Maya's POV
As we descended the grand staircase of the Monleons' mansion, my heart wouldn't stop pounding. Every step I took in these borrowed heels felt like a gamble—I was either going to glide down like a lady or trip and tumble in front of the entire elite class of San Antonio.
The satin fabric of my gown clung to my legs, and I clutched the handrail so tightly my knuckles turned white. I wasn't used to this kind of elegance. I wasn't used to being seen.
I felt a small, warm hand slip into mine. Mary. My little sister squeezed gently, and the simple gesture grounded me. She looked calm, almost glowing with excitement. She belonged in this world more than I did—confident, composed, and radiating the kind of charm that turned heads.
The party had already begun. The chandeliers shimmered above us like constellations, casting a soft golden glow on the guests dressed in gowns and tailored suits. Everyone looked like they stepped out of a fashion magazine. I felt myself shrinking just by looking at them.
An usherette, graceful in a uniform that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, led us to our assigned table.
"Maya," Mary leaned in, whispering with a smirk, "we're at a birthday party, not a horror film. Relax."
I tried to smile, but my jaw was locked.
"Here—breathe in... hold it... then let it out slowly," she said, demonstrating. "You've got this. Just pretend you're one of them."
It should've been my job to comfort her, but Mary always had a way of surprising me. Maybe all those hours she spent practicing conversations in the mirror paid off. She'd dreamed of fitting in with the rich for years, and tonight, she did.
Me? I was just trying not to spill water on the tablecloth.
At the front of the room, Don Miguel sat regally beneath a grand arch of white flowers and golden drapes. The program began with an elegant prayer, and then Master Miguel Antonio, the twins' father, gave a heartfelt speech honoring his father. His words were formal but warm.
Madam Kriselda's message followed. She spoke with grace and poise, a perfect socialite. And then... it was Adonis's turn.
I stiffened.
Why am I nervous? I'm not his girlfriend. I'm not even his friend. But the moment he stood behind the mic, tall and self-assured, something in me fluttered. Stupid heart.
His voice—deep, polished, just slightly arrogant—filled the room. He spoke about his grandfather with unexpected reverence, his tone softer than I'd ever heard. No sarcasm. No smugness. Just love. It was strange and beautiful, and it made my chest ache in a way I didn't expect.
Why does he hate me so much? He could be kind to everyone else—even to the other farmhands' kids—but when it came to me, it was like I was his favorite punching bag. Maybe I reminded him of something he wanted to forget. Or maybe... I was just easy to mock.
Ariana went up next, her eyes already brimming with tears. Her voice cracked halfway through her speech, and I couldn't stop mine from doing the same. That's Ariana—pure heart, no pretense. I loved her even more for it.
The speeches ended. Some guests stood to greet Don Miguel, offering their well wishes—some with long-winded admiration, others with a simple handshake. Soon, dinner was served.
The aroma of rich sauces and perfectly grilled meats filled the air, and I suddenly realized how hungry I was. I tried not to look like I was devouring every bite, but the food... it was divine. Especially the dessert. We didn't get food like this at home. Except on rare occasions when I visited Ariana, I barely knew what half the names on the menu meant.
As I lifted a glass of water to my lips, I caught Adonis watching me.
Again.
It was the fifth time I'd caught him stealing glances, and each time, I looked away too fast—like his stare might burn me. My pulse picked up speed. I hated how aware I was of him. Of his presence. Of the way he looked in that dark suit, like he belonged to another world.
And worse—I hated how beautiful I felt under his gaze.
The gown Ariana chose hugged me just right. My hair was done in a soft crown braid, the rest cascading down one shoulder. For once, I didn't feel like the poor girl from the workers' quarters. I felt... almost worthy.
The music shifted into a slow, lilting melody. Couples made their way to the dance floor, arms intertwining, gowns swaying like whispers. It was all so beautiful, like a scene from a classic film.
Mary had disappeared—probably charming someone as usual—and I was left alone at the table. A few well-dressed boys approached me, asking for a dance. But I turned them all down politely. I wasn't ready.
But every time one of them leaned near, I could feel it—that tight, unreadable expression forming on Adonis's face from across the room. His jaw tense. His eyes hard.
What is his problem?
Then it happened.
In the middle of the second song, Adonis stood. His chair scraped softly against the floor. I felt him move before I saw him. I stood up, pretending I needed to go to the restroom, desperate to avoid another confrontation.
Too late.
His hand closed around my wrist.
"Leaving already?" he said, voice low and unreadable.
I froze.
Eyes were on us now. I couldn't yank my arm away without creating a scene. I hated that he knew it. I hated that part of me—deep, silent, traitorous—still wanted to hear what he'd say next.
"Maya, please... listen to me."
His voice was quiet but urgent, like it had taken him everything to speak those words aloud. "I know I've been an idiot—every time we're near each other, I say the wrong things or make it worse. But I want you to know... I regret everything I've done to hurt you. And if you'll let me, I want us to start over. I want us to be friends."
Friends?
I stared at him, stunned. The infamous Young Master Adonis, the boy who never once treated me kindly, was now standing in front of me asking for friendship—and with what sounded dangerously close to sincerity.
I didn't answer right away. I couldn't. A hundred doubts crashed through me all at once. I wanted to believe him. God knows how long I've waited for a single kind word from him. But the years of insults, the cruel smirks, the way he made me feel small—it wasn't something I could erase with one apology.
And yet... the moment his hand brushed mine, my body betrayed me.
A warm, electric shock surged through me—from my fingers to my chest, to the pit of my stomach. For years, I imagined what it would feel like to be this close to him. To touch him. And now that I was, I could barely breathe.
"Will you dance with me, Maya?" he whispered, and my whole body erupted in goosebumps.
"Me?" I croaked, blinking up at him. "You want to dance with me?"
He gave a half-smile. "I whispered it, didn't I? Which means I was practically begging. There's no one else beside you or me. Yes, Maya Alva. I'm asking you—can I have this dance?"
He was trying to stay calm, but I saw it—the flicker of frustration in his eyes, like he wasn't used to not getting what he wanted.
I lifted my chin, not to be proud but to keep my heart from falling out of my chest. "Why me, Adonis? You've always hated me. You made that perfectly clear. So why now?"
His jaw clenched slightly, but his voice dropped, rich and low. "Because I want to be near you. Because... I want to touch you. And maybe—just maybe—I want to kiss you."
Did he just say kiss?
I stared at him like he'd lost his mind. "Do you have a fever?"
He exhaled through his nose, almost smiling despite himself. "I know you don't trust me. You have every reason not to. I've said horrible things to you. I've acted like an ass. But I'm not playing games, Maya. Not this time. I need this dance. Not to prove anything. Just... because I want to feel your arms around me, even if it's only for a few minutes."
He looked down, almost like he was embarrassed by his own honesty.
"I understand if you don't want to. I wouldn't either, if I were you." He stepped back, his voice softening. "I'm sorry for disturbing you."
And just like that, he turned to leave.
"Adonis... wait," I called after him, barely above a whisper. For a moment, I thought he didn't hear me. But then—he stopped.
He turned around, eyes hopeful. "You changed your mind?"
I nodded. Words wouldn't come. My heart was pounding so loudly I was afraid it might echo through the ballroom. I slipped my hand into his, and the warmth of his skin against mine sent another shiver down my spine.
We walked toward the dance floor, hand in hand. I could hear murmurs around us.
"Wow, looks like Maya only wants to dance with Adonis," someone said—James, I think, talking to his brother Adrian.
They were the so-called "rich boys," heirs to their family's cacao and banana plantations. I ignored them. Right now, nothing else mattered.
Adonis placed his hand lightly on my waist, and I hesitated before wrapping mine around his neck. My entire body stiffened.
"Maya," he said, leaning closer, "I won't bite. Relax. Just follow my lead."
He smiled faintly. "I heard you're one of the best dancers in school."
"Who told you that?" I asked, suspicious and blushing at the same time.
"Beatrice. She's very proud of you."
He paused, then added, "And I heard you're about to graduate as class valedictorian. That's amazing. I'm proud of you, too."
The way he said it—so sincere, so unexpected—it melted something in me. I've imagined Adonis saying a lot of things, but "I'm proud of you" had never crossed my mind.
"Thank you," I whispered.
We danced. Slowly at first, but then I let go—just a little. He was a good dancer, confident in the way he moved. He guided me gently, making me feel like I belonged in his arms. And when he pulled me closer, I didn't resist.
My chest was against his. My cheek nearly brushed his collarbone. His scent—warm, woodsy, with a hint of spice—wrapped around me like a memory I hadn't lived yet. I tilted my head to look at him, and his gaze was already on me.
Dark, intense, and focused like I was the only girl in the room.
I didn't want to stop looking at him. I didn't want the music to end. For one perfect moment, I wasn't the poor granddaughter of a farmhand. I wasn't the girl he used to mock. I was just Maya. And he was just a boy—holding me like he was afraid to let go.
And I didn't want him to.