Driving Her Home

Adonis's POV

Rich chuckled as he glanced between us. "Okay... are we doing this now? The dramatic silent tension thing?"

I looked away from Maya just in time to hide the flush creeping up my neck. I'd been staring too long, and she hadn't even blinked. That had to mean something.

I kept my tone casual. "You're the one always going on about loyalty, Rich. I'm just trying to figure out what exactly it is you see in her."

Maya stiffened, and I hated the way my words sounded out loud—like she was a puzzle to be solved, not someone I couldn't stop thinking about.

Rich's easygoing smile faded a little. "Maybe it's not about what I see. Maybe it's about what you refuse to."

I shrugged, leaning back like I didn't care. "There are plenty of girls around here. Some even better looking. But it's like everyone's suddenly obsessed with Maya. You. Ariana. Half the household staff."

"I don't pick my friends based on who looks good in a sundress," Rich replied coolly. "You should know that by now."

His voice was calm, but firm. The way you speak when you're done explaining yourself.

"I'm just saying... it's hard not to notice when someone who used to be invisible suddenly has the spotlight," I said.

Maya shot me a glare, sharp as a blade. If looks could kill, I'd be six feet under.

Rich sighed. "I think you're confusing attention with value. Maya never needed a spotlight. She earned every bit of respect she has."

Touché.

Before I could say anything else, I turned to Maya. "You don't trust me. I get it. But you also don't know me."

She arched a brow, arms folding across her chest like a shield. "Didn't stop you from judging me every chance you got."

I swallowed hard.

"That was before," I muttered. "I'm not the same guy you slapped this morning."

"Really?" she shot back, voice sharp, eyes sharper. "Because it looks like the same smug face to me."

I should've laughed. I should've fired back with some cocky line like I always did. But I didn't.

Because I saw it. That flicker in her gaze—not anger. Not confidence. It was something else. Hurt. Hesitation. A crack in her armor.

She wasn't indifferent. And that did something to me.

I turned to Rich. "Let me take her home."

The words came out steadier than I expected. But beside me, I felt her flinch, barely noticeable unless you were waiting for it like I was.

She didn't speak right away, but the silence was its own rejection.

"I don't need a ride from someone who once called me a charity case," she said, her tone calm but cutting. "I'd rather limp back to our house with a twisted ankle and scraped dignity than owe you one more ounce of kindness you'll just use against me later. So, no thanks—I'll walk."

There was no wobble in her voice. But I could feel the weight behind it.

"Maya, I'm not trying to mess with you," I said, softer now. "I'm trying to... fix what I broke. Maybe even start over."

She turned her head slowly, eyes locked on mine like she was trying to read something hidden behind my expression.

"You? Start over? What happened to the Adonis who made it a hobby to make my life miserable?"

"He got tired of pretending," I replied quietly. "And he finally figured out what mattered."

Rich let out an exaggerated sigh and clapped his hands together.

"Alright, enough dramatics. Can we maybe act like Ariana didn't raise us to be slightly more civilized than this?"

He looked between the two of us like a tired referee stuck in a game that never ends.

I gave a small nod, unsure what else to offer.

Maya was quiet for a second too long before she said, "I'm not promising anything. But... I won't run screaming either."

I felt the smallest pull at the corner of my mouth. A start.

Progress.

But then she added, "And if I smell even a hint of a prank—one smirk, one joke, one fake romantic gesture—I swear I'll make you regret the day you learned my name."

I let out a laugh, the first real one of the day.

"You're terrifying. Do you know that?"

"Good," she said coolly. "You should be scared."

The tension broke—just a bit. Like a knot starting to loosen.

"What time should I drive you back?" I asked after a beat.

She didn't look at me.

She looked at Rich.

I clenched my jaw but stayed silent. Her loyalty to him shouldn't bother me—but it did.

"You should rest, Maya," Rich said gently. "Don't push it. The fields will still be there tomorrow."

"I know," she replied with a tired smile. "But I miss it. It's quiet out there... safe."

Her words weren't meant for me. But I listened anyway.

Finally, she turned to face me.

"I'll ride with you," she said. "But don't talk."

"Deal," I murmured, and for the first time all day, I felt the air return to my lungs.

Because maybe—just maybe—this wasn't the end of Maya Alva and me.

It might just be the beginning.

How did I become the villain in her story?

She gave everything for her family—worked herself to the bone since she was just a kid, with no complaints and no shortcuts. While I, with every privilege at my fingertips, only managed to add chaos to her life. I mocked what I couldn't understand. I hurt her to hide the way I felt. And now? Now I can barely meet her eyes without feeling like the biggest fool.

She deserved love. Real love. The kind that cherishes, not confuses. And if she'll let me, I'll be the one to give it to her. Not because I owe her—but because I want to. Because something inside me shifted the moment I saw her again, and I knew: there's no one else I want to protect more than her.

Maybe if I hadn't wasted all those years pretending not to care—if I had just smiled at her instead of teasing her—she wouldn't have looked so hurt that day she slapped me. Maybe my affection wouldn't have felt like cruelty to her. And maybe she would've already known what I'm only now learning to say.

"Okay, but make sure you take something if it gets worse," Rich said gently, pulling me out of my spiral.

I stayed quiet. Not just because I didn't know what to say, but because I didn't want to say the wrong thing again. I've hurt her enough with my careless words. From now on, I'd rather be silent than reckless.

I glanced at her again—how she winced slightly as she shifted in her seat, still trying to hide the pain. I wanted to carry it for her. All of it. Every twisted ankle, every past insult, every moment she thought she wasn't enough.

And Rich—my best friend—I would have to talk to him. Soon. Because while our friendship means the world to me, I can't lie to myself anymore. I want Maya. I need her to know she matters to someone, completely and without question. Even if it means begging Rich to let her go. Even if it breaks something between us.

God, if I had just made this choice sooner...

Maybe none of this would've gotten so complicated.

"Thanks, Rich. I should head home. Still have to prep dinner," Maya said softly, standing up.

Rich nodded and helped her outside. I followed them, staying just a few steps behind, afraid that if I got too close, she'd push me away again. Still, when we reached my car and I opened the passenger door, I made sure she didn't have to lift a finger. Rich carefully helped her in, and I watched with an aching kind of pride as she settled into the seat, not saying a word to me—but not refusing either.

I slipped behind the wheel and pulled the door shut, feeling the weight of her presence beside me like a heartbeat.

As we drove away from the Hernandez mansion, I caught a final glimpse of Rich standing by the gate, his hand raised in a wave. She waved back. I didn't. I couldn't.

The silence between us was heavy but not cold. She looked out the window, eyes lingering on the rows of sunflowers swaying gently in the breeze. The late afternoon sun spilled golden light across her face, and I caught myself staring again.

Halfway down the road, I hit the button to lower the roof of the car. Instantly, warm air rushed in, tousling her hair. She lifted her arms, closed her eyes, and tilted her face toward the sky with a soft, contented sigh.

She looked... ethereal.

With her eyes closed, I could finally admire her fully. The sun kissed her cheeks just enough to bring out the color in her skin. Her long lashes brushed against her cheeks, and her lips—God, those lips—parted slightly in peace. Not pain. Not fury. Peace.

And all I could think was: Don't ruin this moment, Adonis.

I should've spoken. Told her she looked beautiful. That I was sorry. That I didn't want this drive to end. But I kept my mouth shut. Because for the first time in a long time, it felt like she was letting me in—even just a little.

And I didn't want to risk losing that.

Not now. Not when I was finally ready to fight for her.