The garden still hummed with leftover tension from the earlier matches, its clipped hedges and lantern-lit pathways whispering of secrets best kept between the leaves. The teams had broken off for a brief interlude before the next round, but the air carried something heavier than the cool evening breeze -- something unspoken, sharp, waiting to be pulled taut.
Maya -- Isla in everyone else's eyes -- wandered toward the quiet corner of the garden, the rhythm of her footsteps deliberately even. Her chest still carried the echo of adrenaline from the last game with Damien and Logan, her pulse alive with the closeness, the competitiveness, the unrelenting awareness of eyes that always seemed to follow her. She wanted a moment to breathe, to shed Isla's polished poise if only for a heartbeat.
She didn't expect Brielle to follow.
"Funny," Brielle's voice sliced the silence, crisp as the snap of a twig underfoot. "You play the part well. Almost too well."
Maya stilled, her back straightening. Slowly, she turned, eyes meeting Brielle's with practiced calm. "And what part would that be?" she asked, her tone carrying none of the sharpness she felt bubbling underneath.
Brielle stepped closer, her gaze cold but glittering with something raw -- something that made Maya's skin prickle. "Don't pretend with me. I know who you are. You're not Isla. You're Maya. And you think you can just stroll around here, holding Damien's arm like you belong? Like no one will notice?"
Maya's lips curved, though the smile never touched her eyes. "You noticed. Congratulations."
That earned her a flare of irritation in Brielle's eyes, but beneath it, something else stirred -- desperation. "You think this is funny? Don't play coy. I've let it slide until now because I couldn't care less about Damien or his charades. But Logan..." her voice hitched, anger strangled by the tremor of longing..."Logan isn't yours anymore. He deserves better. He deserves someone who wants him, not someone who abandoned him once and thinks she can waltz back into his life like nothing happened."
Maya's composure cracked, just slightly. Logan's name, spoken with such possessive yearning, twisted something inside her she refused to name. She held her chin higher. "Logan and I…" She shook her head, brushing off the heaviness Brielle tried to press into her. "Whatever was between us is over. Long over. You want him? Take him. He's all yours."
The words were barbed, meant to sting, but also true enough to wound herself in the saying.
Brielle narrowed her eyes, not satisfied, her voice dropping lower, sharper. "You think I won't? I will. And if you get in my way, if you so much as look at him like he's still yours, I'll tell everyone who you really are. One word from me and your little act will crumble."
Maya's gaze turned to steel, her voice quiet but laced with venom. "Then do it. Go ahead. Because I'm not the one living in someone else's shadow, clawing after scraps of affection he'll never give you. I've already moved on."
The retort hit its mark. Brielle's nostrils flared, her jaw tight, but before she could fire back, a new presence broke through the tension.
"Maya."
Damien's voice. Solid, grounding. He stepped into view, his sharp eyes flickering between the two women, his presence commanding enough to make Brielle's shoulders stiffen.
"Everything alright?" he asked, his attention settling protectively on Maya, his tone softer now.
Maya's defiance wavered. She nodded, offering the smallest of smiles, though her heart beat a little too fast. "I'm fine."
Brielle scoffed, brushing past Damien with a dismissive flick of her hair. "Fine. For now."
As she disappeared into the garden shadows, Damien's hand lingered at Maya's arm, steady and deliberate. "She didn't upset you?"
Maya let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, forcing her features into composure once more. "Nothing I can't handle."
His eyes lingered on her longer than necessary, searching, concerned. For a moment, something in her chest loosened, but before either could speak again, a voice from the courtyard announced the next round of games, pulling them back into the evening's rhythm.
Later that night, the games concluded and laughter bled into quieter conversations as guests dispersed. Brielle and Logan retreated to their shared room, the silence between them thick.
Brielle, however, was restless.
She slipped closer to Logan as he shrugged off his jacket, her fingers grazing his arm with intentional softness. "You were incredible out there," she murmured, voice low, her lips brushing too near his shoulder.
Logan stiffened, offering no reply. His movements were precise, mechanical, as he placed the jacket aside and busied himself with nothing in particular.
Brielle pressed on, undeterred. She trailed her hand down his chest, tilting her face toward his with a smile too rehearsed to be tender. "I could make it worth your while, you know. You don't have to keep chasing after something that doesn't want you. I'm right here."
Logan's breath hitched, but not with desire. With restraint. His jaw clenched, and he gently but firmly removed her hand from him.
"Brielle." His voice was low, strained, dangerous in its quietness. "Don't."
Her eyes flashed, a mix of anger and wounded pride. "Why? Because you're still pining after Maya? After the girl who walked away from you like you were nothing? She doesn't want you, Logan. She never did."
Logan's fists curled at his sides, the words cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. His restraint snapped -- not in the way Brielle wanted, but in rejection. He stormed past her, the door slamming shut behind him before she could utter another word.
The cool night air hit him like absolution, but it did little to calm the storm inside. He walked the dimly lit paths of the garden again, each step heavier than the last. His chest burned with anger, with humiliation, but beneath it all, a single name pulsed with unrelenting force.
Maya.
He found her easily -- alone, her figure half-lit by the lantern glow as she traced the path without hurry. Her hair caught the light, her profile soft, and for a moment, Logan's breath caught. He should have turned back. He should have forced himself away.
But he didn't.
He lingered in the shadows, drinking in the sight of her. Not Isla, not the mask she wore for everyone else. Maya. The woman who had been his once, the woman who still carried every ounce of him in ways she would never admit.
His chest ached with love, but his blood ran hot with something darker, hungrier. The sway of her walk, the curve of her silhouette, the way her lips parted slightly as though she were lost in thought -- it drove him mad. He wanted her. To touch her, to claim her, to make her remember that no matter what mask she wore or whose name she answered to, she was his.
Logan's hands clenched into fists, digging crescents into his palms. He hated himself for yearning, but it was a hunger he couldn't starve. He had lost her once, humiliated and discarded, but the fire inside him refused to die. Watching her now, so close yet impossibly distant, made him burn.
She turned slightly, as though sensing eyes on her, and Logan stepped back into the dark, unseen. His heart pounded in his chest, his restraint fraying. She would never know how much he wanted her. She couldn't.
And yet, as she disappeared down the path, Logan whispered her name under his breath, a vow and a curse in one.
"Maya…"