CHAPTER 6
MIA
I wake up to the sound of birds singing—and grunting?
Wait. No. That’s me.
The birds are just out there living their best lives, and I’m here, groaning like a dying walrus because, apparently, existing is exhausting.
Why do they sound so cheerful at this ungodly hour? Who gave them permission?
I roll over, tangling myself in my blanket like some sort of discount burrito, and immediately regret all my life choices. The floor is cold. And unforgiving. But hey, at least I’m awake now.
After successfully detangling myself (it takes longer than I care to admit), I drag my zombie-like body into the shower, only to immediately forget whether I shampooed already. Twice. Maybe three times. My hair will just have to deal with the consequences.
Then, it’s time for skincare—a sacred ritual.
I slather on moisturizer like I’m coloring a masterpiece, only to realize I just put hair conditioner on my face.
Why am I like this?
Finally, I take a deep breath, stare at my reflection, and take my regularly scheduled five-minute break for an internal crisis.
Existential dread? Check.
Overanalyzing a conversation from five years ago—was it real or made up in my head? Check.
Debating whether I should fake my own disappearance and start a new life in the mountains? Double check.
Okay. Great. Now I can start my day.
I decide to color. Because I miss it. Because my life is spiraling and I have absolutely no control over anything, so I might as well pretend I do by organizing tiny pigments on a piece of paper.
Is my life a mess? Absolutely.
Can I do anything about it? Nope.
Am I pretending everything is fine? Of course.
I’m bored out of my mind. I told Seth I’d be traveling with Zane, which means I can’t be seen around here.
If he somehow finds me lurking in this region, I wouldn’t even know how to explain it. "Oh, hey, surprise! I actually lied and I’m just hiding out like some sketchy cryptid." Yeah, that wouldn’t go over well.
So, I color.
Everyone has their own coping mechanism. Some people work out, some people meditate, and some people bake cookies at 3 AM. Me? I grab my color pencil and try to make my brain shut up for five minutes.
Not like I can do anything about my messed-up past that perfectly matches my equally messed-up brain, or my future that—surprise!—also aligns with both.
It’s a pattern. An aesthetic, if you will.
I start getting lost in the process, coloring flowers this time, completely zoning out until my phone rings. I blink at the screen, and my twin brother’s name flashes there like some kind of divine summoning.
Twin connection is a weird thing because I swear he only thinks of me after I think of him. How does nature even explain this? Psychic powers? Quantum entanglement? Sheer chaos?
I answer, already bracing myself.
“Hey, sis. How’s the trip?”
“Good.” I try to sound neutral. Bad idea. Turns out, I’m not great at lying to Seth. Which makes sense—I spent over half my life thinking he was dead, so I never really had to practice.
“Good?” He’s immediately suspicious. “I was expecting something more like, ‘Oh my God, Seth, I’m living the dream! I just skydived and made friends with a raccoon!’”
“You think I’d befriend a raccoon?”
“Yes. You seem like the type to feed raccoons and give them names.”
“I’d name them all Jorge,” I mutter.
“Exactly what I expected.”
Laura, who was probably eavesdropping, decides to join in. It’s funny to think—well, maybe not that funny—about the time I thought Laura didn’t even know Seth existed. Turns out, not only does she know him, but they’re actually close. Plot twist.
Of course, Seth swears up and down that he only visits her because of Nora, my niece, who is officially the cutest thing in this universe (tied with her twin brother, obviously—gotta be fair). But let’s be real. If he’s hanging out with Laura that much, it’s not just about the kids.
I mean, he can keep pretending. I’ll keep pretending to believe him. It’s a system.
"Mia, are you eating properly?" Laura asks in that soft-spoken yet very diplomatic voice of hers—like she’s trying to gently guide a nation through a crisis, but the crisis is just me .
I pause, mid-scribble, staring at the flower I was just coloring in. What kind of question is that? Of course, I’m eating properly. I had coffee for breakfast, a questionable snack at some point, and maybe… okay, definitely some candy. That counts.
"Define 'properly,’” I say, stalling.
Laura sighs. I can practically hear her adjusting her glasses, preparing a full nutritional intervention.
“So, you’re not eating properly,” Laura deduces.
“I ate something yesterday that had sauce on it,” I argue.
“Sauce doesn’t cancel out malnutrition.”
Seth grumbles. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”
“Why would I be in trouble?”
“Because you sound like someone trying to hide the fact that they’re in trouble.”
I laugh. “I’m literally just traveling with my husband. Relax.”
Laura remains skeptical. “Is your husband with you now?”
“Uh…” I glance to the side, where there is very much no Zane. “Yeah?”
“Why did you say that like you were guessing?”
“Because sometimes he hides,” I improvise. “He’s sneaky like that. A ninja. You never know when he’s going to show up.”
Seth sighs. “Mia, if you ever need a rescue, send me a secret emoji.”
“Like what?”
“A dove with a baseball bat.”
“That doesn’t exist.”
“Then you won’t need to use it.”
I roll my eyes. “You guys are so paranoid. I’m fine! Just enjoying the trip and married life.”
“Okay,” Laura mutters.
“You two together, that’s a surprise,” I say, steering the conversation away from me.
“Please. Seth comes over every time Pietro travels just to drool over Eleonora.”
I love how Laura is okay now. She had twins, which is honestly so cool—like, genetically, what are the odds? Her half-siblings are twins too, so maybe the universe just looked at her family and went, Yep, double everything.
I haven’t met them in person—only through pictures. But let me tell you, those babies? Top-tier adorable. Like, if I had a list of the cutest babies in the universe (which I do ), they’d be right up there with the ones I see on TikTok that make me irrationally emotional for no reason. They have the perfect chubby cheeks, the kind that make you want to poke them gently but also aggressively because they’re just that squishable.
And yet… I’ve never actually held them. Never smelled that weirdly specific baby scent that makes people get all soft and sentimental. Never got to poke their cheeks for real.
Maybe I never will. If things keep going the way they are, I might always be just a name they hear sometimes, a blurry face in an old picture. Which—ugh, existential crisis loading —but I shove that thought into the mental drawer labeled Stuff to Overthink at 3 AM.
I hate my father. Period.
“I still can’t believe that baby doll is related to that jerk,” Seth mutters.
Laura shoots him a look. “Don’t talk about my husband like that, big brother.”
“So be it.”
“Guys, I’m still here,” I remind them, regretting it immediately. “I mean, yay, family bonding.”
“She’s hiding something, isn’t she?” Laura says.
Seth nods. Or at least, I think he does, since, you know—I can’t actually see him. But I feel the nod through the phone, like some weird twin telepathy thing. Or maybe it's just my brain filling in the gaps, like when you misread a text and decide someone is mad at you for no reason.
“Did you just nod?” I ask, because I have priorities.
There’s a pause. “...Yeah?”
“Aha! I knew it!” I point at absolutely nothing in triumph. “Twin connection confirmed. ”
“You’re ridiculous,” Seth mutters, but I swear I can hear the tiniest hint of amusement in his voice.
“Stop stalling,” Laura cuts in, all diplomatic but so onto me.
“Okay, fine. You caught me.” I throw my hands up in dramatic surrender. “I was having sex, and you guys totally cockblocked me.”
The room goes dead silent for a second, and then—
“Oh my God.” Seth groans like I just dealt him a gut punch. “Now I wanna shoot myself in the ear.”
Laura mutters something, her voice low and calculating, and before I can even process it, Seth’s already off to the races. “If I have to think about that fucker having sex with my sister, I’ll cut him in half.”
“That’s not how we solve things, Seth,” Laura responds, voice cool but precise. “We talked about this, remember?”
And they’re off—bantering back and forth like it’s nothing. It’s like their favorite hobby is roasting us, and yeah, I get it. But seriously—rude.
I am perfectly capable of having a normal trip without dramatic events.
You are not in real trip Mia, and you are full of dramatic events on your plate.
Before I can say so, a noise from the other room makes me freeze. Glass breaking.
Seth and Laura hear it too.
“What was that?” Seth asks.
“Pigeons,” I say automatically.
“…Pigeons?”
“Violent pigeons. They’re kind of… revolting around here.”
Silence.
Then Seth grumbles, “I’m coming to get you.”
“Not a chance.”
“Laura, pack your bags.”
“Oh, come on! You’re gonna ruin my trip!”
“I’d rather ruin your trip than have to break in somewhere to rescue you,” Seth snaps.
If only he knew how painfully close he was to the truth.
“You always assume the worst of me.”
Laura sighs. “Maybe because the worst is usually happening.”
I cross my arms, indignant. “That’s not true. Sometimes I just make creative decisions .”
“That’s a euphemism for trouble,” Seth deadpans. “I don’t care much about trouble, sis, but I just got you back. Try not to get yourself killed too soon.”
Too late.
“Aww, that’s sweet to hear.”
“She’s stalling. That means she’s in trouble.”
“Well,” I mutter, “depends on your point of view.”
“That means yes.”
“No! And don’t bother tracking me, Seth. I asked a hacker to leave my phone location in some random spot in Texas. I really want to enjoy this,” I lie.
Seth snorts, clearly not buying it. “Oh, please. You’re not fooling anyone. You think I can’t figure out your bullshit? I’m practically wired into everything.”
“Maybe you should stop worrying about my phone and more about keeping your own head from exploding,” I snap, adding a playful edge to keep him guessing.
Laura stays quiet for a moment, arms likely crossed, watching the show unfold in silence. “You two are ridiculous,” she mutters, barely hiding her smirk.
“You guys need to trust me on this, okay? Just promise you’ll let me go. It’s not fair—I deserve to live in normalcy.” I know I shouldn’t be playing the guilt card, but it’s the only one I have left.
Seth grunts on the other end, clearly annoyed. I hate doing this, especially knowing how much my brother feels the weight of what happened to me, even though it’s not his fault. I don’t really blame him, but that doesn’t make it any easier. It's the only way to ensure he stays away “Normalcy? Yeah, sure. Fine, whatever. You want your space? Take it. But I swear, if anything goes wrong... I’m coming for you.” His voice drips with irritation, and I can hear the barely restrained threat under the surface.
I can’t afford for anything to go wrong. If Seth finds out, he’ll come after me, no question.
“You’ll tell us if you need help, right?” Laura’s voice is softer, but there’s a quiet edge of concern that makes my heart beat faster.
“Yeah.” I manage to get the word out, but it sounds hollow, even to me.
“Mia—”
“Love you guys, bye!” I hang up before they can keep interrogating me.
A voice cuts through the silence.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
I turn my head to see Zane leaning against the doorway. He’s been watching me this whole time.
I stretch lazily, rolling onto my back. “I disagree. I think I’m a great liar, actually.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Violent pigeons?”
“That was the first thing that came to mind,” I mutter.
Zane walks over, his presence drawing all the air from the room. I stare at him in confusion as he sits down next to me, his body just inches from mine. He leans in, his face dangerously close to mine, his voice a low growl. "We were fucking, huh?"
God, he heard that too. My stomach twists with the sudden wave of heat that rushes up my neck, my skin flushing with the memory. I should’ve been more careful. I don’t even know if I want to admit it. I can’t, but I don’t have a choice.
"That's what married people do," I reply, forcing my voice steady, though every word feels like it’s burning me from the inside.
"Really?" His voice drops lower, smoother, velvet against my ear. "Do they fuck hard?
My breath catches, the question hitting me in places I didn’t know could still ache. "It depends," I murmur, my own voice betraying me. "If it's make-up sex."
"And if they like it that way," he presses closer, his body brushing against mine, and it’s like my skin is set on fire, every part of me aching to close the distance, to feel him the way I used to. My body is screaming for it, screaming for him, but I fight the urge.
"There's that too," I manage, barely above a whisper. But his touch, his closeness, it’s like an electric current running through me, making me tremble with the weight of everything unsaid. And then—he pulls away.
His eyes are cold, filled with something raw, something I can’t place. “You're right. You're a good liar when you want to be. You managed to lie your way into my heart and then tear it apart like it meant nothing to you.” The words hit me like a slap, but there’s something else, something hot that pulses beneath them, curling around my chest and tightening with every breath.
My throat tightens, but I don’t back down. "And yet you're unable to leave me alone."
He smirks, but it’s not the kind of smile that comforts. It’s dangerous, almost like a promise. "Because I’m hell, Mia. And you’re going to live in it with me until the end."
I want to say that he doesn’t feel like hell, that being here with him is the only thing that makes me feel real. But the words catch in my throat, trapped by the weight of everything between us.
I decided to just leave and focus my energy on something else.
Zane exhales, then pushes off the doorway and follows me downstairs. He disappears for a moment, and when he returns, he’s carrying a plate—moving with that same easy, predatory grace.
My eyes track his every step.
Olga isn’t here today, which is weird—she’s always here.
“I made waffles,” Zane says, placing a plate on the table. “Eat.”
“That was almost romantic,” I tease as he uncovers the bowl.
“They’re waffles.”
“Waffles are a love language, little angel.”
He glances at me sideways, the tension shifting subtly.
Without a word, he sits on the bed beside me and scoops up a spoonful of food, holding it out expectantly.
I narrow my eyes. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“I know how to feed myself.”
“Debatable.”
I cross my arms. He doesn’t back down. His gaze is calm but too fixed, like he’s waiting for me to crack first.
A silent game.
And, annoyingly, I like it.
I hold his gaze and open my mouth slowly, letting him feed me. The spoon touches my tongue, and he pulls it back with deliberate slowness, his eyes flickering to my mouth for a second.
I swallow and lift my chin. “Satisfied?”
“No.”
The word hangs in the air, and I almost choke.
Before I can respond, he grabs my hand and pulls me up.
“Come,” he says, already dragging me along.
“Where to?”
“To train.”
I roll my eyes but follow. “You have a strange way of showing affection.”
“I’m not showing affection.”
“Of course not,” I mutter, knowing it’s a lie.
Minutes later, I’m on the mat, and Zane is taking a solid beating. And I’m not even properly training him yet.
“How do you expect me to teach you?” I taunt. “You’re not a fighter, much less a killer. Remember how you ran from that guy in Thailand?”
“I remember,” he says, his voice still haunted.
“And yet, you still call it the best place you’ve ever been.”
“Lisa was born there,” he replies seriously. “That makes it the best. Besides, the guy whose head I blew off might disagree with you.”
Mia tilts her head, unimpressed. “There’s a difference between killing out of anger or impulse and doing it in a cold, calculated way. Feelings have no place in war, Zane.”
His voice turns bitter. “That’s the logic you applied to me, isn’t it?”
I smile. “Little Angel, you should know by now—I’m not very logical.”
“I—”
Before he can finish, I lunge. He stumbles back, unprepared, and I go for a takedown. He falls awkwardly, hitting the ground with a dull thud, kicking up dust around us.
Zane struggles clumsily, more out of desperation than technique. I sigh, already feeling a headache forming.
“First lesson: you have no coordination whatsoever.” My voice is low, tired.
He growls, trying to stand, but missteps and nearly topples again. I rub my face, containing my frustration.
“This how you wanna play it?” he mutters, masking his embarrassment.
“Oh, baby,” I purr. “I haven’t even started yet.”
I toss him a knife. He tries to catch it midair, but it slips through his fingers, landing on the ground with a dull clang.
“Lesson two: hold your weapon properly before you think about using it.” I twirl my own knife between my fingers with ease. “Attack me.”
He hesitates, then picks up the knife and advances—carelessly, sloppily. I sidestep without effort and disarm him in seconds. His knife clatters to the floor again.
“Third lesson: If you’re gonna fight like this, don’t even bother your enemy. He’ll die laughing before you land a hit.”
Zane glares at me, irritation clear in his face. He knows I’m right. This is going to take work.
“You’re a terrible trainer,” he mutters.
“Thank you!” I beam. “I’ve always wanted to be the bad girl. People keep mistaking me for something else, and it’s getting extremely annoying.”
“Mia,” Zane says, waiting for me to finish speaking—because he always does.
“Hm?”
“You ruined the whole ‘mean instructor’ moment.”
“Shit.” I say it out loud, and he laughs.
But then, his face darkens again, and the sadness seeps back in.
I hate seeing Zane like this.
“You never told me your favorite food,” I ask, abruptly changing the subject.
He frowns. “We’re not here to make small talk.”
“Well, we’re not really training either, considering you suck with knives.”
“Sorry if I don’t live up to your psychopathic brother’s expectations.”
“Daddy made One—Seth—hit his targets with precision. Every mistake cost me or Katie a cut.” I pull up my sleeve, showing the scars. “I’m glad you never had to learn that way.”
The things my brother endured in this place… It makes me want to protect him from all of it. If I have to be my father’s distraction, so be it. Seth deserves better.
Zane senses the shift in me, reading me too well—as if he can see straight into my head. Then, he does something unexpected, something his cold, black-haired alter ego would never do.
He pulls me against him and hugs me.
“You don’t have to be positive all the time, Mia,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my hair. “It’s okay to be sad.”
He was about hate just moments ago—his words sharp, cold, like daggers meant to cut through the distance between us. But now, suddenly, his arms are around me, pulling me in like he sees something deeper, something beyond all the mess, the anger, the damage we’ve done to each other.
I freeze for a split second, every nerve in my body on high alert. His touch isn’t what I expected. It’s not harsh or punishing—it’s… searching. Like he’s looking for something in me, trying to understand, trying to make sense of everything that’s broken between us. His hands move over me as if tracing the lines of my soul, like he’s reading me, piece by piece, figuring me out in ways I can’t even explain.
And he does.
He gets me. In a way no one else ever has.
In a way that makes my breath catch, my heart skip, even though I should pull away, even though I know how dangerous it is to let him see me like this—vulnerable, raw, needing him in a way that I can’t control.
But I can’t move. Can’t bring myself to tear myself from him, because for a moment, it feels like he’s the only thing keeping me from shattering into pieces.
His heartbeat is steady against mine, his warmth seeping into my skin, and I realize, with a jolt, that this… this is the closest I’ve ever been to him. Not physically, but emotionally. It’s terrifying, this connection between us. It’s like he’s touching the parts of me I’ve kept hidden, the parts that nobody else gets to see.
And maybe that’s what scares me the most—that he might understand me in ways I don’t even understand myself.
This man—he thinks I killed his friend.
I never told him I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger
Because I did kill him.
Because it was my fault we were even in that situation.
Because I’m stupid. And everyone around me is going to get hurt just by being near me. Just because I can’t function at my full potential without being broken.
And that thought makes the tears come.
“It’s going to be okay,” Zane says, his voice calm.
“Not if you die because you refuse to leave.”
“Wherever you go, I go, Mia. I’m already exactly where I’m supposed to be.”