CHAPTER TWELVE
LUNA
The restaurant felt like a different world entirely, as if the night before had been carved from another lifetime and left to rot on the sand.
The resort’s breakfast pavilion was a cathedral of light, so bright and serene it almost hurt.
Polished teak gleamed like honeyed glass in the morning sun that had only just begun its climb, still gentle, still harmless, turning the ocean into a vast, shimmering sheet of turquoise that looked too smooth, too perfect to be real.
Everything smelled of freshly ground Kona coffee, ripe fruit, and soft blooms. It was paradise sculpted for people who believed themselves untouchable. A room made for peace, not panic. For beginnings, not threats.
I sat across from my mother, my fingers wrapped around a mug of herbal tea I barely tasted. I tried to absorb the serenity, let it fill the cracks inside me. Instead, it only slid over the surface, unable to sink in.
My mother, on the other hand, radiated joy like a lantern.
She wore a pale silk caftan printed with washed-out ocean colors, soft blues and greens blending like watercolor.
The faint laugh lines around her eyes had softened overnight, as though happiness itself had ironed them smooth. She looked rested. Hopeful. Safe.
This was the woman I had vowed to protect. The woman whose peace had become the only currency I had left. Everything I did now was for her, even the things that gutted me.
“It was such a beautiful night, darling,” she said, swirling cream into her coffee.
The spoon clinked gently against the porcelain, delicate and content.
She sighed, a warm, weightless sound, and leaned back in her woven chair.
“Everything was perfect. The weather, the music… and watching you and Riley.” Her smile softened further.
“I know it’s a big adjustment, but I’m so happy you two are getting along so well. ”
I forced a small smile, brittle and dangerous, like thin glass warmed too quickly. “We’re fine, Mum. Just… adjusting.”
Getting along so well.
The phrase echoed in my mind, warped and mocking. She saw politeness, cooperation, the illusion of harmony. She saw Riley offering me a chair at the rehearsal dinner, or dancing with me, or speaking just kindly enough that strangers would believe we shared some budding sibling bond.
She didn’t see the rest.
The whispers meant only for me.
The dark promises woven through his voice.
The way he looked at me, as if he was peeling layers away, stripping me down to something raw and exposed.
She didn’t feel the electric terror whenever he stepped too close, or the way the world tilted when he smirked like he knew every thought in my head.
To her, he was a dream.
To me, he was a storm dressed as a savior.
Her happiness was too bright for shadows. She didn’t notice mine stretching long across the table.
“That’s all I can ask for,” she said, oblivious. “Really, I can’t tell you how much of a relief it is knowing you two have connected. He’s going to show you everything you need to know in Palo Alto.”
The words struck me with the cold clang of a prison gate slamming shut.
Palo Alto.
More time with Riley.
More proximity.
More of his control.
The horrific irony tasted metallic on my tongue.
I speared a piece of dragonfruit, brought it to my mouth, and focused on chewing slowly. Calmly. Politely. As though my mother’s joy wasn’t building bars around me with every breath she took.
Because I couldn’t let her see it.
Not the dread.
Not the fear.
Not the truth of the boy she thought was a blessing.
So I swallowed the fruit, swallowed the panic, and forced my smile to stay intact.
Even as every part of me whispered that I was sitting in paradise with a noose tightening around my throat.
“Now, about today,” my mother said, her eyes sparkling with a joy so bright it stole my breath. “Marcus has been such a romantic. He’s completely surprised me. We were meant to fly back with you, but he arranged a detour. A surprise honeymoon.”
My hand slipped, betraying me, landing on the table with a soft, accusing thud. My teacup made the smallest sound against its saucer, barely a whisper, but in my head it was a shattering. A warning bell. A summons to panic.
My heartbeat, which had just begun to slow, surged violently again, thudding against my ribs like something desperate and trapped.
I managed a smile that felt like holding the edges of a mask that was seconds from crumbling. “Oh. Wow. That’s… wonderful, Mom. Where are you going?”
“It’s a secret, of course.” She laughed softly, delighted, unaware she was severing the last thread tying me to safety. “All I know is that we’re leaving straight from the Kaua’i airport. And here’s the best part. It’s for two whole weeks.”
Two weeks.
The words hit me like a physical impact. The room, bright and serene and curated for dreamers, began to tilt. The shimmering ocean outside blurred at the edges, its gentle crash morphing into something mocking and cruel.
Two weeks.
Two weeks without her.
Two weeks alone with him.
That must have been why she said he would show me everything in Palo Alto.
I felt the truth coil cold and living inside my chest.
I had built my entire plan, my sanity, around the certainty of her presence the moment we landed.
I pictured her beside me in Marcus’s sprawling house, filling its echoing spaces with warmth, acting as a buffer between me and Riley’s dark, simmering attention.
But she wouldn’t be there. She would be in some secret paradise with Marcus, blissfully unaware.
And I would be trapped in that house.
His house, essentially.
His territory.
His rules.
The thought flooded me with ice. The long flight back suddenly became a metal coffin in the sky, hours of confinement with him. Hours of seeing that slow, knowing smile. Hours where he would sense my panic and feed on it.
I forced myself to breathe evenly. To hold the mask. I had spent years perfecting this face, the polite, capable daughter who never broke, never cracked, never caused a ripple in the fragile peace my mother built her life upon.
I could not destroy her joy.
Not on her wedding day.
Not on the morning she was glowing with the beginning of a dream she had waited years for.
“That’s… incredible, Mom,” I said, pushing the words out past the knot in my throat. My voice was steady. My hands didn’t shake. Only my heartbeat betrayed me, wild and pained. “You deserve it. So… Riley will be taking me back today?”
“Yes. Isn’t it perfect?” She reached across the table, squeezing my hand with gentle excitement.
“He’s handling everything. Marcus organized the flights for you two and arranged a driver to meet you in San Jose.
And Riley is already planning the next few days for you so you can get settled as soon as possible. ”
Of course he had.
Of course he was already arranging the pieces.
That was what he did.
He planned. He maneuvered. He set traps with a smile that made everyone believe he was helping.
She leaned closer, her voice softening with maternal warmth I ached for. “Luna, he truly is a good kid. Just give him a chance. You two are going to be wonderful together.”
Wonderful together.
The words sliced like silk. Beautiful. Deadly.
She saw a future being woven. A family merging. Harmony blooming.
I saw a cage.
A bond stitched together by secrets, threats, and the brief, searing press of my bare skin against his chest… an imprint that refused to fade. A tangle I hadn’t chosen but was now caught in, with no path out that didn’t hurt someone I loved.
A wave of loneliness rolled through me, vast and quiet and devastating. My mother, radiant and hopeful, was stepping into the life she deserved. And I was being left behind with the architect of my dread.
My lips curved. My voice remained steady. My mask stayed in place.
But beneath it, my soul whispered the truth.
I was terrified.
The sunlight outside the pavilion struck me like a warm blade, soft at first, then cruel once it found the crack in my composure.
I followed my mother through the open-air lobby, its marble floors gleaming like bleached bone, its ceiling high enough to let the morning breeze sweep through in gentle, perfumed sighs.
I wished I could breathe like that breeze.
I wished I could dissolve into it. But my lungs were tight, my pulse a frantic flutter trapped beneath my skin.
We stepped out into the circular drive where hibiscus bushes bloomed in colors so bright they looked angry, as if nature itself resented the truth unraveling inside me. And there they were. Marcus, on his phone, already half gone into the world of numbers and decisions. And Riley.
He stood beside the luggage like a sentinel carved from shadow and sun. Hands in his pockets. Chin slightly lifted. Unbothered. Unmovable.
My gaze found the suitcases and snagged hard on one: mine. My battered, sticker-covered, absolutely unmistakable suitcase. My stomach dropped, plummeting so sharply I felt momentarily weightless.
He went into my room.
Again.
The realization didn’t whisper. It slammed. No permission. No warning. No boundaries. He had walked straight into my room and lifted my life in his hands like it belonged to him.
Another violation wrapped in an act of service. A threat disguised as helpfulness.
My mother saw none of it. She saw what he wanted her to see: a responsible son, already stepping into his shiny new role.
“Riley was amazing this morning,” she chirped, turning to beam at him. “He took care of everything before we even woke up.”
His smile was gentle. That soft, boyish version of him he offered to parents and strangers. But his eyes slid to me, and that gentleness sharpened into something intimate and territorial. Something only meant for me.
“Just wanted to make things easier,” he said, voice warm enough to melt glass. “You had a long night.”