BEAUTIFUL LIAR

CHAPTER 1

The cold gnawed at my bones, an unrelenting beast sinking its icy fangs into my flesh. I shuddered, my breath curling into ghostly wisps in the air. I despised winter, despised the way it clung to my skin like an unwelcome shadow.

And yet, here I sat, frozen to the marrow, for him.

Tyler moved across the ice like a phantom, swift and untouchable. The world around him blurred into insignificance as he weaved through his opponents with effortless grace. Every pair of eyes in the rink followed his movements, enthralled, bewitched. He was the golden boy, the untouchable king of this school, the name whispered in reverent awe in crowded hallways.

His hair shimmered beneath the stark arena lights, a cascade of molten gold. His eyes, warm and inviting, held the kind of kindness that could mend broken things. And his smile—God help me—his smile was the kind that could turn the tide of wars, stop the hands of time itself.

I loved him. Completely. Helplessly.

My name is Vivian Velvet. A half-Asian, half-American girl who spent her childhood tucked away in an all-girls school in Thailand. A fragile creature raised in a world without men, untouched by their presence. And then, six months ago, my life fractured. My father called me to America, to this place, where boys filled every classroom, every hallway, every inch of my new reality.

I was an anomaly, a new face in the middle of the school year, a mystery waiting to be unraveled. The curiosity didn’t last long. Once they realized I was nothing more than an awkward, withdrawn girl with a tendency to disappear into the background, they quickly lost interest.

All except Tyler.

I saw him for the first time in the corridor. He passed me by—just another fleeting moment in his day. But then he did something unexpected. He smiled at me.

One smile, and my heart, long abandoned and gathering dust, roared back to life.

I wrote about him in my diary like a girl possessed. Page after page, I painted him as the prince of my own fairytale, the flawless hero of my private world. But there was one cruel twist to this story.

I was afraid of men.

The weight of my all-girls school upbringing bore down on me like a chain, shackling me in fear. My hands trembled, my voice withered to nothingness whenever a boy so much as looked at me.

I was a coward in the face of masculinity, a shadow shrinking from the sun.

All except for him.

Thomas.

He sat beside me, exuding all the warmth of a glacier, his sharp green eyes cutting through me like jagged glass.

“If you’re shaking so hard your teeth are about to fall out, why the hell are you still sitting here?” His voice was laced with boredom, like he had far better things to do than entertain my foolishness.

“I’m watching Tyler,” I shot back, as if that answer was obvious.

His sigh was nothing short of exasperated. “He doesn’t even know you exist.”

“Then introduce me,” I huffed, crossing my arms.

Tyler and Thomas were best friends. I had begged him countless times to help me bridge the impossible gap between us. But he refused, again and again. His reasoning was cruelly pragmatic—what was the point, when I would only crumble the second Tyler so much as spoke my name?

Besides, Thomas insisted, I wasn’t Tyler’s type.

But why was I able to befriend Thomas, despite my fear?

Simple.

Because Thomas was gay.

With him, I felt safe, as if I were merely in the company of another girl. Of course, this was a secret known only to our small circle—Emma, Galatier (his twin sister), and me.

“When is this silicone-stuffed banshee going to stop using me as a goddamn armrest?” Thomas muttered darkly.

I followed his gaze to the girl beside him—blonde, voluptuous, draped over him like a silk slip, completely oblivious to the game happening before her. And she wasn’t the only one. A cluster of girls hovered nearby, their hungry gazes devouring him whole.

Because if Tyler was the golden prince of this school, then Thomas was the dark knight of a tragic, forbidden tale.

He was carved from shadows and midnight, tall and broad, wrapped in an aura of quiet danger. His black hair was ink spilled upon the canvas of his skin, his emerald eyes glinting like cursed jewels under the dim arena lights. He was sculpted from contradictions—brutal yet breathtaking, cruel yet mesmerizing.

And the girls? They were willing lambs to the slaughter.

They wanted him, badly. Despite his indifference, despite the frost that clung to his every word, they would have gladly thrown themselves at his feet, bared their throats, and offered him their hearts to break.

A futile effort, of course. Because Thomas was untouchable.

“Let’s go,” he said suddenly, standing without warning. “I’m starving.”

“But we’re at the best part—!”

He didn’t listen. He was already walking away, his long strides cutting through the crowd like a blade. With a sigh, I had no choice but to follow.

“You’re unusually pissed off today,” I teased, falling into step beside him. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”

No response.

Ding! ! A text flashed on my phone.

Galatier: Where are you?

Me: Just left the rink.

Galatier: Emma and I just finished cheer practice. Meet us at Honeycup,s?

Me: On our way.

I turned to Thomas. “Gal and Emma are waiting at Honeycup’s. Let’s go meet them.”

He didn’t answer, Didn’t even acknowledge me. I frowned.

I trailed behind him, sighing in exasperation. Moody. Impossible to please. Just like a child.

His broad back moved steadily ahead of me, muscles shifting beneath the dark fabric of his jacket. He carried himself with the effortless grace of someone who knew exactly how much space he occupied in the world. And, judging by his near two-meter height, that space was a lot.

I scowled at the comparison. Look at him—tall, commanding, moving through the crowd like a predator cutting through a field of oblivious prey. And then look at me. Barely reaching his chest, forced to take twice as many steps just to keep up.

I couldn’t help but wonder—when God sculpted him out of divine clay, did He use up all the good material on Thomas and then, realizing there wasn’t enough left, hastily scrape together whatever remained to form me? Because, that would explain a lot.

Maybe that was why my height barely reached his ribs. Maybe that was why, when I walked beside him, I looked like some lost child following her guardian. Maybe that was why every time he stood next to me, I felt like some unfinished afterthought of creation, a product of divine oversight.

We finally made it to Honeycup—the local haven for anyone with a sweet tooth. Today, the place was overflowing with customers, teenagers packed into every available seat, their chatter rising like a swarm of buzzing bees.

By some miracle, Thomas and I managed to snag a table just before the last one was taken. Galatier and Emma were still on their way. Not that it mattered much, because the person sitting in front of me was still acting like a damn ice sculpture.

I exhaled sharply, tapping my fingers against the table. “Okay, what’s with you? Are you actually mad about something, or are you just in a mood?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

He scoffed, his emerald gaze flicking toward the window, disinterested.

The girls. The constant attention. The way half the female population of this town seemed to lose their minds whenever he so much as existed in the same space as them. I mean, I got it. He was gorgeous, in that dark, brooding, heartbreak-waiting-to-happen kind of way. But God, did he really have to sulk about it every single time? He was the one born with a face that looked like it had been sculpted by the gods themselves. Might as well just accept the suffering that came with it.

Even now, the moment we stepped into Honeycup, I could feel the shift in the atmosphere. The way every girl in the café turned to look at him—some subtle, some not so much. Whispering, giggling, trying not to stare too obviously. Pathetic.

Honeycup was a cozy little dessert café, the kind of place that smelled like warm vanilla and caramel the second you walked in. They sold everything—ice cream, muffins, tarts. But let’s be honest, the real reason the café was always packed with girls from every school in the area? Tyler and Thomas.

Some of them were straight-up terrifying, full-on stalker mode activated, leaving little love letters and boxes of chocolates for me to pass along to Thomas.

Should I tell them the truth? That every single time I handed something over, he never so much as touched it? That half the time, he wouldn’t even take it from my hands, leaving me to deal with the trash disposal myself?

“Still looking as devastatingly handsome as ever, I see!” Christine, the café owner, cooed as she passed by. She was a longtime friend of Thomas’s mom, a warm, motherly woman who had a habit of slipping me free pastries whenever I came by.

I grinned at her. “I’ll have a lemon ice cream cone, extra caramel drizzle, and rainbow sprinkles, please.”

Christine turned to Thomas. “And for you, sweetheart?”

He didn’t even look at her. “Nothing.”

Christine tsked. “Now what’s with that face, hmm? You look like someone just kicked your puppy.”

I smirked. “Maybe he’s on his period.”

Christine choked on a laugh. Thomas, on the other hand, turned to glare at me, his expression promising swift and immediate death.

Thankfully, Christine took her cue to leave, heading back to the counter. In less than three minutes, my precious lemon ice cream cone was in my hands. Pure bliss. I hadn’t had a single bite of sugar all day, and the second my tongue touched that sweet-tart perfection, my body practically melted with happiness.

Thomas sat there, brooding, watching me.

And then—“Let me have a taste.”

I pulled my cone closer. “You want one? Order your own.”

“I don’t want one. I just want a taste.”

I hesitated, glancing down at my ice cream. I had already licked the entire surface, and my first instinct was to tell him that. But before I could even get the words out—

He moved.

Fast.

His fingers curled around my wrist, gripping firmly. My breath caught in my throat as he leaned across the table, closing the space between us in a heartbeat. And then—

He licked it.

My brain short-circuited.

His lips parted slightly, tongue dragging across the ice cream I had just been savoring, slow and deliberate. His mouth followed, teeth sinking into the soft frozen treat, biting off nearly half of it.

I sat there, frozen, eyes wide, pulse hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it.

When he finally pulled back, he licked his lips—my ice cream still lingering on his tongue.

I snapped out of it. “No way! That was mine!”

He swallowed, expression unreadable as he leaned back into his chair, unimpressed by my outrage.

Half my damn ice cream was gone. Only the cone remained.

I gaped at him. “You monster.”

He smirked with a sarcastic smile. Thomas was good at teasing and playing pranks on me.