The damn key wouldn’t turn. I stood on my mother’s porch, jiggling the stubborn lock. June in Ridgeway Oaks was already brutal—all humidity and breathless heat that made my tank top cling to my skin.“Come on,” I muttered, giving it one last aggressive twist.The lock surrendered with a rusty click.I shouldered the door open and dragged my duffel inside, immediately hit by the smell of dust and my mother’s faint lavender perfume.The house felt stifling and hot. Dust motes danced in the lone shafts of light cutting through the drawn curtains in the living room. Everything was covered in a thin film of dust.I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. I had just cracked it open when the sound hit.A motorcycle. The engine’s growl rattled the windows, filling my ears with an aggressive, unpleasant roar. I moved toward my window to see who was riding the bike. Through the glass, I saw him—black leather, dark hair whipping back, astride a large, shiny bike that
Huling Na-update : 2025-11-28 Magbasa pa