Chapter 1: The Sweet Past That Still Stings
It sucks-the final year of college.
Anyone who says it's the best time of their life is either lying or hasn't faced three back-to-back
deadlines while running on caffeine and two hours of sleep. Me? I'm currently buried under both.
It's 7:00 a.m., and I've got my practicals at nine.
The knocking starts like a mild annoyance, then turns into a full-blown earthquake against my door.
"Luna! Open up, you absolute menace!" That voice, loud and unapologetically dramatic, belongs to
none other than Ezerela Knight-my best friend, roommate, and self-proclaimed alarm clock.
I groan, burying my face deeper into the pillow.
"Five minutes, Ezie. Just five more," I croak, my voice muffled by the comforter.
"No, no, no. You pulled this yesterday too, and we almost missed Professor Halberg's class. I'm not
risking my degree because you can't function like a normal human being."
Before I can respond, she swings the door open-because, of course, she has a spare key-and
storms in.
There she stands, with her signature orange hair falling over her sharp cheekbones, brows furrowed
like she's about to stage an intervention. Her features are sharp, striking, and framed by the kind of
confidence I wish I could bottle and sell.
"You look like shit," she deadpans, tossing a hoodie at my face.
"Gee, thanks. Just what every girl wants to hear first thing in the morning," I mutter, dragging myself
out of bed.
"Get dressed. Coffee's waiting," she says, already walking out.
I manage to throw on a hoodie and jeans, barely brushing my hair into something resembling order.
When I step out, Ezerela is already at the kitchen counter, two steaming coffees in hand.
She shoves one toward me. "Seriously, Luna. One day. Just *one* day without me having to babysit
you."
I take a sip, sighing as the bitter liquid kickstarts my brain. "Didn't sleep last night, okay? Spare me
the TED Talk."
She arches a brow. "Still spiraling over *him*?"
I flinch, but I recover quickly, masking it with another long sip of coffee.
"Let's just get to campus," I mutter, grabbing my bag.
We step out into the cool morning air, the sun barely peeking over the Arizona skyline. Campus isn't
far, just a ten-minute walk, but every step feels heavier today.
Maybe it's the sleep deprivation.
Maybe it's what-or *who*-awaits me there.
The second we set foot inside the university gates, I feel it.
That familiar tightening in my chest. The quickening of my heartbeat. The nagging urge to turn
around and run.
But I don't.
Instead, I see him.
Henry Wolfe.
The boy who broke me into pieces and left me to sweep them up on my own.
He stands by the fountain, looking every bit as infuriating as I remember-tall, broad shoulders, dark
hair that looks like he woke up and ran his hands through it, yet somehow makes it work.
And there she is, wrapped around him like ivy on a dying tree.
Stella Montana.
Red hair, crimson lips, and a reputation that could rival any scandalous Netflix series. She's the type
who turns heads in every room she enters, wearing confidence like perfume-overpowering,
intoxicating, and impossible to ignore.
And Henry? He's eating it up.
His arm is draped around her, his lips grazing her ear as she lets out a high-pitched laugh.
I hate how easily the sight of them knocks the air out of me.
"Keep walking," Ezerela mutters under her breath, pulling me forward by the elbow.
But it's too late.
Henry's gaze finds mine.
It's a split second-barely enough to count-but it lingers.
His blue eyes lock onto mine, and in that brief, torturous moment, I remember everything I've tried to
bury.
The late-night drives.
The whispered promises.
The way he used to look at me like I was his entire universe.
And then... the betrayal.
I caught him.
With her.
Lips tangled. Hands roaming.
I remember the way my chest caved in that night, the way my breath stopped, watching them like a
ghost in my own life.
And now, here we are.
Him with his new muse.
Me, still trying to stitch myself back together.
I look away first, forcing my feet to move, willing my heart to stop *aching*.
Ezerela tightens her grip, practically dragging me through the courtyard.
"Breathe, Luna," she says softly once we're out of earshot.
I let out a shaky breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"I'm fine," I lie.
She scoffs. "You're about as fine as a house on fire."
I force a laugh, but it sounds hollow even to my own ears.
"He doesn't deserve your tears, Luna. He's a walking clich. Hot guy, big ego, zero loyalty."
"I know," I whisper. "I know."
But knowing doesn't erase the history.
It doesn't erase the ache.
We make it to the engineering wing, slipping into the lab just as the professor begins calling out
names.
I slide into my seat, eyes fixed on the desk, pretending not to notice the way my hands still tremble.
Today is going to be hell.
But hell has nothing on the storm Henry Wolfe still stirs inside me.
And I hate him for it.
