Just as the front desk promised, the bed in their room was huge—draped in soft green sheets with a white-and-olive patterned comforter, fresh and cozy all at once.
Grace Barron sat down, pulling off the white headband she'd worn during her shower. Her silky hair cascaded freely down her shoulders.
Oakley Ponciano couldn't help but reach out and twirl a strand between her fingers. "Your hair's amazing. Have you never dyed or permed it?"
"I'm not really into styling," Grace said, casual as ever. "So, no."
"Good habit," Oakley said, glancing at her own ends, now resting before her eyes. She twisted and rubbed them with a sigh. "Not like me. Always dyeing or curling it… it's dry like straw."
Grace followed her gaze. "Doesn't look that bad to me."
Oakley waved dismissively. "That's just illusion—modern science at work."
"It's fine," Grace said reassuringly. "You're beautiful. Everything else is secondary. A pretty face could rock a shaved head and still outshine 99.9% of people."
Oakley leaned on her palm, smirking. "You're really good at this whole comforting thing."
Grace pressed a hand over her heart, solemn. "I meant it."
Oakley laughed. Who didn't love hearing sweet things? Her mood lifted immediately.
But that feeling didn't last long. As she opened her phone for a quick pre-bed scroll through apptalk, everything shattered like glass.
Someone had made yet another post about her—"Anyone know who Pinocchio really is? Drop a story." And disturbingly, someone had replied claiming to be an old classmate, spinning a wild tale about her being a heartbreaker, the kind who left a trail of ruined souls behind her.
Oakley let out a sharp laugh of disbelief. She hadn't even shown her face online. How could anyone know her? And how could she possibly break hearts when she hadn't dated anyone?
Her scalp tingled. "Unbelievable. Grace, tell me—why are some people just so mean? I didn't do anything to them, right? But they act like rabid dogs, chasing after me like I owe them blood. Do they have nothing better to do?"
She laughed, but it was the kind of laugh that teetered on the edge of helplessness.
Grace said nothing for a moment, then spoke calmly: "Close your eyes."
Oakley shook her head. "No, I want to see what other nonsense they've cooked up—"
Before she could finish, Grace leaned forward, her hand reaching through the space between them—warm, fragrant—and gently pressed it over Oakley's eyes. "Take a Deep breathe with me."
Her tone wasn't commanding. It didn't need to be. Something in her voice made it almost impossible to disobey.
Oakley froze, thumb hovering over her screen, then gave in and followed her instructions. A few deep breaths later, the fire inside her dulled, her thoughts cleared.
"Feel better?" Grace asked, withdrawing her hand once Oakley had settled.
"Much." Oakley sighed. "It's like the anger just fizzled out."
"Next time it builds up and you feel like snapping, try this. Anger burns you from the inside."
There was something inherently soothing about Grace, something that softened the hardest edges of the day.
Despite everything Oakley had gone through—reasons to distrust, to shield, to doubt—something about this woman chipped away at those walls. So quietly, she barely noticed.
Oakley scooted closer, pulling the blanket with her.
Pushing her hair behind one shoulder, exposing the long elegant line of her neck, she said, "Grace, can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
"What did you really think of me back in school?"
Grace paused. "Honestly? I thought you were… pretty cute."
Oakley tilted her head curiously. "Cute? How so? Everyone else seemed to think I was trouble."
Back then, they hadn't even been close. Most of what people heard about Oakley had been less than flattering. Surely Grace had heard some of it.
Could this woman really be that kind—or was she just saying what people wanted to hear?
But Grace remained matter-of-fact. "You were bold. Honest. And kind."
That was why she'd never let go of the idea of marrying her.
Oakley laughed so hard she almost choked. "Kind? Most people thought I was a menace."
Grace smirked. "You? A menace? I don't see it."
To her, Oakley was like a kitten—claws and all. No matter how fierce she acted, all she ever managed were soft, squeaky punches. A real predator could pin her in seconds.
Oakley pouted. "Why not a menace? Don't be fooled by the soft exterior. Deep down, I'm a fire-breathing dragon."
Grace had seen it—Oakley did have a temper. But that wasn't the same as being malicious.
"Having a temper doesn't make you devious. Actually, it's usually the opposite. People with real schemes? You'll rarely catch them angry. They're too busy hiding it." She chuckled. "You? In a royal court, you'd be dead in a day."
Oakley gasped. "Are you… insulting me or complimenting me right now?"
Grace shrugged. "Definitely complimenting. Why? You want to be more calculating?"
Oakley nodded without shame. "Honestly? Yeah."
Grace raised a brow. "Why?"
"Because then maybe I'd stop messing up so much."
Grace smiled, eyes gentle. "It wouldn't suit you. You wouldn't be happy."
Oakley pretty eyes rolled around and blinked. "Why?"
"Because you're not stupid, Oakley. If you really wanted to, you could become that kind of person. But you haven't. And there's only one reason for that—you don't want to be. Deep down, it goes against your nature. Forcing it would just make you miserable."
Everything she said made perfect sense.
Oakley knew it, too. She just hadn't been able to put it into words before. Grace made her feel… seen. Not exposed—but understood.
Strange. Even the random little trinkets on the TV cabinet across the room looked charming when Grace was around.
A yawn slipped from Grace. "It's getting late. I'm turning off the light."
"Go ahead." Oakley lay down first, blanket tucked to her neck.
Grace smoothed her side, then reached for the switch.
With a soft click, the light vanished. The room sank into darkness, interrupted only by faint glimmers from the window shifting across the walls.
After a while, the only sound was Oakley's steady breathing.
Just as Grace shifted to find a more comfortable position, she felt it—Oakley's long, slender leg hooking over her body.
Grace froze.
Carefully, she placed a hand on Oakley's shoulder to move her off. But instead, Oakley scooted in closer—pressing her entire body against Grace and wrapping her arms around her waist.
In the silence, their breathing mingled, warm air shared. Even the night began to feel thick with heat.
"…Oakley you…" Grace's voice was strained, her eyes shut tight, fists clenched. "Do you even know what you're doing right now?"
Of course Oakley didn't. She was already half-asleep.
She nestled deeper into Grace's arms with a quiet sigh.
What wicked thoughts could a kitten possibly have?
A kitten knows nothing—only that warmth should be embraced when found.
The following morning.
Grace woke before the alarm went off. She rubbed her temples lightly as she sat up, slipped out of bed, pushing all her hair behind her back. She unplugged her phone to check the time—ten minutes until the set wake-up.
She didn't disturb Oakley Ponciano. Instead, she quietly got out of bed and padded softly into the bathroom to wash up.
When she stepped out, freshly moisturized, she walked over and gently tapped Oakley's shoulder. "Time to get up."
Oakley stirred with a muffled hum, finally pushing off the covers. She sat up, hair a charming mess, covering a yawn with one hand. Her silk sleeve slid down her delicate arm as she stretched, still heavy-lidded with sleep.
This woman… always looked like she'd feel soft to the touch.
Grace glanced once, then quickly turned away, returning to her own quiet morning tasks.
Oakley yawned again, now fully awake. She had slept deeply last night—the deepest she'd slept since her world had come apart. A rare kind of rest.
After a moment of stillness, she swung her legs off the bed, slipped into her slippers, and headed to the bathroom.
From behind the closed door came the sounds of water running and brushes tapping.
When she emerged, she had transformed. A butter-yellow fishtail dress hugged her figure, the hem fluttering as she moved. Over it, she threw on a fitted black blazer. Polished and radiant.
Given the long drive and likely mediocre food options at the site, they stopped by a 24-hour KFC to grab breakfast before setting off.
Grace wasn't one for greasy fast food, especially fried items. so after nibbling a few chicken nuggets, she merely sipped on warm soy milk.
Oakley, however, dove in with childlike enthusiasm. Her parents had raised her with such strict standards, even snacks had to meet health regulations. It was only natural that she now clung to her belated rebellion—salty, crispy, guilt-ridden rebellion.
After nearly three hours of winding roads and bumps, they finally arrived at a parking lot near the cave site.
Once their tickets were scanned, Oakley understood why this place had gone viral.
The cave's interior was alive with natural stalactites—thick, clustered, and looming in every direction. Lit by multicolored lights, they glittered with surreal beauty. Every photo looked like a magazine spread—every tap of the camera made her feel like a pro.
The only downside: the ground was dim and uneven. Walking required care.
Every time they approached a tricky section, Grace would turn back and gently warn Oakley, saving her from more than a few stumbles. Watching her careful profile, Oakley felt sure—even without love, life with someone like Grace would be steady, kind, and never lacking.
Once they exited the cave, they met their driver again and headed to a nearby town for lunch.
But the wait was long. Too long.
After taking a number, they wandered the streets to pass the time.
Eventually, they stopped in front of a small fortune-telling shop with a faded sign reading "The Oracle."
Oakley nudged Grace's hand with the back of hers. "Ever had your fortune read?"
Grace shook her head. "Nah. I don't really believe in that stuff."
Oakley grinned. "I used to feel the same. Until once—I met this guy who told me everything about my life. Stuff that had happened. Stuff that hadn't. I didn't say a word and he nailed it."
Grace raised a brow. "Could've been psychology tricks."
Oakley chuckled. "Thought that too. But I gave him nothing—just my birth date and time. Not a single word more. Granted, someone that sharp? Rare."
Just then, an older man reclining in a black chair nearby called out lazily, "I'm that kind of fortune-teller."
They turned.
Oakley pointed to the shop's sign. "You run this place?"
The man nodded. "Sure do."
Grace and Oakley exchanged a glance.
"You're awfully confident," Grace said.
The man sipped his tea, leg crossed with flair. "Gotta be. Otherwise, how could I charge for it? Wanna test me?"
Grace smiled but didn't reply.
He leaned in. "Tell you what. I'll start by telling you something from your past. If I'm wrong, I'll just walk away. No charge. Sound fair?"
Grace had no intention of doing this—but the mood was light, and her curiosity sparked. "Fine."
The man stood, snapped open a paper fan, and gestured inside. "Right this way."
Inside, Grace sat across from him, accepting a small notebook and pen. She scribbled down her birth info and passed it back.
The man muttered, calculating with his fingers, then glanced up. "Forgive me if I'm blunt—but were you adopted?"
Oakley blinked, turning to look at Grace.
Grace remained composed, expression unreadable.
After a pause, she nodded slightly. "You're good."
The man grinned. "Well, no worries. Your best years are still ahead. And your love life? Let's just say you're gonna have a lot of admirers lining up to date you."
Oakley's eyes widened. "A lot? Like how many?"
"Enough to knock out a few with a single brick," he laughed.
That image—absurd, vivid—sent Grace into a quiet chuckle.
But Oakley felt… uneasy. Grace was that popular?
She'd thought she had time. That she could figure things out slowly. But now? Now she felt heat in her chest—urgency.
"Want me to keep going?" the man asked.
Grace waved him off. "Nah, that's enough. What do I owe you?"
Once they paid and stepped back into the golden sunlight, everything felt… enchanted. The street shimmered under the light.
They walked silently for a while.
"You haven't changed," Oakley said softly. "Still just as gorgeous. Still just as irresistible."
Grace looked at her. "He exaggerated."
Right then, two young women passed by, giggling and nudging each other, clearly trying to summon the courage to ask Grace for her number.
Oakley stopped walking.
She did want to understand Grace better. She wanted to take her time, to build trust.
But time suddenly felt very fragile.
Grace noticed her pause. "Hm?"
Oakley stared at the two girls, then down at her hands.
"I don't think I can afford to take my time anymore."
Grace raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Oakley reached out, gently playing with a lock of Grace's hair. Her voice was light, but her gaze steady. "Hesitation gets punished. So…"
Grace watched her hair fall through Oakley's fingers, then tilted her head to meet her eyes. A quiet grin crept across her lips.
"You're saying you want to be with me now… right?"
Oakley met her gaze—those deep, amber eyes that always felt like a secret about to be told—and froze.
God, even that tiny motion, even that smile—why did everything Grace did look so devastatingly beautiful?
She was hopelessly, utterly, already gone.