Her Strings, Their Puppets
Yvonne Rossi had been feeling incredibly overwhelmed lately.
First, finals were approaching, and she hadn’t even started on several lab reports. Second, the tension around her had become so thick she felt like she could barely breathe.
She sighed, closed her notebook, and picked up her phone to scroll through the latest news. As soon as she turned off airplane mode, social media notifications flooded in with frantic ping-ping-pings:
"Sis! You haven’t visited me in ages 😢"
"Need a ride from campus tonight?"
"The garden roses are blooming—thought you’d love them. (Image)..."
Yvonne didn’t open a single message. Just seeing them made her irritable. She swiped them away and opened a recently downloaded game, starting the tutorial.
Halfway through, her character froze mid-screen. Then, a call flashed: Mr. Stuffy.
Sliding to answer, she mumbled:
"Yeah?"
On the other end, Sebastian Stone had just wrapped up a board meeting. His team moved like mice around a sleeping cat—even shuffling papers with exaggerated care. Hearing Yvonne’s drained tone, he tugged his tie impatiently before softening his voice:
"Should I pick you up tonight?"
He gazed out at the city skyline, imagining Yvonne bounding toward his car after class. An unconscious smile touched his lips—until her next words doused it:
"Won’t need you. No class tonight."
But I’ve got dinner plans.
She kept that part to herself. As Sebastian’s voice dropped into that familiar low warning—"Wear something warm, it’s chilly"—Yvonne stifled a laugh.
College was supposed to free her from parental nagging. Instead, she’d gotten Sebastian: a six-foot-two mother hen.
She bit back irritation until he paused, clearing his throat:
"Sorry. I still treat you like a kid sometimes."
"Exactly. You never see me as an adult."
Yvonne ended the five-minute call with a dry chuckle. 3:30 PM. Sebastian was likely still trapped in conference hell.
Sebastian’s Side
The call left him unsettled. Pinching his brow, he replayed her tone—sharp and dismissive. Truth was, he’d neverseen her as a child. Those reminders? Just his way of stitching shut the worry she carved into him daily.
Dinner with Aaron Lockwood
Yvonne met Aaron Lockwood at Lumière, an upscale bistro he’d invested in. The place mirrored him: vintage elegance without opulence, soothing as a candlelit bath.
Sliding into his white Lexus, she eyed him. "Thought you were swamped?"
Orchid-scented air drifted through cracked windows, lifting strands of Aaron’s tied-back hair. His gaze stayed on the road, voice honey-warm:
"Cleared my schedule for you."
A soft laugh. "You’ve grown up, Yvonne. Used to chase me yelling ‘big brother!’Now it’s all ‘Aaron Lockwood.’ So formal."
She took the hint. Turning, she drank in his refined features—moonlight-pale skin, gold-rimmed glasses—before purring:
"Aaron, dear brother~"
The childhood nickname soothed him. His knuckles whitened on the wheel.
"...What do you feel like eating?"
"Anything. But if they have lemon tart? Perfect."
Their shared favorite since childhood.
He parked smoothly, circling to open her door. Yvonne—still in her vintage high-waisted dress—shook her head at his offered hand.
"I’ve got it."
"Alright."
Aaron withdrew with a smile. Today’s outfit blended tailored trousers and a deconstructed blazer—chaos polished into art. Bystanders softened just looking at him.
But Yvonne’s gaze snagged on how those trousers hugged his backside. Her tongue flicked over her lip. Oh, he chose these on purpose.
