Indian Summer

"I think the both of us were destined to meet," he leaned closer, casually trapping me between him and the tree behind me. As intense as this was, I had to pull myself together. Maxine Carlisle doesn't show emotions! "Well I think you're delusional. There is no such thing as destiny," "And yet here we are," he gave me a sly smirk. "We were just unfortunate to be here," I reciprocated the gesture. I wasn't going to show him that he's gotten to me. "I'm starting to like you Maxine," somehow, those words sent butterflies in my stomach. "You don't want to make that mistake Ryan. I'm bad news!" Maxine isn't one to feel sadness, or pity or even compassion for anyone. She doesn't gossip with her friends and she doesn't giggle about boys. When girls her age are out shopping, she's out on the streets doing graffiti on walls... so no, she isn't your typical average teen. Her father may have all the money in the world, but even he can't get her a new attitude. And all the love he showered her with still didn't manage to soften her heart. Tired of her daughter's rebellious attitude, her father takes her to a Summer camp in hopes that her daughter may at least learn to tolerate people if not live with them. 'Nothing good could come out of this' she told herself, 'a total waste of valuable time. But she ended up slightly enjoying life without WiFi... and shocker! Actually making a friend. Miseri Camp changed her life completely... and the pessimist arrogant rebellious girl who hated the world and didn't believe in love.. Well... Read and find out!!!

"Help me tighten this?" Her voice trembles as she turns her bare back to the doorway. Calloused fingers brush her spine – but it’s not her stepmother. It’s Asher Voss, SU’s star quarterback and her new stepbrother, smirking in the mirror， "Next time you mistake me for Mom..." His breath scorches her ear. "...I’ll leave a real mark." To survive the sweltering New York summer before college, Wendy Wu makes a deal with Asher: Act like strangers once school starts. He’ll remain the untouchable quarterback; she’ll be just another exchange student. No eye contact. No acknowledgement. Ever. But when her father’s long hauls and her stepmother’s busy schedule force Asher into babysitting duty, the lines blur: In the kitchen, he catches her weeping over a shelter documentary and lifts her against his sweat-drenched chest. Garage doors rattle open – his grip tightens: "Hold on. Unless you want them to see you like this." At a party, her friend spots a cherry hair tie on his wrist before he drags her into a dark hallway: "You didn’t want to see me?" His whiskey-laced kiss brands her lips. "Yet your eyes undressed me all night." In a restaurant, a rival girl glares through the window. He traps Wendy’s thigh under the table， "Call me ‘brother’ and I’ll save you."  Their secret collapses. Wendy ends it, and he freezes her out in public， "Do I know you?" Until a rain-lashed night when Ahser, drenched and desperate, pins her to the wall， "Don’t tell me you do not regret the breakup" His teeth find her collarbone. "I have to admit it-- I miss you." Can a love forged in stolen touches survive the spotlight? Or will their step-sibling bond shatter them both?

Everyone in Palermo knew Alessandro De Luca had a reputation. He was the Boss of the De Luca family, one of the oldest bloodlines in Sicily — a name tied to the port, the courts, and half the construction contracts in Palermo. Wealth, power, discipline—those things were expected. Romance was not. He didn’t chase women, and he never went back to the same one twice. Until me. When we broke up after a brutal argument, he did something no De Luca had done in generations—he stood outside the gates of the Moretti estate, my family home, for an entire day and night. I watched from behind the curtains and never opened the door. The next day, he came inside the estate kitchen himself. Alessandro De Luca, who grew up surrounded by servants, tried to cook my favorite seafood pasta with his own hands. He burned the sauce. I threw it away without tasting it. On the third day, he found the necklace my grandmother had left me—something my uncle had sold years ago—and bought it back, paying far more than it was worth, just to return it to me. At a formal family dinner, in front of elders and allies, he made it clear: No more women. Only me. It took him a year to win me back. That summer, fireworks lit up the Palermo coastline as he announced our engagement. I believed he had chosen me. Until the night of a private gathering at an old harbor estate. A young woman was being pulled forward in the middle of the courtyard, her dress torn at the shoulder, tears running down her face. Alessandro went still. Then he stood up. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t explain. He just walked toward her. And something inside me went cold. I rested my hand over my abdomen. There was something I hadn’t told him yet. He broke his word that night. So I broke mine.