Chapter 1

Liana's POV

I put my camera back into my bag, turned around, and locked eyes with my younger sister, Mona Jensen, just as she came running onto the bridge, breathless with excitement.

The moment she spotted me, she instinctively stepped back.

My fiance, Weston Shaw, was a step behind her. He glanced at Mona in confusion, followed her gaze, and finally spotted me.

Instantly, he stepped between us. That unmistakably protective gesture toward her stung.

Maybe the hurt on my face was too obvious, because Weston seemed to realize he'd overreacted.

He relaxed slightly, though his brows quickly furrowed again. "Why are you still here?"

Yesterday, I'd told him I was coming at 7:30 pm to film some vlog footage for our wedding next month, and that it would take about half an hour.

It was already 9:00 pm. I shouldn't have still been there.

"Two hours ago, I texted you that my camera broke and I needed to find someone to fix it," I replied. "Didn't you see it?"

Weston froze for a moment, then looked away. "I was busy with work. I didn't notice."

The last time he'd replied to me was that morning, when he'd apologized for not being able to film with me because he had to work overtime.

"If you got off work early, why didn't you tell me?" I asked, looking him straight in the eye.

Before Weston could answer, Mona peeked out from behind him.

"Liana, don't blame Weston. I kept talking to him, so he didn't get a chance to check his phone. I failed my interview, and I wanted to come to the Sweethearts' Light Festival to take my mind off things. Weston was worried something might happen to me because I was so upset, so he came with me."

She sounded so aggrieved. "You don't mind, do you? I was just feeling so down. I didn't mean to get in the way of you two enjoying the festival."

Weston turned to her, his voice impossibly gentle. "This has nothing to do with you. You don't need to apologize."

Then he turned back to me, his voice hardening. "Mona's had a hard enough day as it is. Don't keep harping on this right now."

He looked like he wanted to say more, but Mona tugged at his sleeve. Weston fell silent and let her keep clutching his cuff.

I opened my mouth, but in the end, all I did was hitch the strap of my camera bag higher on my shoulder.

The strap dug into my skin, still chilled from the wind, and it stung.

Apparently, even asking "why" was a mistake.

I had nothing left to say, so I turned to leave, only to find the two of them standing right by the exit.

Weston reached out to grab my arm.

"Ah!" Mona gasped softly.

Her long, loose hair had snagged on the bag's sequins when Weston reached for me.

He hurriedly guided her under one of the bright lights, carefully untangling the trapped strands one by one. Then he reached into Mona's bag, searched around for a hair tie, and casually tied her hair back.

I reached up to touch the ends of my shoulder-length hair.

Five years ago, my hair had been even longer than Mona's.

Once, while I was carrying a bag, my hair got tangled in the sequins. No matter what I tried, I couldn't get it free, so I asked Weston for help.

He'd walked over, lowered his head, and moved the bag's chain out of the way. His hand paused briefly when his fingertips brushed the ends of my hair, but then he gave it two sharp yanks.

Tears welled in my eyes from the pain, and I asked him to be gentler.

He only frowned. "It's just a few strands of hair. Don't be so delicate. Your hair is so fine, and the bag has all these decorations. Of course it's hard to untangle once it gets caught in all that."

That night, I went out and got my long hair cut off.

When the stylist asked how short I wanted it, I said, "Short enough that I'll never have to bother anyone with it again."

When I got home, Weston took one look at it and said that the new style suited me.

Since then, I'd never grown it long again.

A short distance away, Mona was still tugging at Weston's sleeve, complaining that she didn't like how he'd tied her hair and asking him to redo it.

Weston gave her a helpless smile, but his fingers were already pulling the hair tie free.

I turned and walked away.

My phone buzzed with a text from Weston. "You head home first. Mona hasn't seen the view from the bridge yet, so I'm going to walk around with her a little longer. Be careful on your way back."

I opened the flight-booking app and tapped Confirm.

[Your flight to Casavera has been successfully booked. It departs in two days. Have a pleasant trip.]

Casavera—a place where the mountaintop view revealed a valley carpeted with colorful buildings.

"Go see the sights with her, Weston," I thought. "I'll see mine alone."