HIS DESIRE

The Date That Changed Everything.

Adriana

Upon awakening to my new reality, I realized the world had shifted—become something unrecognizable from the one I once knew. The days when my parents were alive felt like a distant fairy tale, torn from me in fire and blood. I had once believed in safety, in love that lasted, in homes that did not burn to ash. But the fairy-tale dissolves easily in flames.

What remained was a world of shadows and whispered cruelties, a series of nightmares stitched together by survival.

But I survived.

The words were my mantra. The shield I repeated until it sounded true.

I told myself I had grown strong, resilient, self-reliant.

At least—that’s what I wanted to believe.

My eyes traced the mirror in front of me, its polished glass revealing a stranger. I leaned closer, as if searching for the girl I used to be, the one who laughed freely, who clung to her father’s hand and hid beneath her mother’s shawl. But she was gone.

My lips curved into a faint smile, though even that felt fragile, borrowed. The reflection was a cruel half-truth: one side smooth, untouched, a faint glimpse of the child who might have blossomed into beauty. The other half was marked—scarred, twisted by burns that time refused to erase. The skin there would never be soft again, no matter how much I prayed or how many creams I applied.

I lifted trembling fingers to trace the line where untouched flesh gave way to ruin. It was as though fate had split me in two: one part belonging to innocence, the other condemned to bear the memory of fire forever.

I often wondered what beauty I might have possessed, had fate been kinder. Sometimes I let myself imagine it—how strangers might have looked at me, how Ciara’s laughter might never have been so cruel. Growing up with this face meant enduring stares that lingered too long, whispers that cut sharper than knives, and laughter that never ceased. Ciara’s laughter most of all—my cousin’s taunts had been my daily companion, each word another reminder of my difference, my brokenness.

And yet, despite it all, I counted myself fortunate. Because in the ashes of my world, I found Andrew.

Andrew—my refuge, my defender. The one person who looked at me and saw more than scars. The man who loved me, who promised me a future. He made me believe, for the first time in years, that perhaps I was worthy of it. That perhaps the fire had not stolen everything.

I allowed myself the smallest sigh of relief at the thought of him. Andrew was my anchor. If I had nothing else, I had him.

The door swung open, shattering my reverie.

Ciara.

Her name alone was enough to set my teeth on edge. She entered without knocking, as though the room belonged to her. Her hair was immaculate, her lips painted in crimson, her heels clicking softly against the floor. Even her perfume felt invasive, cloying in the air I breathed.

The slight smile on my lips faded, my reflection hardening into cold steel. I turned slowly to face her.

“I see you’re prepared for your date tonight,” she said lightly, her words coated with false sweetness. But the edge in her tone was unmistakable, a blade hidden in silk.

I ignored her. That was the only way to survive her presence. Silence often cut deeper than words. Grabbing my purse from the couch, I brushed past her toward the door, my movements controlled, deliberate. I refused to let her see me falter.

Her voice followed me like poison, curling through the air and burrowing into my bones.

“With that face of yours, do you truly believe you have a future with Andrew?”

The words stopped me cold. My chest burned, not with surprise, but with the familiar ache she always managed to stir. My grip tightened around the purse strap until my knuckles ached. Slowly, deliberately, I turned back to meet her gaze. Her smile was smug, her eyes glittering with cruel satisfaction.

I let a sneer twist my lips. “Whatever future awaits my fiancé and me,” I said, my voice sharp as glass, “is none of your concern.”

Yes. Fiancé. The word was a crown I wore proudly. Andrew and I were engaged. Soon, we would be married. That truth alone was enough to shield me from her venom.

Ciara’s laughter, low and mocking, spilled into the room. She moved closer, her presence suffocating, her perfume cloying. Her shoulder brushed deliberately against mine as she murmured, “We shall see.”

Her words lingered in the air long after she slipped past me.

My nails dug into the leather of my purse until I thought it might tear. Rage bubbled inside me, hot and bitter, but I refused to let it spill. She would not win. Not tonight.

I exhaled sharply and glanced once more at the mirror. My reflection stared back at me with silent defiance, as if daring me to rise above her poison. I straightened my shoulders, inhaled deeply, and walked out of the room.

Andrew was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. The sight of him softened the storm that Ciara had left behind. His eyes—steady, warm, impossibly kind—found mine instantly, and the weight in my chest eased, if only slightly.

“Are you alright, Ana?” he asked, his voice low and tinged with concern. He always seemed to read me too easily, as though he could see straight into the thoughts I tried to bury.

I slipped my hand into his, forcing a smile. “I’m fine,” I lied, though my voice trembled ever so slightly.

He studied me for a moment, not entirely convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, his lips curved in a gentle smile, and he squeezed my hand. “Shall we go, then?”

Together, we stepped out into the night. The cool air brushed against my skin, carrying with it the promise of escape, however temporary. Andrew led me to his new sports car, sleek and gleaming beneath the glow of the streetlights.

As the engine roared to life, I let my gaze linger on him—on his strong profile, the quiet determination in his expression. My anchor. My hope. Since the day we met, my world had shifted again. For the first time in so long, it felt like it was shifting toward something better.

I held onto that fragile belief as tightly as I could.

---

From the shadows of the house, Ciara watched us leave, her figure half-hidden by the curtain. A smirk tugged at her lips, smug and cruel.

Emily, her mother, approached with a knowing smile, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “See, dear?" "I told you everything would work out." "Now we only need to wait." "The Smith empire will crumble into our hands, naturally.

Ciara’s smirk deepened, sharp as a blade. “Indeed, Mother." You’re absolutely right."

But as her gaze lingered on the retreating car, her thoughts soured with disdain. So much for the heir of the Smith Corporation, she thought bitterly. A pampered little fool who thinks love will protect her.

And in the stillness of the house, mother and daughter

r shared a silent truth: Adriana’s future was already being plotted against her.