I take my hurt and bury it so deep, sometimes even I forget it’s there.
Blinking hard, I force the burn behind my eyes to disappear.
Well, this is just great.
Freshman year hasn’t even started yet, and everything’s already falling apart. And somehow… I know this is just the beginning.
Later that day, I drive to Hayes’s house for dinner and our horror movie night.
Since classes haven’t started yet, he’s still crashing at his parents’ place. He has a brand-new posh apartment near the university—of course he does, he’s loaded—but nothing compares to the Vassilios family estate in Laguna Hills.
It’s a literal mansion, complete with its own orchard, vineyard, sprawling pool, hot tub, tennis courts, horse stables, a personal chef, and a full-time housekeeper. If I were him, I wouldn’t be in a rush to trade all that for paper-thin walls and flickering fluorescent lights either.
Wind cuts through the open windows of my car, whipping hair into my eyes as I race through the fancy, secluded hills where Hayes lives. I’ve always had a thing for speed. I figure adrenaline is probably cheaper than therapy, even if my last two speeding tickets say otherwise.
My tires shriek dramatically as I take the corner a little too fast and turn into his gated community. Jerome, the guard who’s manned the entrance at Laguna Hills Bluffs since I was a kid, waves me through with a smile, and I keep cruising until I reach Hayes’s private drive.
I punch in the code at the electric gate and head down the long, tree-lined path, watching as the fullsplendor of the Vassilios estate unfurls around me. No matter how many times I’ve been here, I still never get used to its beauty.
On either side of me, the manicured gardens blur past—blood-red roses, inky clusters of dark hellebores, and near-black calla lilies tossing in the breeze. Rows of silver-green olive and pomegranate trees stretch toward the hills, their branches heavy with ripening fruit, before giving way to terraced vineyards that have quietly produced award-winning wine for decades.
Then come the meadows and—my favorite part of all—the stables. That’s where Hayes’s father keeps his prized racing horses.
Normally, I’d look for them grazing lazily in the late afternoon sun. Dozens of sleek, pedigreed racers with long, fancy names and plenty of attitude. I love all the horses, but two especially have my whole heart.
There’s Steopethe, my first love, the coppery old gelding I first learned to ride on. Patient, kind, always nosing around for sugar cubes tucked in my hoodie.
And my latest obsession, Phaethon, the striking dapple-gray stallion Hayes’s father brought home last spring. He’s all restless energy and untamed beauty with a past full of first-place trophies and photo finishes. I only recently started working with him in the ring but fell for him instantly.
But today, the paddock is empty. All the horses are gone. Hayes’s father flies them to Greece every summer when the family retreats to their ancestral estate in Athens.
The Vassilios family owns one of the largest shipping empires in Europe, and every year they return to manage business interests and reconnect with family and friends overseas.
This year, for the first time, Hayes came back a few weeks early ahead of his parents to start football training. I know he misses them, even if he doesn’t talk much about it. I do too—especially his mom. And I really miss the horses. It’s been a long, quiet summer without them.
After the stables, I drive by the archery fields, where Hayes and his father often spend afternoons sinking bullseyes, perfecting their aim one ten-ring at a time. Both Vassilios men are top-ranked competitive archers. Some of my favorite memories are of lounging in a lawn chair under the warm California sun, watching them land shot after shot with their custom-fitted bows while Hayes’s father spun Greek mythology stories like epic campfire tales.
Aidan Vassilios is not a warm man—busy, curt, rarely smiling—but when he talks about his Greek heritage, something shifts. His voice softens. His eyes glow with pride. From him, I’ve learned more about ancient Greece and its great legends than I ever did in AP World History.
He’s told us tales of champion archers, the gods Artemis and Apollo, yes, but also of ancient beings like the Fates, who wove destinies both glorious and cruel, and the Sirens, whose deadly songs lured sailors to their deaths. The Siren stories always felt like theywere especially for me. He knows how much I love to sing.
And then, of course, there was Heracles, also known as Hercules, the golden hero of Olympus. Hayes’s father could talk about Hercules for hours, detailing each of the Twelve Labors with the reverence of a priest retelling scripture.
I wince.
Shit.
Now I’m thinking about that damn play again and my disastrous morning.
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel as I blow past the tennis and basketball courts until I finally arrive at the Vassilios family’s mega-mansion.
From the outside, it looks like an old-world European castle that lost its way and somehow ended up in Southern California. Hayes’s mother hired the most famous architect in all of Greece to design it. Grand Doric columns line the façade, and gorgeous terracotta tiles—imported from the family’s favorite island, Santorini—crown the roof in warm, sunburnt hues. It probably cost more than my mom makes all year just to ship those tiles halfway around the world.
I pull into the circular driveway and park directly across from the sweeping courtyard fountain, grabbing my purse and the snacks I brought for movie night. Two king-size chocolate bars and an extra-large box of sugar cookies for me, plus a little container of boring dried mangoes for Hayes. He claims everything I like is ‘too sweet for human consumption.’He’s a weird eater, as far as I’m concerned, but I try to accommodate.
Just as I head for the front door, a low, guttural bark cuts through the warm afternoon air. I whirl around—and freeze.
Standing a few feet away, as if appearing out of thin air, is the most majestic creature I’ve ever seen. Enormous, almost otherworldly, like some mythical wolf-dog hybrid. The animal’s coat is obsidian-dark, shimmering with an unnatural sheen like moonlight rippling across still water.
