Pretty Lies, Tangled Hearts

Wrong place, right time

Lina adjusted the Reyes’ Kitchen backpack strap, the insulated weight digging into her shoulder. Sweat beaded along her forehead despite the light breeze.

“Another day, another gated hill,” she muttered, glancing at the order slip. “Unit 47, Cedar Lane. Please don’t make me explain the food again.”

The estate gates rose ahead—black iron framed by towering stone pillars. Beyond them stretched manicured lawns and houses that probably cost more than her entire life.

She kept walking, sneakers quiet against the pristine sidewalk, the faint scent of rosemary chicken leaking from the thermal carrier at her side.

Then she heard it.

A low, throaty engine growl—getting louder. Faster.

Lina frowned. “What the…?”

The sound sharpened into a roar.

A black motorcycle tore around the corner—sleek, matte, moving far too fast for the narrow residential street.

Her eyes widened.

The bike swerved hard at the last second.

Tires screeched.

The motorcycle tipped—then slammed onto its side with a metallic crunch.

The rider rolled free, landing in a crouch.

Lina gasped, stumbling back.

The rider yanked off his helmet.

Ethan.

Dark hair, wind-tossed. Jaw tight. Eyes already scanning the street behind him—not panicked… calculating.

Like he expected trouble—like he already knew how it would arrive.

His gaze snapped to her.

Frozen.

“Move,” he said, low and sharp. “Now.”

“I—I—”

The sound of engines cut her off. Not one. Several.

Ethan muttered under his breath, “Shit.”

Before Lina could react, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her behind a tall hedge bordering the nearest driveway.

They hit the ground in a tangled mess, Ethan half-covering her as he pressed them flat against the dirt.

“Quiet,” he murmured near her ear. “They’re looking for me.”

Lina’s pulse thundered. She could feel his heartbeat through his jacket—fast, steady… controlled.

Nothing like the chaos inside her.

“Who’s they?” she whispered.

Ethan didn’t answer.

He only tilted his head, listening.

Her fingers pressed into the dirt. “Did you do something?”

Still nothing.

A small frown pulled at her brows. Seriously?

She leaned in just a little, lowering her voice. “Are they police?”

He let out a quiet breath, like the question barely mattered.

“People who don’t like being ignored,” he said.

Lina blinked at that.

That wasn’t an answer. Not even close.

She shook her head under her breath. “Wow. Helpful.”

For a second, she thought he’d ignore that too.

But something shifted—subtly.

Like he’d heard her… just chose not to say anything about it.

Two black SUVs rolled slowly past the gate entrance—windows tinted, engines idling like predators stalking their prey.

One door opened.

A man in a dark suit stepped out, scanning the quiet street.

“Young master!” the man called sharply. “Your father said the games are over. Come out now.”

Another guard crouched beside the fallen motorcycle.

“Bike’s his,” he muttered. “He’s close.”

The first man straightened, voice hardening.

“Your father wants you home today. Don’t make us drag you back.”

Beside her, Ethan didn’t move.

But Lina felt it—the shift.

A tightening.

His fingers flexed once against the ground, like he was holding something back.

Not fear. Something sharper.

Lina slowly lifted her head, peering through the hedge.

Black SUVs.

Men in suits.

The way they searched—methodical, confident.

Like they already owned the outcome.

Her stomach twisted.

Oh great.

She had just collided with the exact kind of rich trouble she spent her life avoiding.

Beside her, Ethan exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Family security,” he muttered. “My father’s version of a welcome home.”

Lina’s eyes flicked to him.

“You’re…” she hesitated, voice low, uncertain, “the guy from the club.”

Ethan didn’t look at her.

He kept watching the guards through the leaves.

“Observant,” he said dryly.

A hint of a smirk touched his voice—but his eyes stayed cold.

The men lingered a moment longer, scanning the street.

Then they climbed back into the SUVs.

Engines revved.

The vehicles rolled away—unhurried.

Like they weren’t done. Like they knew they’d find him again.

Ethan stayed still a second longer.

Then exhaled.

The tension in his shoulders eased—but not completely.

Lina released a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

This wasn’t just money.

This was power—the kind that followed you, watched you… dragged you back when you tried to walk away.

And somehow… she was still here.

Too close. Way too close.

She became suddenly aware of him.

His chest pressed lightly against her side. His breath was warm against her neck.

Leather and faint cologne mixed with the scent of freshly cut grass.

Her grip tightened on nothing, fingers curling into the dirt.

Why wasn’t she moving? She should be moving.

Ethan pushed himself up first, brushing dirt off his jacket like none of this mattered.

“Still breathing?” he asked.

Lina nodded, voice small. “Yeah. You?”

He glanced toward the fallen bike. “I’ll manage.”

He walked over and righted the motorcycle in one smooth motion, muscles shifting beneath the leather jacket.

Lina pushed herself to her feet, clutching the thermal bag like a shield.

“You almost killed me.”

His eyes flicked to her—sharp, unapologetic.

“Almost is the difference between alive and not.” A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. “You’re welcome.”

She huffed despite herself. “Some welcome.”

His gaze drifted over her—apron, delivery backpack, wide eyes.

“Delivery girl,” he said, like he’d already decided that was what she was.

“Something like that,” Lina shot back, lifting her chin.

Distant sirens wailed somewhere in the neighborhood.

Ethan cursed under his breath, glancing down the road.

“I need to move.” His eyes cut back to her. “You should too. They’ll circle back.”

Lina tightened her grip on the thermal bag.

“I have a delivery. People are waiting.”

He arched a brow, studying her like she’d just said something mildly insane.

“You’re worried about cold food,” he said, voice low, edged with something unreadable, “while I’m being hunted?”

She lifted her chin, stubborn. “Some of us have jobs.”

A real smile flickered across his face—small, sharp, almost surprised.

“Fair.”

He steadied the bike and swung a leg over the seat.

“Get on.”

Lina blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” He jerked his head toward the back seat.

Then, quieter—almost like a challenge.

“Unless you scare easy.”

Her brows pulled together.

“I don’t scare easy,” she started then stopped.

This was a bad idea.

She knew it was.

…so why wasn’t she saying no?

The sirens grew louder.

She looked down at the delivery bag.

Then back at him.

Wind-tossed hair. Storm-gray eyes. Trouble written all over him like a warning she should probably listen to.

Lina exhaled.

“Fine. But if you crash, I’m billing you for the rosemary chicken.”

His smirk widened, slower this time.

“Deal.”

She climbed on behind him, arms wrapping around his waist—tentative at first, then tighter as he kicked the engine to life.

The motorcycle surged forward.

“Hold on, delivery girl.”

Lina frowned instantly, the nickname landing like a jab.

Delivery girl? Really?

Before she could snap back, the motorcycle shot down the street.

She tightened her grip—harder than necessary—heart racing for a whole new set of reasons.

Wind whipped past them, stealing whatever comeback she’d been about to say.

Lina tightened her arms around his waist.

Because one thing was suddenly very clear—

She had just climbed onto the back of a stranger’s motorcycle.

A stranger whose life clearly ran in directions hers never did.

And somehow…

she had the sinking feeling he was about to turn her life inside out, and worse—she wasn’t sure she wanted to stop it.