Chapter 5 GlASS HOUSES

LUNA'S POV

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The moment I stepped into the foyer, I knew something was off.

The lights were too warm. The air smelled like aged wine and curated civility. Walter took my bag with an apologetic glance, but said nothing. That was clue number two.

Clue number three? Laughter - low, practiced, familiar - coming from the dining room.

I walked in and froze.

Marcus.

Sitting at the head of the table like he lived here. One arm casually draped over the back of the chair, wine glass in hand, already comfortable in my world like he belonged more than I ever had.

My parents flanked him, perfectly poised, perfectly expectant.

"Darling," my mother beamed. "You're late."

I checked the time. "It's seven on the dot."

"Still late," my father said, pouring himself another drink. "When we have guests, punctuality is expected."

Guests? As if Marcus hadn't grown up in this house like a second son.

I took a seat, spine straight, lips tight. "I wasn't told we were hosting anyone tonight."

Marcus smiled. "I wanted to surprise you."

Oh, he did.

My mother lifted her wine glass, swirling the liquid like it might offer her diplomacy. "Marcus was just telling us about your new... school partner."

The way she said it - partner - like it was a slur.

I didn't answer.

Marcus leaned forward, all smooth concern. "I just thought your parents should know. You've been spending quite a bit of time with someone very... unlike us."

I clenched my jaw. "It's just a course requirement. We're assigned in pairs."

"He's not our kind, Luna," my father said bluntly. "You know how this looks."

"How what looks?" I asked, sharper than I intended.

"You gallivanting around campus with a scholarship boy," my mother supplied, as if the phrase alone explained the scandal. "People notice, darling. Reputation matters."

My gaze flicked to Marcus. His eyes didn't flinch.

He wanted this. He wanted to see me scolded, cornered - to remind me where I belonged.

My fingers tightened around my glass. "We're working on a Strategic Communication project. That's all."

"And yet," Marcus murmured, "you seem rather... invested."

I stared him down. "You're mistaken."

He didn't blink. "Am I?"

My father placed his glass down with finality. "Enough. This engagement has been in place since you were children. We're approaching the time to make it formal. No distractions."

I nearly laughed.

But instead, I set down my glass, cool and clear. "There is no distraction. There is only a project. And when it's over, so is the pairing. Nothing more."

The table fell into a tight, glassy silence.

But inside me, something cracked.

Because I wasn't sure I believed myself anymore.

EZRA'S POV

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By the time I got home, the sky had dulled into that in-between grey - not quite night, not fully day. The hour that held its breath before the streetlights blinked on.

I didn't speak when I walked in. Just dropped my bag, kicked off my shoes, and headed to the sink.

The dishes from this morning were still there. Myla had tried to rinse them, but the streaks of tomato and cheap detergent told me she'd been rushing.

Nana was humming something from the old records again - low and off-key in her room. Safe, at least for now.

I started washing the dishes, one plate at a time, the water warm and a little too soapy. My fingers scrubbed harder than necessary, like I could erase the day if I just cleaned hard enough.

Marcus had walked into that classroom like he owned the air we were breathing.

And maybe he did.

Guys like him were bred for legacy. For boardrooms and engagement rings and headlines. I could see it in the way he looked at Luna - not like a girl he loved, but like a future he already counted as his.

And the worst part?

She didn't fight it.

Not in front of him.

Not with me there.

I dried the last dish slowly, staring out the cracked kitchen window. You couldn't see much - just the alley, the back of a bakery, the broken fence where a cat always slipped through at dusk.

Not exactly Roseshire estate views.

I should've let it go.

The girl, the tension, the stupid almost-question I asked her - "Do you even want to do that dinner?"

I didn't know why I said it. I just knew I needed to hear her say no.

That she didn't want him.

That she wasn't playing both sides of the same gold coin.

But all I got was silence.

And that silence hurt more than if she'd lied.

I moved to the table, flipped open my notebook again, and stared at our scribbled notes. Her handwriting angled and perfect beside mine.

Two different fonts on the same page.

Maybe that's all this would ever be.

Still, I traced a line under the project title - Crisis Messaging: When Image Fails.

Funny.

Because something in me was starting to crack.

And for the first time, I didn't know if I could message my way out of it.

SOMETHING BORROWED

MARCUS'S POV

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The dinner had been a performance.

Crystal glasses. A table set like a magazine spread. Her parents smiling too tightly. Mine dialing in from Vienna to "greet the happy couple." And Luna-silent, poised, furious behind the eyes.

I'd seen that look before. When she was ten and broke her violin bow during a recital and refused to cry. When she was sixteen and her mother made her return a necklace that didn't "photograph well." Luna Lennox didn't explode. She froze.

After dessert, she excused herself. Her parents tried to cover, offering more wine and small talk. I waited five minutes before I followed her down the west corridor.

I found her in the conservatory.

Glass walls. Low lighting. Her arms crossed tight, staring out at the moonlit trees like she could disappear into them if she glared hard enough.

"Luna," I said.

She didn't turn around. "You already got what you wanted. Dinner went perfectly."

I stepped closer, ignoring the bite in her voice. "It wasn't about perfection. It was about making sure things are still steady."

She turned then. Slowly. "Is that what this is to you? Steady?"

"I didn't mean it like-"

"No," she cut in, voice sharper now. "You meant exactly that. Steady. Strategic. Scheduled."

Her tone wasn't loud. But it sliced clean.

"Luna, we're almost at the finish line," I said, forcing calm. "After everything our families have worked for-"

"My life is not a merger," she snapped.

That stung. Not because it wasn't true - but because she knew it.

"You weren't saying that two years ago," I countered.

Her mouth twitched. Almost a flinch.

"Things change."

I watched her for a moment. The girl I grew up with. The girl who once leaned on me after a failed test and now looked at me like I was the enemy in a war she didn't want to fight anymore.

"You're spending a lot of time with him."

I hadn't meant to say it out loud.

But there it was - hanging in the air between us.

Her eyes narrowed. "It's a class project, Marcus."

"You and I both know that's not all it is."

"You don't get to tell me what it is," she said coldly.

I stepped back. Not far, but enough.

"Do you even want this anymore?" I asked. Quiet. Controlled. One final card.

She didn't answer.

Didn't look away.

And the silence she gave me?

It wasn't defiance.

It was doubt.