A Girl Could Dream

Maya's POV

Maya's POV

"Maya, your sexy body isn't exactly built for combat," Adonis said with a crooked grin, his voice low and teasing. "But don't worry… tonight, you won't need to use force on me. I think all you'll need are those sweet lips and that gentle touch of yours."

He winked, and I swear, my soul did a somersault.

I turned my head quickly, trying to hide the blush crawling up my neck. But I could feel it. My cheeks were warm, my heart drumming hard against my chest, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw it—his grin, cocky and amused, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

God, I hated that grin.

And worse—I hated that it still affected me. That he still affected me.

"I don't like it when you flirt with me," I mumbled under my breath, barely loud enough to be heard. "Because I'm afraid my heart might betray me again."

He didn't hear me—or maybe he did and pretended not to.

"So… what time should I take you home?" he asked, as if the entire world was just a question and I was the answer he'd been waiting for.

I panicked. I looked toward Rich, hoping—praying—he would step in, offer a ride, save me from this moment. But he didn't. He just smiled faintly and looked away.

That's when it hit me.

He wanted this.

He was letting this happen.

Maybe he believed Adonis deserved a second chance. Maybe he was tired of protecting me from someone I clearly wasn't over. Either way, it was happening.

And I wasn't ready.

Because the idea of being friends with Adonis—of letting him close again—wasn't simple. It stirred something deeper. A hurricane of emotions I had buried for so long. Fear. Longing. Hope. Anger. Desire.

What if he breaks my heart again? What if this is all a joke? What if Cassandra Montemayor really is the girl his mother wants for him, and I'm just a small-town girl caught in a fleeting fantasy?

I clenched my fists, my pulse quickening.

"You should go home now, Maya," Rich said softly, sensing the tension. "Your ankle needs rest. You're working tomorrow, remember? But if you're still in pain, I'll tell Mom about your injury."

"No," I said quickly, needing to stay in control. "I'll be fine. I miss harvesting sunflowers… and you know I'm saving for college."

I caught a flicker of something shift in Adonis's expression. He looked at me differently—not with amusement, but something else. Something unreadable. His jaw tightened, and his gaze lingered just a second too long.

Was it pity?

Admiration?

Regret?

I didn't want to know. I wasn't ready to find out.

"Just take a painkiller if it gets too bad," Rich said gently, and I gave him a small smile.

He was so kind. So steady. The kind of man I should love.

But I didn't.

And that truth stung more than I wanted to admit.

Because my stupid heart… still looked for Adonis in every room. Still reacted to his nearness like a flame aching for oxygen. I knew Rich would protect me. That he could love me. But with Adonis, it was different—dangerous, consuming, like he could burn me alive and I'd still reach for him.

"If I had a choice," I whispered in my mind, "I'd choose Rich."

But my heart had never been logical. And somehow, Adonis had always owned pieces of it—pieces I never managed to take back.

"Thank you, Rich," I said quietly. "I should head home. I need to prepare dinner."

I stood, but winced slightly as pain shot up my leg. Rich was at my side instantly, supporting me with care. He walked me outside, toward the waiting car.

Adonis stood beside the passenger door, watching us. His arms were crossed, but his eyes… they weren't smirking anymore.

They were intense. Quietly serious.

Rich helped me into the seat, then turned to Adonis. "Take care of her," he said firmly.

"I will," Adonis replied, his voice deeper. Almost solemn.

The door closed. The engine started.

And as we drove off, I stared out the window, trying to calm the storm in my chest.

Because I knew I was in trouble.

And this time… there might be no way out without getting hurt.

Adonis opened the car door with quiet confidence, and Rich helped me settle into the front seat, his hands careful but warm. I glanced at him one last time, and he gave me a look that said everything without words—a look that told me he trusted me, trusted this moment.

I waved at him through the open window as he gently closed the door. Then Adonis climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine, and just like that, we left the Hernandez Mansion behind.

I stared out the window as we passed the flower-lined driveway, watching the colors blur like watercolors in motion. The figure of Rich grew smaller in the rearview mirror, and a strange fluttering sensation bloomed in my chest.

Adonis didn't say a word for a while.

Just silence. And the occasional stolen glance.

Then, without warning, he reached up and pressed a button. The roof of the convertible began to lower with a soft mechanical whir, opening us up to the dusky gold of the late afternoon sky.

The wind rushed in—cool and delicious against my skin. I closed my eyes, tipped my head back, and stretched my arms out as if I could embrace the entire sky. The breeze kissed my face, and I couldn't help the small laugh that slipped from my lips. For a brief second, I felt free. Weightless.

When I opened my eyes again, I caught him watching me.

Not just glancing. Watching.

His eyes were soft, almost reverent.

"Maya," he said quietly, his voice deeper than usual, "thank you for letting me take you home. You didn't have to. But you did. And it means more to me than you know."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. My chest tightened as I waited for whatever came next.

"I know you have your doubts," he continued. "And I deserve every single one of them. I've been a jerk to you for years… hurt you with my words, my pride, my silence. If I could go back and erase every scar I left on you, I would. In a heartbeat."

His words settled into the air between us like drops of rain on dry earth. Slow. Heavy. Healing.

"I'm not expecting you to forgive me tonight," he added. "But I needed you to know I'm sorry. And I hope… maybe someday, you'll give me the chance to show you who I really am."

I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening. His sincerity was disarming. And it was the first time he'd ever spoken to me without arrogance, without sarcasm—just raw, quiet honesty.

And then, with a voice laced in memory, he whispered, "Aya… what happened last year—the stupid bet, the kiss—it was wrong. I know that. But I need you to believe me when I say… the kiss was real. That kiss haunted me. It still does."

He turned slightly, his eyes meeting mine. "It was the best kiss of my life. And I've thought about it every day since. I wanted you then… and I still want you now."

Hearing him call me Aya again sent tremors through my chest. That one word felt like it reached into my soul and pulled out everything I had buried.

My heart stammered wildly in its cage.

I wanted to tell him that the kiss haunted me, too. That I had replayed it in the dark, in silence, in longing. But I couldn't trust my voice, so I stayed quiet, gripping the fabric of my dress in my lap to keep myself grounded.

"I know I've shocked you," he said, chuckling lightly. "Maybe you think I'm still playing games. Maybe you still hate me. But I'm not giving up on this. On you. Not now. Not ever."

His voice wasn't pleading—it was steady. Convincing.

We passed through familiar fields, and soon the vastness of the Monleon estate came into view—pineapples stretching to the horizon, and to the right, the gentle swaying of banana trees catching the light like silk.

It was beautiful.

But it also reminded me of the world he came from—and the world I didn't.

He was born into wealth, legacy, prestige.

I was born in the soil. In sunburnt mornings and worn shoes.

How could we ever belong in the same story?

Still, when I turned to look at him again, his gaze was fixed on me—and it was not one of superiority or pity.

It was full of wonder. Admiration. Something aching and unspoken.

"Maya…" he said softly, almost breaking me, "please. Let me get to know you again. Not as your past… but as someone who wants to be part of your future. If, in the end, you still don't want me, I promise I'll walk away."

He didn't beg.

But I felt the gravity of his heart in every syllable.

And I broke.

Not completely.

But enough.

I didn't speak. I didn't trust myself to. But slowly, I nodded.

Just once.

And his entire face lit up like dawn breaking through a storm.

That smile—God, that smile—was everything.

It was not the smile of a boy who always got what he wanted.

It was the smile of a man who was finally willing to fight for what he almost lost.

And as the wind tangled through my hair and his hand brushed lightly against the gearshift, resting close—just close enough—I realized…

I might be falling again.

But this time, maybe I wouldn't fall alone.