PROLOGUE

Aila sat by her third-floor window, gazing out over the suburban apartments she called home. Her eyes lingered on the distant figures moving about in the building across from hers. Quietly, she studied them-imagining their lives, their struggles, the sound of their voices. Did they have moments of joy? Did they laugh often?

Joy.

She tried to recall a joyous moment of her own. Nothing came to mind. Had her life always been this dull, this uneventful?

Her thoughts unraveled like loose thread until a familiar, grating voice cut through them like a siren.

"Aila!"

She barely flinched before turning to face Jace, her younger brother. Loud, obnoxious, and two years her junior, he had a knack for making his presence known-whether she wanted it or not. He was said to be the spitting image of their father. At least, that's what people claimed.

Aila wouldn't know. Her father had always been a faceless figure in her mind-a blur in the background of a past she could never quite grasp. Their mother never kept pictures of him, and Aila never dared to ask why. For ten years, she had lived in quiet curiosity, wondering what went so wrong.

She had asked about him once. Just once. But all she received in return was hostility and condescension, as if she were too young, too insignificant to deserve the truth.

That was a common theme in her household. As the middle child, she was an outcast-too old to act out , too young to be taken serious . But she refused to let that dim her light.

"What do you want, Jace?" I snapped.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe to inform her highness that Mom's been calling you for the past five minutes? But clearly, you're too busy staring out the window-at our naked neighbors."

"Naked?!" I scoffed. "I am not looking at-"

The words died in my throat.

A man. Stark naked. Shamelessly staring right back at me.

And, to make matters worse... his little friend seemed way too happy about our eye contact.

I bolted off the windowsill so fast, I shocked even myself. Which was saying something, considering I usually heaved for air after climbing a single flight of stairs. Overweight would be an understatement for my current condition. At 164 cm and 89 kg, I was far from a delicate damsel.

Even as I fled from the window, embarrassment still tingled at the edges of my thoughts. But soon, a more familiar insecurity took its place-one that had lingered in the back of my mind for years.

Maybe that was why no guy had ever approached me as a teenager.

I had always told myself it didn't matter-that romance wasn't something I cared about anyway. But now, nearing twenty, I was slowly coming to terms with a harsher reality. Maybe it had never been about my choices. Maybe I had simply never been wanted.

Before I could dwell on the thought, Jace's voice pulled me back.

"Are you coming, or should I tell Mom you've run off to start a new life with the neighbor?" he quipped.

I shot him a glare but didn't bother responding, following him out of the room instead.

And there she was-breathtaking, as always. My mother had the kind of beauty that turned heads without effort. Poised, elegant, effortlessly captivating. My polar opposite.

Well, except for our tempers. That, we shared. Stubbornness, too. But in every other way, we couldn't be more different.

I studied her for a moment before catching my reflection in the hallway mirror. No, I didn't take after her. I took after my aunt-the wealthy one. The one who had everything.

Funny how genetics worked.

And funnier still that I had thought of her that day-only to find out later that I'd be spending an entire year with her.

My mother had already made the decision. She was moving to a new country to expand her business, but she hadn't been able to secure my visa. That meant I'd be staying with my aunt upcountry until further notice.

I didn't protest. If anything, I was ecstatic.

I had always adored my aunt, and with her son being my age, I knew I wouldn't be completely alone. But more than that, this move meant freedom.

I love my mother, truly, but she is nothing if not controlling. At nineteen, I had only been allowed out with friends three times. Every other time? I went without asking, already knowing how she would react.

Maybe, for the first time in my life, I wouldn't have to ask at all.