LOGINKiannaThe boutique smelled of expensive silk and static electricity. Mr. Sergio, a man whose hands moved with the precision of a surgeon, cinched the measuring tape tight against my waist. I stood on a low wooden dais, my reflection fragmented across a wall of mirrors. Every time I breathed, the tape dug into my ribs, a sharp reminder that this was actually happening.Once he finished, I shed the heavy silk sample and met Miaree and Marcy near the display racks. The air felt lighter.Marcy held up a dress. The fabric was the color of moss after a rainstorm. "Look, Kia. This shade brings out your skin tone. It’s perfect for the reception."I touched the cloth. It felt cool, grounding. An idea flickered in my mind, then caught fire. "Wait. What if we didn't just pick colors for the reception? What if we made the whole wedding... green? And pink? Like a forest coming into bloom." My pulse quickened. "A nature theme. Simple, wild, and quiet."Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.My phone vibrated against my
AresThe taxi carrying Kianna was already a blur of yellow in the distance when a sharp voice snapped me back to the pavement."Sir, we have a situation," one of my floor managers panted, sprinting toward me. "Mr. Guevarra is here. He’s been waiting in the lobby. He’s demanding to see you."My head pounded. Mr. Guevarra? The man held the keys to our entire rural expansion. If we lost him, we lost months of work. I looked back at the retreating taillights, then at the frantic employee."Tell him I’m busy," I snapped, my hand reaching for my phone. "Tell him my secretary can handle the preliminary talks.""Sir, this is the fourth time," the manager insisted, his voice trembling. "If you walk away now, the partnership is gone. We cannot afford this."I hesitated, my chest tightening. I looked toward the horizon, at the direction Kianna had gone. I felt like I was being pulled in two directions, both of them threatening to break me. With a bitter, jagged breath, I spun around. The corporat
The air in the villa grew heavy, suffocating. Madam Buenavista watched the back of Kianna’s coat as she marched toward the gates, her pace relentless and unforgiving."Kianna! Wait!"The call echoed against the high stone walls, but the girl didn't turn. She didn't even slow down. Madam Buenavista’s hands tightened against her own skirt, the fabric bunching under her knuckles. Her heart skipped, a sharp, irregular flutter in her chest. She stood frozen for a moment, watching the gate swing shut, before spinning toward the shadows of the hallway."Get my son," she commanded, her voice thin but sharp as glass. A maid hurried from the corner, eyes averted. "Call him. Tell him to find Kianna. Now. Tell him it’s an emergency—the kind he can't ignore."The maid dipped her head and vanished, leaving Madam Buenavista alone in the silence. She gripped the back of a mahogany chair, her knuckles turning white, wondering if it was already too late to put the pieces back together....AresThe boar
KiannaThe evening air bit at my skin, a sharp, cold reminder of the vulnerability I felt standing before the iron gates of the villa. This house, once a symbol of sanctuary, now felt like a fortress built on secrets. I stared at the towering structure, my pulse thrumming against my throat. If Ares wouldn't answer, if he wouldn't look me in the eye, I would go to the people who raised him. I would force them to drop the act.The walk from the gate to the front door felt like a trek across a frozen wasteland. Every step I took brought a new, jagged wave of nausea. Was I doing the right thing? My palms were slick with sweat, and a dull, rhythmic ache had taken root behind my eyes. I reached the front entrance, but the silence from within was absolute. I circled toward the back, hoping for a lapse in their careful performance, but the garden was as still as a tomb.I turned, ready to retreat, ready to flee back to the safety of my own ignorance, when a voice stopped me cold."Kianna?"I s
KiannaThe screen of the phone felt like a hot coal in my hand. I stared at the video—once, twice, three times—until the images burned into my retinas. There he was. My Ares. The man who wore faded hoodies and complained about the rising cost of groceries. He stood on a stage, draped in a custom-tailored suit that cost more than our combined annual income, while a crowd of elite socialites applauded him as the CEO of Vueravista."It’s not me, Kianna," Nathan said, his voice dropping into the quiet of the office. "He’s been playing you. For a year, he’s been wearing a mask."I didn’t want to look at Nathan. I couldn't. I pushed his hand away, my movements jerky and uncoordinated. My mind raced, trying to bridge the gap between the man who made me coffee every morning and the titan on the screen. Was his kindness just a performance? Was our "modest" home nothing more than a stage set? The thought of his parents—the people who welcomed me with such warmth—made my stomach turn. Were they i
The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a low, persistent drone that seemed to vibrate against the back of my skull. Across the mahogany desk, Nathan sat with a posture that was almost too still. His eyes, usually sharp and professional, were softened by a strange, heavy intensity."Do you still remember, Kianna?" he asked. The question hung in the air, heavy and unbidden. "Do you remember who I am?"I gripped the edge of the desk until my knuckles turned a ghostly white. The name—Myst—brushed against my memory like a phantom. A sudden, sharp vertigo washed over me. I tried to anchor myself to the present, to the paperwork piled in front of me, but the silence stretched, thickening with every passing second. I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the echoes of a night I had long since pushed into the periphery of my mind. The night before everything changed. The night I met Ares."I..." My voice sounded thin, brittle. I cleared my throat, trying to regain some semblance of
KIAI woke up from my deep slumber when the alarm clock went off. Within my bed, a warm, comfortable haven, I began to move and stretch. When the alarm went off, I rolled over and hurled my arm at it, knocking it off the side table and onto the floor, where it cracked; the number 6 slowly started to
KiaThe problem started to affect a significant number of people across campus. The narrative has been told in a great variety of ways, and we do not have any kind of control over any of those versions. Marcy deleted every single online post that was related to my problem; however, nothing else moved
KIA"It's locked!" I tried to open the door but nothing happened. After several tries, I heard a clicking sound from inside. Did I break the door handle? I was about to open the door when it suddenly opened by itself. But then I was wrong… It didn't open by itself. There are people inside the surveil
KIAOne negative encounter is all it takes to alter your perspective. Consider what it would be like if you had to endure this awful situation repeatedly for months or even years. Significant changes occur in your entire personality as well as in how you see the world and yourself. The experience of







