CHAPTER 1Rain & Ruin
The rain fell like shattered glass, turning the city into a watercolor of bleeding neon and wet asphalt. Luna Xiānyǔ sat on the curb, her white silk dress plastered to her skin, looking less like the heiress to an antiquities empire and more like a discarded doll.
In her hand, her phone glowed with a text she'd read seventeen times.
CARTER: Luna, it just happened. Mia and I… we didn't mean to hurt you. But it's real. Sorry.
Sorry. The word tasted like ash. Three years. Three years of plans, of whispered promises, of thinking she'd finally found something her family hadn't arranged for her—and it ended with a text. And her best friend.
A black sedan splashed through a puddle, drenching her further. She didn't flinch. The cold was a welcome distraction from the hollow ache in her chest.
"Pathetic," her mother's voice echoed in her memory. "Emotions are inelegant, Luna. Control them or they control you."
Well, she was failing spectacularly.
Headlights cut through the downpour. A vehicle—no, a Vespa. Bright yellow, ridiculous, spluttering to a stop beside her. The rider kicked down the stand and pulled off a helmet shaped like a giant avocado.
"Whoa," said Jett Mòyǔ, rain dripping from his dark hair. "Did you lose a fight with a car wash? Or is this the new 'drowned Victorian ghost' chic? Because honestly? Serving looks."
Luna didn't look up. "Go away, Jett."
"Can't. My dramatic rescue instincts are tingling." He knelt beside her, his rainbow rain boots squeaking. "Okay, level with me. Is this a performance art piece? 'Woman Becomes Soup'?"
She finally met his eyes. Jett Mòyǔ, fourth son of the Mòyǔ art dynasty. Sculptor of absurdities. Wearer of llama-print ponchos. Her only real friend in a world of curated relationships.
"Carter cheated," she whispered. "With Mia."
Jett's playful expression vanished. For two full seconds, he was deadly serious. Then he slapped his knees and stood.
"Okay! New plan! Step one: I go turn Carter into a modern art installation called 'Man Who Forgot How to Breathe.' Step two: We get tacos. Step three: We TP Mia's house. Old school revenge."
Despite everything, Luna's lips twitched. "You'd get arrested."
"My mugshot would be iconic." He offered his hand. "Come on, Puddle Princess. Your chariot awaits."
He gestured to the avocado-helmeted Vespa.
"I'm not getting on that death trap."
"Death trap? Guacamole has never died once!" He patted the seat. "She's a sturdy girl! Like a toaster with wheels!"
Luna looked at his extended hand. At the rain. At the empty street where her old life had just ended. She took it.