We were still arguing—but honestly, my focus was drifting to her.
That girl.
That stupidly gorgeous girl.
Her eyes were just—wow.
Dangerous. Mysterious. Absolutely unfair.
I hated her.
And I couldn't stop looking.
Adam cleared his throat, trying to cool the fire.
"Okay, okay, we're sorry," he said, dragging me by the wrist toward the car.
"Ruby, just leave it."
I rolled my eyes and scoffed.
"Hmm. Whatever. She's just… stupid."
I was dragged by Alia. I said she's just idiot.
I said that.
Lied that.
Because she—that cold, wolf-cut, tomboy girl—had gotten under my skin.
And I hated that even more.
---
I'm Aveline Vale, and nobody talks to me like that.
Not even a Greek statue with attitude.
Alia huffed beside me. "Aveline Vale! Idiot! I told you not to run off!"
But like, when do I ever listen?
I mumbled curses under my breath, cheeks puffed out like a sulking brat, and let Alia pull me away by the arm.
Alia Stafford. My day-one. Ride-or-die since we were in diapers.
Our families go way back—like royal tea parties and blood pacts kind of back.
She always had my back, even when I didn't deserve it.
She dropped me off at Vale Mansion, and before I could even breathe—
"Hey, what's wrong? Did you eat sour sweets again?"
That voice.
I turned, and there she was.
Mireline Vale.
My sister.
(And no—she's not beautiful, don't even start.)
She was grinning that smug grin of hers. "What happened, my poor little sister~?"
Ugh. I wanted to punch her so bad. Like, grab her by the hair and throw her into a hedge bad.
But I ignored her. I do that a lot. It's a full-time job.
I marched up to my room—my perfect little aesthetic bubble.
White desk, laptop open.
Books lined up in chaotic rainbow order.
Makeup, stuffed toys, a dreamy lamp glowing softly.
Yeah, yeah, I'm the baby of the Vale family. No shame.
I live in cozy chaos.
Also, fun fact: I'm a quote freak.
Poetry? Philosophy?
I love looking at the world through fiction-colored glasses.
Metaphors. Twisted meanings. A puzzle you feel instead of solve.
So yeah, I was daydreaming—until she walked in.
Violet hair, smug aura, looking at me like I just lost a fight with a bunny.
"What the hell do you want?" I snapped.
Mireline just smirked, sat beside me and whispered,
"Still stubborn, I see."
And then—
Boom.
Mother walked in.
Oh no. Not now. Not with that murder-eyes glare.
She looked like she could slice glass with her voice.
"Where were you last night?" she asked, her tone sharp enough to flinch anyone with a soul.
I wanted to say,
"At a bar. Drinking. Laughing. Living."
But nah. I like my face un-slapped.
Mireline, like the manipulative angel she is, slid in with that calm, velvet voice.
"Mother… leave it to me. I'll handle it."
And just like that, I clung to her.
Yup. Hugged her like she was my bulletproof vest.
Because in this house?
She's the only one who can stand between me and the storm.