Chapter 1: Newly Built

If there was one thing I had always wanted for my mom, it was simple, that I wanted her to be happy.

Not the kind of happy she pretended to be when she thought I wasn’t looking. Not the small smiles she forced after long days. I meant real happiness. The kind that reached her eyes, softened her voice, and made our quiet house feel a little less heavy.

So when she told me she was getting married again, I didn’t feel angry. I felt relieved.

“I need to tell you something,” she said that evening, standing by the kitchen counter.

I looked up from my notebook. “You look nervous. That’s already suspicious.”

She laughed softly, but her fingers twisted together. “I’ve been seeing someone.”

I smiled immediately. “I knew it.”

“You did?” she asked, surprised.

“Mom, you’ve been smiling at your phone like it’s telling you secrets,” I teased. “I’m not blind.”

She shook her head, amused but the nervousness didn’t leave her.

“And… we’re getting married.”

For a second, everything paused. Then, instead of panic, something warm spread through my chest.

“Really?” I said.

She blinked. “You’re… not upset?”

I stood up and walked toward her. “Why would I be?”

“I thought maybe you’d feel like I was replacing—”

“Mom,” I cut her off gently, “you deserve this.”

Her eyes softened.

“I mean it,” I added. “You’ve been alone for so long. If he makes you happy, then… I’m happy too.”

Her expression broke into something I hadn’t seen in a long time—pure, unguarded joy.

She pulled me into a hug. “Thank you.”

I hugged her back tightly and I meant every word I said. “What’s his name?” I asked.

“Vunce,” she said. “He’s kind. Patient. And…” she hesitated slightly, “he has a son.”

I pulled back. “A son?”

“Yes. Around your age.”

I raised a brow. “So, I’m getting a stepdad and a stepbrother? That’s a package deal, huh?”

She laughed. “Looks like it.”

“Well,” I said, shrugging, “I guess I’ll finally have someone to argue with besides you.”

“Hey!”

I grinned. I didn’t know it yet, but that joke would turn out to be more accurate than I expected.

The first time I met Tito Vunce, I understood immediately why my mom loved him. He was calm in a way that didn’t feel forced. Warm, but not overwhelming. The kind of person who made you feel safe just by being around.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he said, offering a gentle smile.

“You too,” I replied honestly.

And it was.

This didn’t feel like something being taken away from me. It felt like something was being added.

Then my mom said, “And his son is here too.”

I turned toward the doorway and that’s when I saw him.

He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Unlike his dad, he didn’t look warm or welcoming. He looked… annoyed. Actually, no, he looked like he didn’t want to be there at all.

“This is Vance,” Tito Vunce said.

Vance didn’t move right away. He just looked at me—sharp, assessing, almost like I was part of a situation he hadn’t agreed to. Then, finally, he pushed himself off the wall and walked forward.

“Hi,” I said, trying to keep things light.

He glanced at me briefly. “Yeah.” That was it. No smile. No handshake. Not even basic politeness.

I blinked. “Wow,” I muttered. “Friendly.”

His eyes flicked back to mine. “I could say the same.”

I frowned. “I literally just said hi.”

“And I acknowledged it,” he replied coolly.

“That’s what you call acknowledging?” I shot back. “That sounded more like you were being forced to exist.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “Maybe I am.”

Oh. So that’s how this was going to be.

The tension didn’t go away after that. If anything, it got worse. Every time we were in the same space, it felt like walking into a room filled with invisible sparks—ready to snap at the smallest movement.

“You could at least try,” I said one afternoon when our parents were busy talking.

He leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. “Try what?”

“Not acting like this whole thing is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.”

He let out a short laugh. “Because it kind of is.”

I stared at him. “Wow. Dramatic.”

“Realistic,” he corrected.

“You don’t even know me,” I said.

“I don’t need to,” he replied. “I already know what this is.”

“And what is it?” I challenged him.

“A forced family,” he said bluntly. “Two people decided something, and now we’re supposed to just go along with it like it’s normal.”

His words hit harder than I expected, but I didn’t back down.

“It can be normal,” I said. “If you stop acting like it’s a punishment.”

“And if you stop pretending it’s perfect,” he shot back.

I opened my mouth to argue. Then stopped because for a split second, our eyes locked and something shifted. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was sharp. Electric. Unexpectedly. Like tension—but not the kind that pushed you away. The kind that pulled you in, even when you didn’t want it to.

I looked away first.

“Whatever,” I muttered.

“Exactly,” he said, but his voice wasn’t as steady as before.

The days leading up to the wedding were… complicated.

I stayed excited for my mom. That never changed.

But Vance?

He was a problem. A very irritating, very stubborn, very… confusing problem. Because no matter how much we argued, there were moments—small, fleeting ones—where things felt different.

Like when we accidentally reached for the same glass and our hands brushed. He pulled away immediately. So did I.

“Watch it,” he said.

“You watch it,” I shot back. But my heart was beating faster than it should have. And I hated that.

The wedding day arrived bright and warm. The house buzzed with energy—people moving around, voices overlapping, everything happening at once. Mom looked beautiful. Not just because of the dress, but because she looked… at peace.

“You ready?” I asked her.

She smiled at me. “I am.”

“Good,” I said. “Because you deserve this.”

Her eyes softened. “So do you.”

I didn’t know what she meant by that. Not yet.

The ceremony was simple, but meaningful. I watched as my mom walked down the aisle, her eyes locked on Tito Vunce. And in that moment, I knew I had made the right choice. Choosing to support her. Choosing to be open. Choosing to believe that this could work. Even if some parts of it were… difficult.

The reception was lively, filled with laughter and music. I was grabbing a drink when I heard a familiar voice behind me.

“Enjoying yourself?”

I turned. Vance.

I rolled my eyes. “More than you, I’m guessing.”

He shrugged. “Low bar.”

“Then why are you here?” I asked.

“Same reason you are,” he said. “No choice.”

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “You know, you don’t have to be miserable about everything.”

“And you don’t have to act like this is some kind of fairytale,” he replied.

“It’s not a fairytale,” I said. “It’s just… not a disaster.”

“For you,” he said.

“For us,” I corrected.

He shook his head. “Don’t include me in that.”

“Why not?” I challenged him. “Afraid you might actually like it?”

He stepped closer. Too close.

“Not a chance,” he said.

But his eyes — They didn’t match his words. That same spark flickered again. Stronger this time. Harder to ignore.

My breath caught slightly, but I forced a smirk. “Keep telling yourself that,” I said.

His lips almost curved into a smile. Almost.

Later that night, I stepped outside to get some air. The music faded behind me, replaced by a quiet calm. A few seconds later, I heard footsteps. I didn’t need to turn to know it was him.

“You follow people now?” I asked.

“You’re not that interesting,” Vance replied.

I scoffed. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He stood beside me, looking out into the distance. Silence settled between us but it wasn’t empty. It was… charged.

“You really believe in this, don’t you?” he said after a moment.

“In what?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely. “Family. Second chances. All of it.”

I thought about it, then nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

He was quiet for a second.

“Must be nice,” he said.

I glanced at him. “You could try it.”

He looked at me then. And again — that spark. Undeniable. Unwanted. Unavoidable.

“Or,” he said slowly, “I could keep arguing with you.”

I smirked. “Seems like your favorite hobby.”

“Maybe it is.”

We held each other’s gaze a second longer than we should have. Then I looked away first.

“Goodnight, Vance.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Goodnight.”

As I walked back inside, one thought lingered in my mind. This wasn’t going to be easy. Not with him. Not with us.

But something had already started. Something neither of us wanted to admit. And if our arguments were any sign of it — I think, this was only the beginning.