My Friend’s Arrogant Brother

Maya's POV

The road home felt longer than usual.

I walked slowly, the soles of my worn shoes pressing into the dusty path that stretched through the heart of our municipality's pride—the endless stretch of pineapple plantations. On either side of the road, the jagged leaves of the fruit-bearing plants waved gently in the breeze, glistening under the soft gold of the late afternoon sun.

San Antonio may not be industrialized or dotted with towering buildings, but it is rich in land and harvest. It stands as one of the top suppliers of pineapples, cacao, bananas, coconuts, and vegetables. In agricultural terms, it's the beating heart of the region. The place might not have skyscrapers, but it has sprawling haciendas where millionaires—and even billionaires—quietly reside behind iron gates and tree-lined drives.

I slowed my pace, not only because my legs were aching from the two-kilometer walk after graduation, but because something in the air felt different—thicker, heavier.

Then I heard it: the soft purr of a high-end engine approaching from behind.

I turned my head and froze. A gleaming red convertible sliced through the sunlight like it owned the road. My mouth parted slightly in awe. Even here, expensive cars weren't rare, but something about this one made it hard to ignore—sleek, modern, with a shine that mirrored the clouds.

The car slowed and pulled up beside me. The passenger door opened, and a woman stepped out. Slender, radiant, and impossibly elegant. Her porcelain skin glowed, her long black hair cascaded like silk, and her designer clothes hugged her figure with the kind of effortless perfection only wealth could afford.

I recognized her immediately—Ariana.

"Oh my God! Maya, is that you?" Her voice was light and musical, echoing with excitement. "You're still so beautiful—you've changed, in such a good way!"

I blinked, stunned, unsure what to say.

She stepped closer, her eyes scanning me. "You've got more curves now, especially there." She giggled and gestured to my chest. "I swear, if I had your body, I'd be unstoppable!"

I let out a small laugh as the shock faded. Her sudden hug was warm and tight, and I melted into it with a mix of joy and disbelief.

"I missed you so much, Maya!" she whispered.

"I missed you, too." My voice was soft, fragile, but sincere. I hadn't expected to see her today—not here, not like this.

"I didn't change that much," I replied shyly. "But you… You've grown into a beautiful, sophisticated woman."

Ariana smiled and rolled her eyes. "You're still too humble for your own good. You know, too much humility can sound like false modesty," she teased. "You're beautiful, Maya. Period."

A loud thud interrupted our moment.

The driver's side door slammed shut, and out stepped someone who made my entire world spin.

Adonis.

His name alone was like a spark. He was tall before, but now he stood with a towering presence, at least 185 centimeters, his frame filled out in all the right places. His dark eyes, once boyish, had become sharper, more intense. His perfectly shaped lips were fuller now, darker, like ripe cherries—and I hated that a part of me still ached to kiss them.

What was wrong with me?

The memories came crashing back of everything he'd said, everything he'd done.

"Ariana!" he snapped, his voice deep and commanding, but still smooth, like the late-night FM radio hosts who made every word sound like silk. "Come back to the car. Why are you talking to her in the middle of the road? I'm exhausted and I want to sleep."

I stiffened. So, nothing had changed.

He may have grown more attractive, but the arrogance was still the same. The disdain in his tone stabbed through me like glass. Even after all this time, he still looked at me like I was beneath him.

He always had.

Ever since I became close with his twin sister, Adonis had made it his personal mission to remind me of my place beneath him. Beneath all of them.

He never missed an opportunity to humiliate me, whether with sharp words or icy glares that left no room for misunderstanding. To him, I was a trespasser in a world built on old money, manicured lawns, and champagne-coated traditions. And twelve months ago, he ensured I would never forget it.

He looked me in the eyes—those infuriatingly beautiful, soulless eyes—and told me I would never be welcome in their world.

A flash of lightning split the sky above, followed closely by a rolling crack of thunder. Ariana flinched beside me, instinctively reaching for her arms. She'd always been afraid of storms, ever since we were kids. I remember holding her hand once during a blackout at the hacienda, her fingers trembling as she asked me to sing to distract her.

But there was no warmth here now. Just cold rain and colder words.

"Ariana, get in the car!" Adonis barked, impatience simmering in every syllable. "We can't bring her—it's a two-seater, and she's used to walking anyway. Don't waste your sympathy. She's not beautiful at all."

His voice rang louder than the thunder.

And still, it wasn't just what he said. It was how he said it. Like I was a stray dog by the roadside, pitied for a moment and then forgotten. A background character in the grand narrative of his life.

The words hit me like the rain—sudden, sharp, and unforgiving.

Ariana glanced at me with guilt swimming in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Maya. I'll call you later, okay?"

All I could do was nod.

She hesitated, then slowly climbed back into the car. She gave me one last look—one that said she didn't agree with her brother, but she wouldn't defy him either.

The red convertible peeled away with a roar, kicking up gravel and dust, leaving me standing motionless in the middle of the road, drenched in both rain and humiliation.

And that's when I realized—I hadn't moved on at all.

I told myself for the past year that Adonis Monleon no longer had power over me. That I'd grown stronger, wiser. That I could laugh at the memory of a boy who once toyed with my heart.

But standing there, soaked to the skin and stung by his words, I knew I'd been lying to myself.

Because it still hurt.

He still had that power.

He humiliated me again. As easily as breathing.

And worse than the insult was the memory of the kiss that came before it all. That night a year ago, when everything felt like a dream—his touch, his warmth, his whispered words under the stars. I thought it meant something. I thought maybe, just maybe, beneath the arrogance, he saw me.

But it was all a game.

A bet.

A cruel, heartless dare between him and Jake. One kiss to win. One kiss to destroy.

And like a fool, I let myself believe in it. Believe in him.

Today was supposed to be special. My graduation day. I should've been celebrating. Smiling and running home to tell Grandpa and Mary that I finally made it, but instead, I was walking the long road alone, soaking wet and aching from more than just the rain.

They're twenty now—Adonis and Ariana. Two years older, two worlds away. And somehow, still orbiting the same pain they left behind in me.

We never had much, but we had each other. Grandpa and Grandma did everything they could to give Mary and me a good life after our parents left us behind. My mother disappeared when I was a toddler, and Grandpa told me she died not long after. I never even knew my father's name.

But despite it all, I never felt unloved.

We may be poor, but we walk with pride. We work with our hands and earn our bread honestly. There's dignity in that—something the Monleons might never understand.

Don Miguel Monleon is different, though. Ariana and Adonis's grandfather is a good man. Generous. Kind. He gave Grandpa a home within the Monleon estate and always treated us with respect. I sometimes wonder what he thinks of the way his grandson carries himself.

Adonis may inherit the hacienda, the land, and the business, but he'll never inherit Don Miguel's heart.

That kind of goodness doesn't pass down in blood. It's chosen.

I've worked in the Monleon estate every summer since I was old enough to pull weeds. But if I had my way, I'd stay at the Esmeralda Flower Plantation forever. Donya Esmeralda is wealthy, yes—but kind in a way that isn't performative. And her son, Rich… he's nothing like Adonis.

Rich is warm. Humble. He speaks to everyone—laborers, drivers, helpers—as equals. No one ever feels small in his presence.

Maybe that's why I feel at peace in the flower fields. Surrounded by color and silence, the scent of blossoms, and the hum of bees. A world that blooms despite the heat. A place where I can forget the things that bruise my soul.

I'll work there again this summer. I'll lose myself in petals and sunlight. I'll avoid Adonis at all costs.

But even as I make that vow, deep down, I know the truth—no one truly outruns their past, especially not in a town as small and tangled as San Antonio. And the part that terrifies me most? It's not just that my past is still here. It's that he is. Adonis is back.

Adonis's gaze was always intense when it landed on me—unpredictable, like a storm on the edge of breaking—and his mouth once kissed me like I was the only girl who had ever mattered.