Thalia and Valentina are sworn enemies, their relationship defined by icy glares and cutting remarks. Everyone knows of their mutual disdain, but beneath the surface lies a tangled mess of near-kisses and stolen glances. When Thalia exposes the trut...
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This wasn't kidnapping.
Technically.
But it felt close.
When I got into the car, Thalia hadn't shared where we were going.
She just drove with one hand on the wheel like she was in some coming-of-age movie and I was her reluctant co-star that got roped into a road trip she didn't sign up for.
Every few seconds, she glanced at me with this stupid, smug smirk, like she knew I wanted to ask.
Which, to be clear, I wasn't about to do.
I was dying to throw myself out the window.
There's a difference.
"Staring is rude," I muttered, fixing my eyes on the road ahead.
She didn't look at me, but I can tell her smile widens.
Like she was happy that she finally said something.
"So is sitting in someone's car and acting like you don't secretly love being kidnapped by them."
"I'd rather get hit by the next eighteen–wheeler."
"Cute," she said, switching lanes smoothly. "But dramatic. Even for you, Monroe."
I slouched back in the seat, folding my arms as I was more determined not to enjoy the stupid soft leather or the dumb faint smell of vanilla in her nice car.
God, I hate how clean it is.
Or how it smelled, like something warm and familiar,
And how it was annoying, comforting.
"So... where are we going, kidnapper?"
"You'll see," she said, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. "Don't worry, it's not a murder site. Not unless you push me."
I rolled my eyes and turned my head to the window.
I watched as the houses and corner stores faded into some greener–trees, fields, and cracked asphalt roads no one cared enough to fix. Whatever this place was, it wasn't in town.
Ten more minutes of silence. Ten more minutes of pretending my pulse wasn't doing Olympic-level gymnastics just from sitting this close to her.
Finally, she turned onto a gravel path tucked behind a chain of trees. The car bumped over roots until we reached a wide clearing — the kind that made you feel like you'd stumbled into someone else's secret.
It was... beautiful.
Overgrown grass danced in the breeze, and Ivy clawed its way up the walls of the building that looked like it hadn't seen life in decades.
"What the hell is this place?" I asked, getting out of her car.
"My dad's old photo studio," she said, grabbing her camera bag from the back seat before getting out. "Well, used to be anyway. It's been empty for years."
