Bryan

I woke up to Mom already dressed, her dress shirt crisp, paired with blue jeans and short heels.

Car keys dangled from her fingers, and her makeup was fresh, like she was headed somewhere important. She held a cup of coffee in her free hand.

"Mom, where are you going? You got home really late last night, and now you're already heading back out," I asked, still groggy.

Then, with a smirk, I added, "Who's the hot date?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's no date. Pastor Dawn's been hurt, and I'm just helping him out with his work."

I frowned. "Hurt? Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine. I'm just passing out flyers today—putting them up around town," she explained, grabbing her bag.

"Oh... okay," I said slowly, watching her move with purpose.

She disappeared out the door before I could offer again to go with her, leaving behind a flyer on the table.

I picked it up—a glossy announcement for a huge ball at the church a few months from now.

I stared at it, the cool paper beneath my fingertips.

A ball.

The church hadn't held anything like this in years.

So why now?

But my mind wasn't on the event. So I just set the flyer aside.

It was on Henry.

On his proposal.

On how much longer I could keep stalling.

Just as I was processing the flyer, Henry walked in, his usual easy energy filling the room.

We fist-bumped, the casual greeting automatic.

"What's up, my man?" he said, as I laid the flyer back down.

His eyes landed on it.

"What's this?" he asked, swiping it off the table with a playful grin.

"Well, well, well—a ball," he mused.

"I haven't seen one in town for twenty years. They used to hold them all the time when I was little."

His gaze flicked up to meet mine.

"I wonder what the pastor is up to now," he said, tilting his head slightly, curiosity clear.

Then his expression shifted—warm, serious.

"Also... have you thought about my question?" he asked, stepping closer.

I felt my pulse in my throat.

The soft hum of the fridge, the distant murmur of the street outside—it was all just noise beneath the weight of his gaze.

His gaze held me there—steady, waiting.

My pulse kicked hard, my breath shallow.

For a second, I wasn't sure if I'd move at all.

The words sat in my mouth, unspoken.

I could let them linger.

Could keep waiting, stalling, pretending the question wasn't hanging between us like the most fragile thing in the world.

Then, finally—finally—I let myself lean in.

We kissed.

We've been dating in secret for three years now.

He recently proposed, and I'd been too speechless to respond at the time.

Now, as his hands rested gently against me, I finally whispered, "Yes, I've thought about it..."

I swallowed.

"And... yes."

His breath hitched before the smile fully took hold. Relief flickered first, quiet, raw—and then came the love, crashing over him in full force.

And then—he kissed me again.

Harder this time.

His lips pressed with hunger and certainty, his touch sending a thrilling rush through me.

He pushed me back against the table, his hands skimming beneath my shirt, the warmth of his palm setting every nerve on fire.

"Hey, not here," I whispered, breathless.

I pressed my hands against his chest, reluctant but firm.

"You know my family doesn't know about us... and they can't know."

I wished, for once, I could say it out loud—let the words hang in the air without fear of who might hear them.

But I couldn't.

Not yet.

His expression faltered—not rejection, but understanding, tinged with a quiet sadness.

"I know."

His voice was steady—but his grip on me tightened, just for a second, before he forced himself to let go.

But then, his eyes softened, a flicker of something certain, hopeful.

"Soon they will—when we send out invitations after we've planned the wedding."

The words settled between us, full of promise, full of inevitability.

I exhaled, my heart still pounding from the moment, the confession, the unshaken certainty in his voice.

"Let's go to the gym," he suggested, his tone lighter now, as if shaking off the weight of secrecy.

I nodded, letting him guide me out the door, our fingers grazing, lingering—until we got into the car.

The warmth of his lips lingered on my skin, fading just as the weight of reality settled in.

The thrill was still there—but so was the silence, the secrecy.

We were still hiding.

Still careful.

And the secret wasn't going anywhere—at least, not yet.

Anna

After finishing up in the sauna and taking a quick shower, I pulled on my worn-out blue jeans, the fabric fraying at the seams and now a little loose from my weight loss, along with the white blouse Mom had gotten me.

Nick was already waiting, leaning casually by his motorcycle—black jeans, a skull belt, and his favorite leather jacket, the one he practically lived in.

His dark piercings glinted under the dim light, adding to his effortless edge.

"Hey, beautiful," he greeted, voice smooth and teasing.

"Hi," I said, smiling back.

"So, where are we going this time?" I asked, already anticipating something spontaneous.

But then—a slight shift in his expression.

A small frown, subtle but there.

"Well... something came up, sweetheart," he admitted.

"I have to run some errands. 

I paused, felling sad about the chance in plans. 

"Hmm... okay," I finally said.

But just as I answered, my phone rang, interrupting us.

It was my mom.

I answered, pressing the phone to my ear.

"Hey, Mom, what's up?"

"Sweetheart, can you meet me at Pastor Dawn's office? I need your help," she said, her voice urgent but calm.

I sighed.

"Um... okay."

But the hesitation was there, flickering between my words.

I turned back to Nick.

"Ugh, well... I guess this all works out," I muttered.

"Actually... could you drop me off at my church instead?"

I kept my tone easy, casual—but inside, the words sat heavier than I expected.

This was my space.

My family's space.

And Nick... didn't belong in their world.

Not yet. Mom would never understand. 

He nodded, his smirk returning.

"Whatever you want, sweetheart." He winked. "Just don't go falling for your pastor while I'm gone." I gasp and slap his should. Never, I exclaimed. He's like another annoying brother to me. He laughed at me. 

We strolled over to his motorcycle, and he handed me his helmet.

As I slid it on, the familiar scent lingered in the fabric—a mix of cologne, slightly sweet, unmistakably his.

I inhaled, letting the scent settle around me before hopping onto the bike behind him.

With a quick rev of the engine, we took off, the world blurring around us as the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in streaks of amber and violet.

"How is it this late already?" I thought, blinking against the golden haze.

Like—oh my goodness, where had the time gone?

Nick pulled up to the church, slowing to a smooth stop.

Before I headed inside, I handed him his helmet, and he slipped it on.

And when he did—he looked good. Too good.

Like heart-fluttering, breath-catching, unfairly attractive good.

I swallowed, trying to ignore the way my pulse kicked up a notch.

Nick caught my stare and smirked, sensing exactly what had just happened.

Then—with a deep, rumbling purr of the engine—he hopped onto the bike and took off, vanishing into the fading sunset, leaving me standing there, pulse racing.

I stood there, pulse racing.

But as the rumble of his engine faded, a different thought crept in—how easy it was to keep this world separate from the one waiting for me inside.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Hey, lovely readers 🖤

 This chapter pulls together two perspectives—Bryan, caught between silence and surrender, and Anna, riding the edge between desire and duty. Both of them are walking tightropes with invisible weights: family expectations, hidden truths, and the ache of wanting something just out of reach.

You'll find quiet kisses soaked in risk, laughter trembling on the edge of vulnerability, and the way one flyer on a kitchen table can change everything.

For those watching this story shift shape through its updates—thank you. Every rewrite feels like letting the characters breathe deeper. These scenes carry new weight, new consequences, and maybe... new invitations. 👀

Don't forget: the ball isn't just an event. It's a fuse waiting to be lit. And love—real love—is what might burn brightest when it all goes down.

🕯️ Stay tuned. Stay dangerous. Stay bitten. —Luna-chan🥀

Next time... 

One sip would make Nick a king again. But peace demands restraint— and restraint always has a cost.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰