Liam's POV
Ten Years Ago – The Summer Everything Fractured
The golden-hour light bled through the oak trees surrounding the Vega family estate, casting long shadows across the pool deck where my going-away party was already spiraling out of control. I adjusted the cuff of my linen shirt—too stiff, too pretentious for a high school grad party—as I approached the cluster of girls gathered near the diving board. Their laughter carried the sharp edge of secrets about to be spilled.
"Come on, Dani," said Bianca, flicking her honey-blonde hair over one shoulder, "don't pretend you haven't noticed."
Danika—Dani—arched a single dark brow. Her copper curls sparkled in the sunlight like fire. "Noticed what?"
"The feet," Bianca said, eyes wide with faux innocence. "The size of them."
A few girls giggled. A raven-haired girl named Tasha leaned closer. "You know what they say about big feet…"
Danika rolled her eyes. "That they probably wear big shoes?"
"No," Bianca said with a smug smile. "That they're packing."
More laughter. Nervous, scandalous.
I should've walked away. But instead, I hovered, invisible and transfixed.
Tasha leaned in conspiratorially. "If you're talking about Dante, I can confirm."
My spine stiffened.
Danika blinked. "Wait—how do you know?"
Tasha just shrugged. "You ever lived next door to a guy who sleeps in nothing but his ego and a pair of threadbare Calvin Kleins?"
They howled.
I took a step forward before I even realized it, the cup in my hand tipping dangerously close to spilling.
Danika noticed. "Liam! Jeez, you scared me."
"Sorry," I said quickly, trying to seem unfazed. "Didn't mean to eavesdrop. Though it's hard when you're all basically yelling about my brother's… footwear."
Bianca smirked. "Oh, we weren't just talking about Dante's feet."
Another girl, Mila, cocked her head and studied me. "You're brothers, right? So… is it a family trait?"
The question wasn't innocent.
I swallowed and gave her a crooked smile. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Danika laughed. "Leave him alone, Mila. Liam isn't a piece of meat."
"Maybe not, but he's got those serious professor vibes," Tasha said, sizing me up. "Cute in a tortured poet kind of way."
"Yeah," Bianca agreed, "like a brooding prince who reads sad books and smells like cedarwood."
I'd spent years being the quieter brother, the one who thought too much and said too little. Dante was the storm; I was the still water.
And today, for once, I wanted the attention. This was my send-off party before college. My moment.
I turned away from the poolside circus and headed to the drinks table. No keg stand for me—just a blueberry kombucha and a vague hope the night wouldn't end with property damage.
I was twisting off the cap when I heard footsteps behind me.
"Came out of your cave, I see," said a voice I knew better than my own.
I turned to find Danika sliding onto the barstool beside me. She wore a simple striped tank dress, her curls bouncing like the rhythm of a song only she could hear. She had that uncanny ability to make bare feet on damp grass seem elegant.
"I like caves," I replied, offering her my bottle. "They're quiet."
She smirked. "And yet, here you are, sipping fizzy sadness among loud, messy people."
I glanced at the pool where Bianca was now being hoisted onto someone's shoulders. "Yeah. Seems quiet is off the menu."
Dani followed my gaze and grinned. "You're jealous."
I bristled. "Of what?"
"Of Dante. Of his easy charm. His chaos. The way people just… orbit around him."
I opened my mouth to deny it, but the words didn't come.
Danika bumped my shoulder gently. "You don't have to compete with a hurricane, Liam."
**⊱ ────── {⋆☽⋆} ────── ⊰**
"No. But sometimes I wish I were a little less… breeze."
Before she could answer, a scream split the air. We turned in time to see Bianca and her human steed belly-flop into the pool with a spectacular splash.
A wave of water soaked the patio. Danika and I both jumped back, laughing as droplets hit our faces.
She shook her head, droplets clinging to her lashes. "Absolute madness."
I looked at her—really looked—and smiled. "You love it."
"Maybe," she admitted, "but I like this better." She tapped her bottle against mine. "You and me. On the sidelines. Observing."
"So. About what they said earlier—"
"I don't care." The lie burned.
She studied me. "You literally care more than anyone I've ever met. It's exhausting." A pause. "Also, your brother's watching us."
My spine stiffened. Across the pool, Dante leaned against the cabana, a bottle of Casamigos dangling from his fingers. Even from here, I could see the smirk—the one that made girls trip over their own feet. His gaze was fixed on Danika with the intensity of a predator scenting blood.
I stepped between them instinctively. "Ignore him."
Danika arched a brow. "Why? Because you do?"
Before I could answer, she hooked a finger in the collar of my soaked shirt and yanked me forward. "Relax, Vega. You're perfect."
The words—mocking yet tender—sent a jolt through me. I laughed, bracing as she feinted a shove toward the pool. "You wouldn't dare—"
Her eyes glittered with challenge. "Try me."
We grappled, laughing, until my foot hit a puddle. The world upended.
**⊱ ────── {⋆☽⋆} ────── ⊰**
The water swallowed us whole.
I surfaced first, gasping. Danika should've popped up right after—she was the state champion swimmer, for fuck's sake—but instead, I saw frantic splashing. Then nothing.
"Danika!"
I dove. The chlorine burned my eyes as I groped through the murk. My fingers brushed fabric—I hauled her up, but she was dead weight, coughing violently.
Then strong hands wrenched her from my grasp.
Dante.
He had her out of the water in seconds, cradling her against his chest as he vaulted onto the deck. The crowd parted like the Red Sea.
"Move!" he barked, laying her down. His hands—always so sure, even when they shouldn't be—pressed against her sternum.
I scrambled up after them, dripping and useless. "She just—she forgot how to swim—"
Danika jerked sideways, vomiting pool water. Dante rolled her onto her side with a gentleness that made my stomach twist.
"Cramp," she gasped, clutching her calf. "Fucking—ow—"
Dante's hands were already on her leg, kneading the knotted muscle. His touch was clinical. Efficient. And it made me want to break his fingers.
I reached for her ankle. "Let me—"
He blocked me with his shoulder. "Back. Off." The words were a serrated whisper.
We locked eyes. His were our father's—hazel flecked with gold. Mine were our mother's—pale green, better suited to a ghost than a Vega heir.
Danika groaned, drawing our attention back. "I'm fine.Stop being weird." She tried to sit up, then paled. "Shit."
Dante caught her before she could faceplant. "Easy, killer." His thumb brushed her cheekbone—a touch too lingering.
Something inside me snapped.
I turned on my heel and stalked toward the house. Behind me, Danika's laughter rang out—bright and breathless—followed by Dante's low murmur.
The green-eyed monster uncoiled in my gut.
**⊱ ────── {⋆☽⋆} ────── ⊰**
I was halfway to the vintage Mercedes—my graduation gift, currently being ogled by freshmen—when the first scream cut through the music.
Then the tires screeched.
The crowd's energy shifted—a ripple of unease. I sprinted toward the driveway, Dante materializing beside me like a shadow.
The wrought-iron gates yawned open.
My blood turned to ice.
"No." The word tore from me.
Dante was already running, his vintage Rolex flashing in the dying light. "Call your cops now, Liam."
But I was frozen, staring at the empty space where the real Vega heirloom had been parked—the one worth seven figures. The one I'd been entrusted with for the night.
The 1967 Shelby GT500.
Gone.
Dante's phone was already at his ear. "Yeah. It's Dante Vega. We've got a Code Silver." A beat. "No, I don't give a shit about the party. Get here now."
My stomach twisted.
"This is bad," I muttered. "This is so, so bad."
Dante didn't say anything to me at first. Then he looked at me, his mouth tight.
"We need to clear the party. Now. You're so screwed."