Clashing Hearts

Chapter Four - Larry’s POV

I stood before the mirror, straightening my cufflinks, the same silver ones my father insisted I wear to every public event. A Jenkins never fades into the crowd, he used to say. Tonight, I wished I could.

The driver opened the car door, and the cool night air brushed against my face. The mansion glowed ahead, chandeliers spilling light across polished marble, music drifting through the open doors. Another parade of the powerful pretending they cared about charity. I adjusted my tie, stepped out, and reminded myself of my father’s words.

Break Leon

It echoed with every step I took up those marble stairs.

Inside, the crowd buzzed laughter, glasses clinking, the dull rhythm of forced conversation.

Then I saw her.

She was standing across the room, pink dress catching the light, her laughter soft and real, out of place in this room full of façades. For a second, I thought maybe my mind was playing tricks on me.

But then she turned slightly, and I caught the glint of her silver heels, the tilt of her head, the spark in her eyes. There was something about her, not innocence, no, something deeper. Defiance. A kind of quiet rebellion I couldn’t look away from.

I didn’t know who she was yet, but I wanted to.

And then, my father’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

“The Hawthornes have arrived.”

I followed his line of sight and saw Mrs. Hawthorne from across the room, every inch of her pride on display.

My eyes immediately drift back to the woman in pink. My chest tightened with realization as I noticed the scowl on her face, and the eyes, those eyes.

Of course. She was one of them.

Denise Hawthorne.

A name that shouldn’t have interested me, but did.

Moments later, Leon appeared beside her, tall, calm, and composed, the golden son of our family’s favorite enemy. He looked every bit the man my father wanted destroyed.

And just like that, my curiosity hardened into something else. Determination.

Still, I couldn’t shake the image of the woman in pink.

The way she’d looked around the room like she didn’t belong there, the quiet unease she hid behind her poise.

When our families crossed paths, I stayed silent, letting my parents exchange their venom laced greetings. I could feel her eyes flick toward me for a brief moment, maybe out of reflex, maybe recognition.

And for that brief second, I forgot the reason I came.

Forgot my father’s orders.

Forgot Leon.

Until his voice cut through the noise, calm but edged, greeting my parents with that Hawthorne arrogance.

That’s when the tension shifted.

Two families, one room, one unspoken war.

And as Mr. Hwan stepped in to stop the exchange, I caught sight of her again, Denise, walking toward the bar, her expression tired, her shoulders tense.

Before I realized it, I was already moving in that direction.

And that’s how it began.

I moved through the crowd almost without thinking, weaving between guests laughing and talking, the clink of glasses punctuating my focus. Every step brought her closer, and yet my chest felt heavier, a mix of anticipation and that nagging sense that something was about to go wrong.

She was so absorbed in her own thoughts, her eyes scanning the room as if searching for an escape, that I didn’t think twice. I was focused on her, on the slight tilt of her head, on the way her shoulders carried tension I wanted to ease but couldn’t.

Before I realized it, I had closed the distance.

And then

We collided.

Crash!!!!!

The liquid leapt over the edge, sticky and cold, splashing across the floor and, impossibly, right onto her pink dress.

She jerked her head up, eyes wide, lips parting in disbelief.

“You!!!” she hissed, low but trembling with anger.

“Me,” I said simply, holding the napkin I had grabbed, not sure if I was supposed to hand it over, apologize, or just grin through the chaos. “Though, technically… you turned around too fast.”

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

I extended the napkin toward her, my smirk tugging at the corners of my lips despite the sudden tension. “You should be more careful when you’re angry. It ruins your grace.”

Her voice pitched high, sharp, full of irritation. “Do you lack basic manners?!”

And then he appeared.

Leon. Calm, imposing, stepping in like he owned the space. My chest tightened, not with fear exactly, more with that familiar spark of challenge.

“What happened?” he asked, his face unreadable, eyes flicking between us, waiting for an answer.

“This i***t spilled his drink on me and won’t even apologize!” she snapped, voice sharp and accusatory.

“I offered you a napkin!” I said, holding it out, trying to keep my voice light, nonchalant. “It was an accident. You’re also at fault having your eye at the back of your head.” I thought I detected a flicker of disbelief in Leon’s eyes, but he was already closing the distance.

“You call this an accident?” Leon seethed, stepping closer, closing the space between us, tension radiating from him in waves.

I could feel the tightening in my chest as I braced. My hand twitched at my side, veins popping faintly.

“You think you can humiliate my sister and get away with it?” His voice carried over the whispers starting to ripple through the room.

I didn’t flinch. Smirked, even. “Easy there, Hawthorne. It was just a spill.”

“Just a spill?” His voice rose, sharper, dangerous. “You’ve always been the same arrogant …”

“Leon, stop!” she hissed, grabbing his arm. I could feel the energy of the room shifting, cameras flashing, phones subtly raised. The Hawthorne name didn’t need this spectacle.

“Brotherly instinct, I see,” I said coolly, brushing a droplet of champagne from my cuff. “Though I’d think a man would’ve learned to control his temper by now.”

That did it. Leon lunged, and I felt her step between us, hands flat against his chest, containing what could have exploded.

“Enough!” Her voice came out sharper than intended. “Both of you!”

Leon’s jaw was tight, eyes burning with something more than anger pain, something unspoken. I stood there, maddeningly calm, as though the entire scene were entertainment, the storm swirling around me nothing more than a ripple.

Then the host’s voice boomed from the stage, breaking the tension. “Ladies and gentlemen, please! Let’s keep things civil, remember, we’re here for a good cause!”

But the room was already still, silent, all eyes on us.

Leon turned first, muttering under his breath, “This isn’t over.”

I let my gaze linger on her, Denise, for just a moment longer than I should have calm, knowing, unreadable. Something in her eyes flickered that I couldn’t name. Not mockery, not anger… something else entirely.

I watched him guide her through the crowd, her nodding, her expression a mixture of frustration and resignation, as they made their way toward the exit. Phones, whispers, flashes all unnoticed by them.

And as they disappeared, something stubborn and insistent took root in me. Curiosity. Determination. Maybe even… concern.

The night had changed. The collision, the spill, the confrontation, and now seeing them leave together… it wasn’t over. Not for me. Not for any of us.