Her Words Haunted Me

Adonis's POV

I still can't believe Maya Alva slapped me.

Hard. So hard that my cheek stung long after I turned away and walked off.

I didn't even get far. I just needed to hide. Needed to breathe. Needed to understand why her words felt like they were carved into my skin.

It wasn't just the slap. It was what she said.

The truth—unfiltered, furious, and brutal—hit harder than her palm ever could.

Every word she hurled at me landed like a strike to the chest, tearing through the arrogance I wore like armor. Her voice still echoed in my mind like a curse I couldn't shake.

This morning, I realized something I never wanted to admit out loud:

I care about her.

Too much.

I knew it from the moment I kissed her last year. And yes—I did enjoy that kiss. More than I wanted to. More than I should have.

It wasn't just a kiss. It was a turning point.

And I've been lying to myself ever since.

I've dreamt of her more nights than I can count. I remember how she looked at me, hesitant and unsure. I remember how soft her lips felt, how she trembled slightly before leaning into me. I've tried to erase the memory, but it refuses to fade. Like her.

I used to say I hated Maya—especially when she started stealing Ariana's attention. We were twins. Inseparable. Until she came into our lives the summer before sixth grade. Suddenly, my sister had a best friend, and it wasn't me anymore. I was jealous. Petty. Angry.

But even then, I couldn't stop staring at Maya.

I'd steal glances whenever she came to the mansion. Her smile was too bright, too genuine. And those light-brown eyes? They made me forget why I was supposed to hate her.

I've watched her blossom. Of all the young women in San Antonio, even the girls from affluent families, none compare to her. There's something about Maya—unapologetically real, soft yet strong, breathtaking without even trying.

Her long, black hair glints like satin in the sunlight. Her voice—gentle, but capable of turning sharp—is the kind of sound that sticks with you. She is beauty in its most honest form.

And she's way out of my league.

Because she's better than me.

⸻

"You have no right to insult me, Young Master Adonis!" she spat at me earlier, voice shaking with emotion.

"Yes! I was a fool for believing in you. I don't even know what my stupid heart saw in you. I tried to forget you… but I couldn't."

My chest tightened just remembering it.

"Thank you for insulting me. You finally made me see what a monster you are. I can't believe I wasted all these years wanting to be kissed by you."

She had tears in her eyes when she said it, but her voice didn't waver.

"You're wicked. Heartless. Arrogant. I despise you, Adonis. You're so full of yourself!"

I hadn't moved. Couldn't move. I just stood there, jaw clenched, fists curling at my sides, as she ripped me open.

"I may be poor," she went on, "but I never chose this life. You were born lucky—born with everything—but you use that to look down on people like me."

She paused, breathing hard, her voice dropping, but no less sharp.

"You're Ariana's twin, but she's an angel… and you? You're her opposite. You're evil."

And just like that—every wall I built, every smirk I used to hide behind—crumbled.

She called me evil. And for the first time, I believed it.

I didn't follow her. I couldn't. Not after that. Instead, I ran.

I didn't even care that Jake saw me walk away. I ignored his voice calling my name. I slipped behind the tall grasses and crouched low, hidden among the rocks by the riverbank.

I stayed there like a coward. Like a thief caught in his own crime.

I watched her from the shadows—like some lovesick idiot who didn't know how to fix what he broke. She didn't know I was still there. She thought I was long gone. That's when she screamed:

"I hate you, Adonis! I hate you with all my heart!"

Her voice echoed across the river, raw and real. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the impact of her words hit me all over again.

She laughed after she said it—a laugh that bled into sobs. And I knew right then, I had pushed her too far. She wasn't the quiet, forgiving girl anymore. She had found her fire.

I wanted to go back. Apologize. Kneel, even.

But how could I?

After everything?

I stayed hidden, watching her shoulders shake as she cried on the riverbank. She finished washing her clothes, but lingered by the water, staring into the stream like it held all the answers she needed.

Then she stood, balancing the heavy basin on her head. I saw her strain under the weight. Her steps were slow. Wobbly.

I almost ran to help her. Almost.

But I knew if I stepped out now, she'd see me as nothing more than a stalker. A hypocrite. A spoiled rich boy playing poor-boy games for entertainment.

So I stayed hidden in the shadows… watching her walk away from me—again.

And I let her go.

At least, that's what I told myself.

My feet moved before I could stop them, following her from a distance. She couldn't turn quickly with the heavy basin balanced on her head, so she didn't notice. Even through the ache in her steps, she moved with this quiet strength that made something inside me twist.

And damn it—I couldn't help it. She looked… beautiful. Even in that worn dress, even when she was clearly tired and hurting, even when I had been the cause of her pain.

It hit me hard and sudden—what I didn't want to admit.

I want to know Maya Alva.

Not just watch her from afar. Not just provoke her to get a reaction.

I want to understand her. Ease the weight she carries. Undo the damage I've caused. She's been through enough—an entire life carved from struggle, loss, and silence—and instead of helping, I made it worse. I mocked her, dismissed her, shoved her aside like she was nothing.

She was right.

I am a monster.

What kind of person takes and never gives?

What kind of person steals someone's first kiss for a stupid game?

Me.

I did that.

And I can never give it back.

That kiss… God, I've relived it a thousand times since. I remember the way she blinked up at me, unsure but not afraid. I remember the slight tremble of her breath, the way her fingers curled into my shirt. And when our lips met—sweet, hesitant, unforgettable—I felt like the world tilted. And I didn't want it to end.

I didn't care about the bet anymore. I didn't care about the crowd or the music or the whispers. All I wanted was her.

But I couldn't stop it. Jake had already told our friends. The "Rich Kids," they call us—Ariana loathes the name, and I used to think it didn't matter. But now? I hate it too. Because that label came with cruelty. Arrogance. Superiority. Everything Maya thinks I am.

And maybe she's right.

Maybe that's all I've shown her.

I stopped walking when we reached her neighborhood. Watched as she disappeared behind a cluster of modest houses. The basin still heavy on her head, her steps still steady, even when her world is anything but.

I turned around.

My chest felt tight. I didn't know what to do with all of this guilt, this frustration, this overwhelming need to undo everything I've ever said to her.

As I approached the gravel path leading toward my grandfather's estate, Jake's sports car came rolling into view, dust trailing in its wake. He stopped abruptly in front of me.

His window rolled down. "Where the hell have you been?" he snapped. His brows were furrowed, jaw tight.

I didn't answer. I just got in the passenger seat.

He glanced at me sideways. "You okay?" His tone softened, and I could feel the shift—the confusion written all over his face. I leaned back, head against the seat, eyes closing for a moment.

"I screwed up, Jake," I murmured, my voice barely more than a whisper.

"What?" he asked, puzzled.

I turned to him slowly. "I want to be friends with Maya Alva."

Silence.

And then, Jake laughed. Loud, disbelieving. "Don't tell me you're placing another bet. What is it this time, huh? Your car? Your inheritance? A year of chores at the plantation?"

But I didn't laugh.

I didn't even smile.

"There's no bet," I said quietly. "Not this time. I'm done with the games."

Jake's brows rose, but he stayed quiet.

"I need you to stop bothering her," I added, firmer now. "Leave her alone."

He gave me a look, skeptical but curious. "Whoa, whoa, I never bothered her. I mean, yeah, I flirted—asked her out once—but that was it. I'm not the villain here, cousin. That's you."

My stomach churned.

"She's been through enough, Jake. And I added to it," I admitted, my voice cracking more than I wanted it to. "And I can't stand knowing I hurt her. You weren't there… when she yelled at me. When she cried. She hated me with everything she had. And maybe I deserve that."

Jake glanced at me again, but this time he didn't joke. "Damn," he muttered. "She slapped you that hard, huh?"

I let out a humorless laugh. "You have no idea."

He raised his hands in surrender, eyes back on the road. "Alright, man. I'll back off. But just be real with me—are you doing this because you feel guilty… or because you actually care?"

I didn't answer.

Because the truth was too big, too raw, too terrifying to say out loud. I wasn't just guilty. I was in trouble. Because some part of me—the part I've ignored for years—was finally waking up.

And it wanted Maya Alva.