Even though Oakley Ponciano had already sensed something strange—something eerily coincidental that bordered on absurd—when the truth finally unfolded before her, it still hit her like a meteor falling from the sky.
She had wondered, fleetingly, if Grace Barron could actually be Miss pie. It was just too coincidental. Too precise. The kind of coincidence that felt like a cosmic joke.
And yet, when the truth stood right before her eyes, her world still buckled.
Like a little sailboat, gliding peacefully, suddenly caught by a monstrous wave. The surface of her mind burst into chaos.
Or like enjoying a peaceful countryside picnic—only for the earth to suddenly tremble and the sky to split open.
Oakley's thoughts were now a shattered glass mosaic—fragmented, dazzling, incomprehensible. Her emotions twisted and lurched, chaotic and surreal.
After what felt like an eternity of internal buffering, she bent to retrieve her keycard. As she rose, she turned to Grace with wide, disbelieving eyes.
"So… you're... you're pie? You're Miss pie?"
Grace gave a light, relaxed smile, sauntering forward a few steps with lazy elegance. She tilted her head and extended a hand.
"That's right. I'm Miss pie. Pleasure to formally meet. Shake on it?"
She found it amusing how she'd known Oakley yet never truly knew her.
Oakley forced a controlled smile, pressing down her inner turmoil, and extended her hand reluctantly, "Yeah, who would have thought we'd bump into each other like this."
Grace's fingers wrapped around hers, warm and steady. "Maybe it's destiny. Fate, perhaps?"
Oakley's smile was barely held together, squeezed out between clenched teeth.
She swore—swore—the universe must've been drunk. Blackout drunk. There was no other explanation for this kind of cosmic absurdity.
After the handshake, Grace checked the time and said with effortless ease, "It's almost noon. Time for lunch. Let's drop off our things first, then head out?"
Oakley gave her a quick once-over. "Sure."
Grace stepped into her room, and Oakley entered hers.
The door swung open to reveal a verdant, vibrant space, like stepping into a hand-painted dream of nature. Lush green vines framed the walls, and warm light poured in through broad windows. It looked even better than the online photos. Which, frankly, felt like a miracle.
Just like she never would've imagined that Miss pie and Grace Barron could be—were—the same person.
Every part of this trip had been one surprise after another. And honestly? It was starting to get interesting.
As Grace placed her luggage beside the cabinet, she heard a soft knock at the door.
She looked up to see Oakley standing there, arms folded gently around her waist, graceful as a willow.
"So," Oakley said lightly, "what are we eating?"
Grace unlocked her phone and gave her a half-smile. "Come in. Let's look together."
Oakley stepped in and gently closed the door behind her. She ran a hand through her hair and settled onto the couch, leaving half a meter between them—subtle, deliberate distance. She adjusted her hair so it fell behind her shoulder, polished and precise.
Grace glanced sideways and opened her restaurant app. "You don't seem too thrilled to find out I'm Miss pie, Miss Ponciano."
Thrilled? Not thrilled?
What kind of vocabulary could possibly capture what she was feeling right now?
Oakley's emotions were far too complicated to be summarized by simple words. She felt completely disoriented.
On one hand, she'd been absolutely convinced that Grace Barron was, without a doubt, a certified manipulator.
On the other, she'd always believed Miss pie—deep sea pie, from Let's Fight—was sweet, sincere, maybe even the kindest person she'd ever exchanged words with online.
So what the hell was Grace Barron?
Sure, she'd praised herself anonymously through the account, but couldn't that have been part of an elaborate ploy? A tactic to seem rational and upright?
Oakley didn't know anymore. After two years of nonstop bad luck—betrayed by a "graceful" colleague, stabbed in the back by a best friend—she'd become hypervigilant. Shadowed. She no longer trusted easily. No longer let herself be naive.
Which led her to one firm conclusion:
No matter how charming or kind Grace might seem, she couldn't be trusted. Not yet. Not until Oakley truly understood who she was. This woman was far too skilled at winning hearts to take anything she said at face value.
But none of that showed on her face.
With a coy tilt of her head and a smile straight from a playbook, Oakley replied,
"Oh come on, it's not that deep. I was just... surprised, that's all. No need to label it something serious like 'happy' or 'unhappy,' right?"
Undeniably, Oakley was strikingly beautiful, with captivating amber eyes and lush, tempting lips. Her beauty was vivid and unfiltered, her presence electric. Those amber eyes looked like they held secrets and traps, glittering with mischief. Her full lips glistened as if painted with temptation itself. No wonder half the guys in school had joined her unofficial fan club.
Who could resist her?
Grace stared at her a moment, then looked away, massaging her temple with her fingers.
"All right," she said gently. "Let's pick something to eat."
"Pick something, huh…" Oakley glanced down at a fresh red scratch on her finger, then opened the app. "So many options, I don't even know where to begin."
Grace nodded. "Okay, let me help. How about... pickled radish duck stew, grilled fish, or braised beef hot pot?"
Oakley froze.
All of those… were her favorites.
She had mentioned them before—but only once, buried in some conversation weeks ago. Even she barely remembered saying it.
And yet Grace had not only remembered—she'd filed them away, neatly.
Oakley blinked, dazed.
"Then... I guess... pickled radish duck stew?"
Grace stood up instantly. "Perfect. Let's go."
Oakley blinked. "Wait—don't you want to look up which place has it?"
Grace shook her head, firm and confident. "No need. I checked before coming. There's one nearby with good reviews and highly rated."
She wasn't lying. Before the trip, Grace had filtered local restaurants based on Oakley's preferences—just in case.
If Oakley had picked something else, she'd have recalibrated. But for pickled radish duck stew, there was only one real option nearby.
Oakley was stunned.
This woman... she was thorough.
And the scariest part was—even as Oakley's inner alarms screamed for caution, she couldn't help but feel a ripple of... warmth.
After settling the meal plan, the two stepped out.
Ravenwood was bathed in flawless weather.
Sunlight poured across the landscape. Wisps of sheer cloud wandered across a vast azure sky, like brushstrokes on a perfect canvas. The air was crisp, pure, almost unreal in its serenity.
But Oakley, radiant and impossible, still outshone it all.
She squinted in the sunlight, a simple motion that somehow made her look lazy and languid, sensual and untouchable. Like a mermaid basking in the shallows.
"Should we grab that cab?" Oakley pointed across the street.
Grace glanced that way. "Hang on."
"Hm?" Oakley raised an eyebrow.
Grace nodded toward a small convenience shop behind them. "I want to pick something up first."
"Okay," Oakley nodded. "Be quick."
A few minutes later, Grace returned with two bottles of water. She handed one over.
"Thirsty?"
"Thanks." Oakley took it, surprised but saying nothing.
Then Grace pulled out a small box. She opened it and looked at Oakley.
"Left hand, please."
"Huh?" Oakley blinked.
Grace sighed and pointed. "That cut on your finger. Are you just going to leave it exposed?"
Oakley finally noticed the box—a fresh set of Band-Aids.
She stared.
Did Grace... go buy these just because she'd noticed the cut?
"Oh…" Oakley mumbled, and extended her hand.
Grace tore one open and carefully wrapped it around her finger, smoothing each corner with practiced gentleness.
The sunlight caught in her lashes and hair, bathing her in a soft, glowing aura. She looked almost impossibly serene. Focused. Beautiful.
Oakley didn't want to admit it, but she felt her heart shift. A little.
She watched her for a long second, then murmured, "are you always this attentive to everyone?"
Grace raised an eyebrow, smiling faintly. "Why ask?"
Oakley twirled a lock of hair. "I mean—so considerate, so gentle. You must have admirers lined up around the block."
Grace tilted her head. "Where'd that come from?"
Oakley shrugged. "Just a sudden thought."
Grace smiled, smoothed the Band-Aid with one last press, and met her eyes. Her voice dipped, soft but teasing.
"So... Miss Ponciano—did your heart just skip a beat?"