First message
Matt and Layla were inseparable until the "Red Sunday" massacre turned their families into mortal enemies. Ten years of silence followed, broken only when they were both sent to St. Jude’s—a neutral-ground academy for elite scions.
In the shadowed corner of the library, the tension was lethal. Matt, now hardened with a scar trailing his jaw, pinned Layla against a bookshelf. His hand hovered near her throat, not to strike, but to feel the pulse he once knew so well.
"You weren't supposed to be on the roster, Layla," he rasped, his voice a jagged edge of the boy she used to love. "My father would kill us both if he saw me this close to a Valenti."
Layla didn't flinch, her eyes defiant despite the tears stinging them. "Then let him. I’m tired of running from ghosts."
Matt leaned in, his forehead resting against hers as the scent of her perfume bridged a decade of bloodshed. The war outside felt worlds away as he whispered the only thing that mattered.
"After everything they’ve done to keep us apart, do you still have the silver locket I gave you?"