody is that happy all the time.

I’ve never liked her. But since Logan started dating Emma, our friend groups got mashed together, and I’ve been forced to watch her more than I wanted to. 

I’ve noticed the way her eyes sometimes drift to Axel when she thinks no one’s looking. But that idiot’s been too busy chasing Leah to see anything beyond her shadow.

Hell, he even made sure Diya came to his party because he knew Leah would only agree if Diya tagged along.

But then everything spiraled. They both got drunk and ended up making out right in front of Leah and Logan.

Logan, who has that older-brother instinct with Diya, didn’t waste a second before throwing a punch at Axel.

And while all that chaos was happening, Diya somehow decided drowning herself in the pool was a good idea. So I had to pull her out. She was soaked, shivering, and mumbling nonsense, calling me by Logan’s name over and over.

It was infuriating.

Because, when I finally managed to escape Ru’s clingy persistence, a half an hour before everything happened, I slipped into a dark room to be alone for five minutes.

That’s when she walked in.

She started changing her clothes and didn’t even notice I was sitting on the bed. The lights were dim, sure, but still…where were her woman instincts? Did she pack them up and send them on vacation?

At first, I thought she was just another attention-seeker. But she genuinely didn't notice my presence. Then I really looked.

Perfect curves, slim waist, round ass, and those breasts… Enough to make a man consider bad decisions. I was actually thinking of asking her to stay the night.

Then I saw her face.

And every single thought died instantly.

Fucking Diya. 

The heat in me burned out fast, cooling into pure irritation. And then just like that she left.

After I pulled her out of the pool, I had to keep her near because she wouldn’t shut up about wanting to jump in the pool again. The girl really had a death wish. And calling me by another man’s name on top of it… That was the kind of insult that made me seriously consider pushing her in myself.

But now, I saw her cry.

And that… did something to me.

Finally, the sunshine girl was cracking, the wall around her splintering.

It should’ve been satisfying. It wasn’t.

It was pathetic.

So, instead of letting her stand there and watch what was happening, I moved in behind her, covered her eyes, and pulled her back against my chest. She was silent, but not in the peaceful kind of way but more like every sob and sniffle had been locked behind her teeth.

I take a breath, haul her up to the basketball gym’s terrace. She doesn’t say a single word the whole way.

I light a cigarette. “Get it done already. I don’t have all day,” I say.

“Fuck off,” she snaps.

I should’ve let her stand there and watch. Let her see every second of it. Let her cry until her voice broke. That would’ve been easier.

“You’re welcome,” I mutter under my breath.

A few seconds pass before she speaks. “You… knew?”

I drag a puff. “Knew, what?”

“Axel and Leah?”

I nod. “I knew about Axel’s fixation on Leah. But I only found out Leah felt the same way at Axel’s party.”

“What? What happened?”

I raise my brows. Do I really have to spell it out? “Axel confessed to Leah with an apology after Logan took you home, and she accepted.”

She just nods. My gaze slips down her body, the same one I wanted a week ago, and now, with her so close, I don’t even want to touch her. The irony’s not lost on me.

“You don’t like me?” she asks.

“Should I have to like you?” I ask back.

“No thanks,” she answers.

The audacity. 

The fucking audacity of this creature.

And that is what grates on me. How she can just shut it off. How nothing seems to break her. She wipes away those tears like they never existed.

“You can leave if you want to,” she mutters, eyes on the sky.

“I can go whenever I damn well please.” I drag one last lungful from the cigarette, the smoke burning my throat, and crush the butt against the railing.

The silence lingers, stretching. “And what exactly are you going to do about it?”

She tilts her head, confusion flickering in her gaze. “About what?”

“Don’t play innocent. I know about your little crush on Axel.”

Her brows lift. “Am I that obvious?”

Not at all. She’s never even spared him more than a few seconds of attention. She’s too careful—deliberate, even. But I’ve watched her long enough to know where her eyes wander, to notice the smallest, most fleeting habits.

Ru never liked her. Not because of anything she’d done, but because of the way I look at Diya. My gaze always finds her, no matter the crowd. Even in a sea of women, I can pick her out without trying. 

And I wonder, how does this girl keep smiling, keep laughing, when others around her are busy drowning in their own misery?

She intrigues me as much as she drives me insane, an infuriating balance she manages without effort.

“Just a hunch,” I reply, lips curling faintly. “No one would cry if their best friend kissed another man. Unless you’re secretly in love with your friend… you have feelings for the guy.”

Her eyes flash. “What the fuck? Gay? Have you lost your mind? Whatever, I'm leaving. Hope, we never meet again.” She wipes at her face with her palms and storms off the terrace without looking back.

Infuriating woman.

I light another cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating the shadows under my eyes. My thoughts stray back to her. Why the hell is she so casual about everything? What armor does she wear that makes her seem so untouchable?

My phone chimes, dragging me back to reality. A text from Kyle.

Kyle: When are you coming home? It’s been too long.

A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips for the first time all day. It’s genuine enough to reach my eyes a rare moment of softness. I tap out a reply without hesitation.

Me: This weekend.

I hate going home. I hate the sight of my father. The cold, emotionless, a man who treats his company like a living thing and his own blood like strangers. But Kyle is different. He’s the only reason I keep going. The only person I bother for.

I despise my father, not in a passing, petty way, but with the kind of hatred that takes root in your bones and never lets go. 

After my mother died giving birth to Kyle, when I was only six, something inside him broke. He stopped looking in Kyle’s direction altogether. Even when my baby brother cried himself hoarse through the night from hunger, my father never once spared him a glance.

I didn’t know what to do. I sat beside him, whispering for him to stop crying, carrying him outside, rocking him in the crib until my arms ached. Nothing worked. He kept screaming for milk, and I didn’t even know that’s what he needed. 

It wasn’t until a maid found us the next morning that he finally stopped. She fed him, then took the time to teach me—to a six year old—how to make powdered milk, how to hold the bottle, how to bathe him, and how to put him to sleep.

I was just a child. I didn’t understand why my father treated his own son like a stranger, like a burden. But as I grew older, I began to understand. He saw Kyle as a walking reminder of his wife’s death. A regret with flesh and blood.

His contempt ran so deep that one day he arranged to send Kyle to an orphanage when I was ten. That was the first time I truly lost control. If the maid hadn’t stopped me, I would have killed him that night. I can still remember the pure, feral rage, the heat of blood in my hands, and the fear in his eyes. I should have ended him then and there. But he swore he wouldn’t touch Kyle again. So I let him live.

Kyle isn’t an orphan. He has me. He has his brother. He trusts me with his life, and I’ve sworn to protect that trust until my last breath. My father abandoned him, burying himself in overseas business trips, and I raised my brother alone.

That was life… until my father suddenly remembered I existed and started talking about the company, about my so-called duty, about an engagement to the Osmund family.

And then there’s Ruella. The woman who refuses to hear the word no. She’s been clinging to me since I was fourteen, despite the thousand times I’ve told her to fuck off. But she clings to my father’s promises like gospel, convinced she’ll end up with me one day. Let her dream herself to death.

With a sigh, I glance down from the terrace. People below laugh, their voices rising in lighthearted conversation. Why does happiness seem to flow so easily for them, yet slip through my fingers every time? Why can’t I smile like that? Why can’t I just be content with what I have? Why does everything always feel… distant?

It’s as if peace is something I’ll only find in death. Maybe that’s why I hate Diya. She radiates the kind of joy I’ve never been able to hold…always laughing, always smiling like the world has bent itself to her will.

I pull out my phone and open Instagram. Her profile floods my screen—thousands of followers, hundreds of posts. In every single one, she’s smiling. Some of them with her parents, some of them with her friends, some of them with Logan. And every picture of her does something to me I wish it didn’t.

Maybe I should take that smile away.

Then a particular photo catches my attention. Her in a traditional saree, the fabric draped in a way that leaves her left waist bare. Slim, curved—exactly as I’d seen last week. My hand tightens at the thought, fighting the urge to grab that waist, to feel her warmth beneath my palm.

Shit.

I lock the phone and shove it deep into my pocket, as if burying the thought with it.

I head back to class after changing my clothes. Emma and Leah are already there, huddled together with Logan and Axel, talking about something that looks far too serious for a regular afternoon.

Logan spots me first. “Where were you?”

“Terrace,” I reply, slipping into my seat.

“Have you seen Diya? We can’t find her.” Emma’s voice is casual, but there’s an edge to it.

I have to resist the urge to smirk. How are they both so calm after what happened at the party? They know about Diya’s crush on Axel. But Leah went ahead and stole her crush right under her nose, and now she’s acting like it’s just another Tuesday. Emma was there when Axel confessed to Leah, and neither of them bothered to tell Diya. Yet here they are, playing concerned friends.

With a sigh, I rub my temple. “Yeah. I saw her… maybe half an hour ago.”

Logan’s eyes narrow, that trademark overprotective streak flaring up. “Where?”

“Terrace.” This time, I don’t bother hiding my smirk.

“You were with her,” Logan says—it’s not a question.

I nod.

Emma crosses her arms. “Why were you with her? And what’s with that face?”

“Because I know something you don’t.” I lean back casually, pulling out my phone and scrolling through some videos.

“What happened, Hunter? Did you do something to her?” Logan’s tone sharpens.

“Aha!  The mama bear’s back,” I drawl.

“Don’t test me,” he snaps.

“Relax. Diya saw Axel and Leah kissing in the gym, so I took her to the terrace. We talked for a bit, and then she left.”

The color drains from Emma and Leah’s faces. Logan, however, just freezes, shock and disbelief etched across his features. He turns to Leah. “You did what?”

“Logan, let me explain. They… like each other. Axel has feelings for Leah. He confessed after you left the party, and they… they love each other.” Emma’s voice drops to a near whisper, like she’s afraid the truth might explode if she says it too loud.

“Why didn’t you tell Diya about this?” I ask, my tone deceptively mild.

“You don’t know her temper,” Emma sighs.

Axel finally decides to join the conversation. “Okay! What does Diya’s temper have to do with Leah dating me?”

I bite back an eye roll. How the hell does this guy walk around thinking he’s a playboy when he can’t even tell a girl’s been crushing on him? Whatever, it’s not my story to tell.

Leah and Emma exchange a loaded silence before Leah finally mutters, “I’ll talk to her.”

I smirk. “Good luck.”

This is going to be fun.