Prologue
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Content / Trigger Warnings
This book contains themes and content that may be sensitive for some readers, including:
Cancer diagnosis and ongoing cancer treatment of a parent; Illness of a loved one and medical discussions/hospital scenes; Grief and anticipatory grief; Emotional distress and panic/anxiety themes; Family hardship and emotional trauma; Love triangle / complicated romantic relationships/Infidelity (emotional and physical cheating themes); Heartbreak and breakup scenes; Abandonment and commitment issues; Jealousy and possessive behavior; Strong emotional conflict; Open-door sexual content and mature themes
This story contains emotionally messy characters making imperfect choices while navigating love, family, loss, and growing up. Please read with care and prioritize your well-being.
Noah
At sixteen, Olivia Adams was already a problem.
Not because she was dramatic, though she certainly had her moments. And not even because she occasionally treated the rules like they were written specifically for other people. It was mostly because she had this uncanny talent for causing absolute chaos, only to blink those wide, innocent eyes like she had no earthly idea how the fire started. But the real issue? The actual, terrifying problem? In a room packed wall-to-wall with people, Olivia always managed to find me.
Tonight, the chaos was anchored at Jace Turner’s house. His parents had gone away for the weekend, which in teenage boy language apparently meant invite anyone with a pulse and pray the foundation survived the night. The bass from the speakers was heavy enough to rattle the cheap drywall, and someone was already yelling a slurred war cry in the living room. Across the hall, Travis Reed had climbed onto a dining chair, trying to dunk a mini basketball into a plastic toy hoop while Abbey Collins stood nearby, filming the inevitable crash and laughing so hard she was crying. In the far corner, Mason was getting absolutely destroyed at beer pong by Parker Lawson, taking the loss so personally you'd think his entire future depended on a plastic cup.
And me? I was standing against the kitchen counter, trying to keep my drink out of the hands of the local alcohol thieves. Keyword: trying.
“Is that for me?”
I looked down. Olivia was staring up at me, practically vibrating with energy. Long dark waves tumbled over her shoulders, framing big green eyes that were far too sharp for her own good. She was wearing a tiny black top and an equally tiny white skirt, looking entirely too small to be causing this much of a headache.
Tiny person. Huge problem.
“No,” I said, keeping my voice flat.
Her eyebrows lifted, a challenge sparking in her eyes. “No?”
“No.”
She stared at me, testing my resolve, and I stared right back, refusing to budge. After a beat, her eyes narrowed just a fraction. *Shit.* Olivia hated being told no. Actually, hate wasn't even strong enough. If you told Olivia Adams she couldn't have something, it became her immediate, life-defining mission to prove you wrong.
She pouted, her lower lip turning out in a practiced display of misery. “You don’t love me anymore.”
I didn't buy it for a second. “You stole twenty dollars out of my wallet last week.”
“You got it back,” she countered easily.
“You gave me back seventeen.”
She shrugged, not looking the least bit guilty. “Inflation.”
A laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it—a genuine, amused sound that I immediately regretted. *Damn it.* That was the most frustrating thing about her. You could walk into a room completely irritated, and within two minutes, she’d have you smiling. You could be genuinely pissed at her for something, and five seconds later, she’d make you forget why you were even mad in the first place.
She took a slow step toward me. Then another. Then one more, until she was standing directly in front of me, entirely too close. I could smell whatever sweet, vanilla perfume she was wearing over the stale scent of party beer.
“Please?” she asked, softening her voice into something dangerously sweet.
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
She went quiet, studying me for a split second. Then, before my brain could register the movement, her hand shot out and snatched the cup clean out of my grip.
“Olivia!”
She skipped back a half-step, grinning like a criminal as she took a giant sip. Absolute menace.
“You’re unbelievable,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“No,” she corrected around the rim of the cup, her eyes dancing. “I’m adorable.”
I rolled my eyes, the response leaving my mouth on pure autopilot. “Obviously.”
The word hung in the air. Olivia blinked. I blinked. *Shit.*
Slowly, that familiar smile spread across her face. Not just any smile, but *that* smile. The one that meant she had caught me slipping. The one that meant she knew she had a piece of information she wasn't supposed to have, and I was thoroughly screwed.
“Obviously?” she repeated, her voice dripping with amusement.
I looked away immediately, clearing my throat and trying to play it cool. “Nope. Didn't say it.”
“Noah.”
“Nope.”
She let out a laugh, and the sound hit me straight in the chest. I hated that I noticed. I hated that I could differentiate between her laughs—the polite, slightly detached one she used around people she didn't care about, and the real, uninhibited one that slipped out when she genuinely forgot to hold it back. Honestly, I hated that I knew her well enough to tell the difference at all.
Because Olivia had this way of making herself at home wherever she went. Case in point: five seconds later, she hopped right up onto the kitchen counter beside me, swinging her legs like she paid the mortgage on the place. Of course she did.
Before I could tell her to get down, Mason strolled into the kitchen. He stopped short, his eyes scanning the scene. He looked at Olivia, looked at me, and then glanced back at her.
“…why are you on the counter?”
Olivia shrugged, completely unbothered. “I’m short.”
Mason sighed, a heavy, long-suffering sound that carried the weight of someone who had been dealing with her nonsense since childhood. Which, to be fair, he basically had. He walked over and, without even thinking about it, reached out and adjusted the thin strap of her top where it had slipped down her shoulder. It was an automatic, brotherly gesture, done with zero hesitation.
Olivia offered him a bright, easy smile.
Suddenly, something tight and ugly twisted in my chest. It was a sharp, bitter knot of friction that I didn't recognize, and I didn't like it. At all.
Then, her eyes flicked back to me. Really looked at me. That slow, dangerous smile crept back onto her lips, her eyes shining with pure mischief.
“You know something?” she asked, leaning in close. Too close.
“What?” I asked, my voice a little rougher than intended.
“You’re my favorite Hayes.”
From the side, Mason gasped dramatically, tossing his hands up. “Excuse me? I am right here!”
Olivia burst out laughing, the sound ringing through the noisy kitchen. But I couldn't join in. My chest felt tight, the air suddenly thick and hard to pull into my lungs. My focus had narrowed entirely to her, my mind stumbling over a thought that a sixteen-year-old kid had absolutely no business having about his brother's best friend.
And standing there against the counter in Jace Turner’s crowded, chaotic kitchen, a realization washed over me that should have terrified me to my core.
Olivia Adams was going to absolutely ruin me someday.
And the worst part? Looking at her, I already knew I was probably going to let her do it.
