Chapter 1 The girl in the mirror

LUNA'S POV

The first rule of being a Lennox.... Never let the world see you wrinkle.

Not your dress, not your posture and certainly not your composure.

I stood in front of my mirror, framed in gold and guilt, adjusting the last clasp of my pearl necklace. It had once belonged to my grandmother- "A lady's neck should wear legacy", she used to say. I didn't know what legacy I was wearing, exactly. I just knew it cost enough to fund someone else's tuition for a year.

The mirror loved me, it always had or maybe it just knew better than to argue.

My hair curled in soft waves down my back, sleek and styled like I hadn't spent the last forty five minutes forcing it to behave. My uniform- the customized version, of course, hugged just right : crisp blazer, silk-lined collar pleated skirt that stopped two inches shorter than regulation allowed. Not that anyone would dare send me home. They never did.

I touched the corner of my lips, checking the gloss. Rose gold No. 5. subtle. Expensive. The kind of pretty that whispered rather than shouted

You look perfect," I told my reflection.

But perfection was heavy. Like holding your breath while smiling.

A knock tapped at my door, followed by the familiar voice of Clara, our longtime housekeeper.

"Miss Luna, your car is ready."

I didn't answer right away. My eyes had caught something-just a flicker in the mirror. A thought I wasn't supposed to think. A question I wasn't supposed to ask.

What if I don't want this? Any of it?

But the thought passed, like they always did, drowned in perfume and pearls.

I grabbed my tote bag, and slipped on my heels, the soft clack of them on marble following me down the hall like applause I never asked for.

By the time I reached the front steps of the Lennox estate, the car was waiting, engine humming, chauffeur standing stiffly by the door.

This was my life. Sculpted, scheduled, set.

I slid into the back seat, crossed my legs, and exhaled slowly.

Today was just another day at Roseshire University - the place where elite minds got polished, and everyone else pretended to belong.

But I wasn't in the mood to be polished.

Not today

Not when something in my chest was starting to stir.

WHAT HE CARRIES

EZRA's POV

⸻

The kettle screamed.

I turned off the stove with one hand and reached for the pain-killer with the other, balancing it on my knee as I stirred the pot of oats on the counter. Our kitchen was the size of someone else's closet, but it worked, barely. The walls peeled in corners, and the fridge hummed like it had a grudge against peace and quiet.

Behind me, from the next room, came a soft cough followed by a raspy, "Ezra, you haven't eaten."

"I will, Nana. After you."

My grandmother always tried to argue, but the meds made her slow, like she was trying to fight underwater. She'd been sick for months now, her lungs tired, her bones aching. But she still managed to smile every morning like she had nothing to complain about.

I didn't smile back today. I didn't have the energy to fake it.

Instead, I ladled oatmeal into two mismatched bowls and carried them to the couch where she lay. She gave me that look again, the one that made me feel like a child and a grown man at the same time.

"You work too hard, baby," she murmured.

I kissed her forehead. "We do what we have to, right?"

Right.

Across the room, my little sister was still asleep on the mattress we all shared. Twelve years old and already old enough to understand sacrifice. She never asked for new shoes. Never complained when lunch was just bread and water. She was the kind of girl who folded her school uniform at night like it was treasure.

Sometimes I looked at her and wondered what kind of world I was trying to keep her in. One that took our parents too early. One that gave more to people who already had everything.

People like the Lennoxes.

I'd seen their name in magazines, on buildings. Their daughter went to my university - Roseshire. I'd heard whispers. Rich, cold, untouchable. The kind of girl who never looked down because she never had to.

Not that it mattered. Our paths would never cross. People like Luna Lennox lived in a different orbit.

And I was just trying to keep mine from falling apart.

I cleaned the dishes, threw on my worn-out jacket, and checked the envelope in my bag, the one with our unpaid electricity bill. I'd try the admin office again today again, maybe beg for another extension.

Outside, the city stretched its bones beneath the early light. My backpack was heavy, my heart heavier.

But I walked.

Because no one was coming to save us.

And I didn't have the luxury of breaking.

MARCUS'S POV

Somewhere over the Atlantic, I sat in a private jet and stared out at the nothingness between clouds and obligation.

Roseshire was waiting.

Luna was waiting.

And so was the next chapter of the life we didn't choose - but had no real say in refusing.

I glanced at the digital clock embedded in the armrest. Thirteen hours since I left the Crestwell residence in Geneva. My mother had hugged me like she was letting go of her legacy. My father barely looked up from the legal brief he was reviewing - a case about land rights in a country he'd never even visited.

"You know what's expected of you," he said without a goodbye.

I knew.

The arrangement was as old as our families. Lennox and Crestwell. Two empires bound by wealth and strategy - not affection. My name on paper looked clean, respectable, powerful. Final year law student at Roseshire. Future managing partner. Son of a real estate titan.

And Luna?

She was the picture next to mine in every media draft. Perfect posture. Polished smile. Pearl necklace.

I'd seen her last summer in the south of France. Just for a weekend. She hadn't said much. But her silence told its own story.

We weren't strangers. Just two people who had never really been introduced to themselves.

And now, I was heading home.

The press would start stirring the moment I landed. My team had already prepared the statement.

"The future Crestwell heir returns to Roseshire to join his fiancée, Luna Lennox, ahead of their upcoming engagement."

Fiancée.

The word looked romantic in headlines. On contracts, it looked like leverage.

I closed the file on my tablet, reading the itinerary again - family dinner, press briefing, reintroduction at Roseshire. I'd appear beside her like a polished coin: familiar, desired, expensive. And she would smile. Because she had to.

But something was off this time.

There'd been no message from her. Not even a reminder from her father's assistant.

And that silence?

It wasn't like her.

I looked out the window again, fingers tapping restlessly against the leather seat.

She knew I was coming.

She always knew.

But I had the strangest feeling...

This time, Luna Lennox might not be waiting with open arms.

And if she wasn't?

That changed everything.