Mag-log inLyssa was adopted into Zeta’s family when she was a child. Zeta always protected her as an older brother, and over time, Lyssa fell deeply in love with him but never said it to anyone. Later, the grandfather arranged a marriage between them because he believes she’s fit to be Zeta’s wife. Lyssa agreed because she loved Zeta, but she pretended she didn’t so he wouldn’t feel pressured. They have been married for three years, and Lyssa thinks they are building a real life together. On her 25th birthday, she plans to finally tell Zeta she loves him. But when he comes home, he gives her divorce papers, saying his college girlfriend has returned after 5 years of studying abroad and he wants to be with her again. Lyssa realizes she was only a temporary replacement until Isabella came back. Zeta thinks Lyssa never loved him and he feels he was doing her a favour by ending the marriage so she can be free to be with any man of her dreams. This hurts her even more. To find out more, read Fifteen Years of Craving The Wrong Love
view moreZeta’s POVI want to disagree with her but I can’t make a coherent speech, so I listen to whatever she has to say, “You see?” Lyssa says, one hand on the wheel. “It keeps looping. Same arguments. Same promises. Same delays. We go round and round, Zeta. Nothing changes unless someone cuts the circle.”I swallow. My head feels heavy, not from the alcohol anymore, but from the weight in her voice. “Are you really moving on?” I ask.“No more questions, Zeta,” she replies calmly. That’s what scares me. “I could fix it,” I say. “I mean, despite I’ll marry Isabella, you both can still be friends. No hard feelings”She says nothing, as if my words had just fallen on deaf ears. The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable.Lyssa was the sister I never had. That truth hits me hard, sudden and painful. I remember my first heartbreak as a sophomore while I was was crushing on a random girl. I’d locked myself in my room, convinced my life was over. She didn’t lecture me. She didn’t judge me.
Zeta’s POVI wasn’t as wasted as Lyssa suspected and I could still drive us home. She refused and was trying to convince me to step into the car. Her expression was cold as she complained about my reckless driving. She was convinced I was going to hit someone if I should drive and didn’t trust my judgment.“Get in,” she says, voice clipped, chin lifted. “You’re not driving.”“I told you, I can,” I say calmly. “I’ve driven in worse conditions than this.”“This isn’t a negotiation, Zeta.” She shakes the keys once, a sharp metallic sound between us. “You’re drunk.”“I had a few drinks,” I correct. “I’m not drunk.”“You missed the handle twice,” she replies. “That’s not ‘a few drinks.’ That’s poor coordination.”“I tripped,” I say. “And it’s normal for anyone to trip.” I say.“Stop,” she cuts in. “Just stop.” Her eyes flick over my face, searching, judging. “I’m driving.”I hold her gaze. “You don’t trust me.”“I don’t trust your judgment right now,” she says. “There’s a difference.”“The
Lyssa’s POVThe next day comes too fast.I’m already dressed when the sun barely clears the horizon, standing in front of the mirror with my bag on my shoulder, rehearsing words I would say to grandpa. My reflection looks calm, but my chest is tight, my thought is loud. Today, I’m supposed to tell Grandpa Edmund that my marriage is over. That Zeta and I are done. That the picture-perfect union he prayed for is cracked right down the middle.I leave the house without looking back, heading to the family house.The gates to Grandpa’s estate open slowly by the gate keeper as he bows his head to me in greeting. I flash back a harmless smile to him as I head inside. Inside, the house feels warm and lively as always. I can’t find everyone, perhaps, they have all gone last night. Grandpa is already in the living room, seated in his favorite chair, glasses perched low on his nose.“Lyssa,” he says, smiling. “You came.”“Yes, Grandpa.”He gestures to the seat across from him. “Sit. You said y
Lyssa’s POVZeta refuses to spend the night in the room Grandpa gave us.He stands at the doorway, jacket already on, phone in his hand, focused on typing. His face is looking worried.“I’ll take the guest room down the hall,” he says.He steps inside just long enough to close the door halfway. The next day, I try to be in my space. “You didn’t even ask how I feel.” He say His jaw tightens, just a little. “I know how you feel.” I reply. “You don’t,” he snap. “If you did, you wouldn’t walk away like you did last night.”He looks at me then, really looks at me, and his eyes soften in a way that makes my chest ache. “Lyssa…”I scoff. “Can you please let me be?”He moves closer, stops a foot away. “I don’t want us saying things we can’t take back. I don’t want you to see me as an enemy.The next morning, I’m in the kitchen with the maid, trying to prepare breakfast so we could eat before leaving and head back to our home.“You’re awake early, madam,” the maid says gently.“I couldn’t


















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