The Awakening

I stared at the stranger in the full-length mirror. My own nervous turquoise eyes, stripped of their usual black-rimmed glasses, stared right back. I tucked a stray strand of chestnut hair behind my ear and bit my lower lip. The reflection mimicked the exact gesture. I blinked. She blinked.

A loud, irritated huff broke the quiet of my bedroom. "Are you done having a stare-down with yourself, Syl? For God's sake, you have been doing this for five straight minutes. It is getting creepy."

I shifted my gaze to the mirror's corner. Gwen sat at the edge of my mattress, her arms folded tight across her chest, a deep scowl ruining her carefully applied makeup.

I looked back at my altered reflection, my fingers twisting the tight fabric of my dress. "I don't know, Gwen. Do you think he will like this look?"

"After we spent two gruelling hours dolling you up? Yes. We think he will like it," Penny declared, stepping up beside Gwen with a confident smirk. "He won't reject you when you finally announce your undying love for him tonight."

Reject.

The word echoed in the quiet room, sending a cold shiver down my spine. That single concept had haunted my dreams for years. I had waited for this specific day for six long years. Ever since the afternoon he spoke those words to me in the sunlit garden, I anchored my entire existence to them. If he rejected me tonight, I had no backup plan. I did not know how to exist without loving him.

I was nine years old. He handed me a blue Cinderella dress for my birthday, wrapped in shiny silver paper.

"Will you be my prince, Van? I want to be your princess," I asked my older brother's best friend.

He let out a rich, warm laugh. That casual laugh almost crushed my fragile heart right then. But when he noticed my crestfallen expression, his smile softened. He crouched down in the grass, bringing his face level with mine. His stormy grey eyes locked onto my bright turquoise ones.

"You are my princess," he murmured.

"Really?" I bounced on my heels, brightening like a lit Christmas tree. "That means you will marry me?"

He caught his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes dancing with gentle amusement. "I'm sorry, Snowdrop. I can't."

"Why not?" I pushed out my lower lip in a deep pout.

"Because it is not the right time. You are still so young."

"Then when will be the right time?" I tilted my head, gazing up at him with raw, unfiltered hope.

He reached out, tapping the tip of my nose. "When you turn into a blooming snowdrop from a fragile little bud."

I clung to that promise. I waited through the awkward middle school years, through the braces and the oversized sweaters, waiting for the day I would finally bloom. I wrote his words on the first page of every diary I owned so I would never forget. Today, the day of my older siblings' birthday party, I felt I was finally ready. Penny argued that fifteen was old enough to have a boyfriend. She had her first at fourteen and was currently cycling through her fourth.

I knew, deep in my rational mind, that Van said those words to protect a nine-year-old’s naive feelings. I knew he was just being kind. I did not care. Tonight, I was ready to confess the overwhelming love consuming my teenage heart. For real.

"Syl, you look stunning," Gwen offered, her tone softening as she stood up. "I mean, I preferred your long, wavy hair, but this works too. It gives you an edge."

I reached up, touching the blunt ends resting on my collarbone. I had taken scissors to my waist-length hair, chopping it short and ironing the wild waves until they hung pin-straight. It was a calculated imitation of my older sister, Cami. She and my brother, Rowan, were twins, turning nineteen today. Because they were twins, Van was her best friend, too. I overheard him say once that he liked the way Cami wore her hair. So, I forced my chestnut locks to mirror her blonde ones.

"Short hair is in fashion. And Van likes it short," I justified, examining my freshly manicured nails. French tips. Just like Cami’s.

Just the way Van preferred.

Every single girlfriend Van brought around mirrored my sister. They were always older, beautiful, and dripping with sophisticated class. I burned with jealousy every time he held one of their hands, but I reminded myself they were temporary. Once we finally got together, there would be no one else. Just me.

My cheeks heated at the thought. The whole makeover was a desperate bid to force his eyes to stay on me. Dressed like Cami. Styled like Cami. I even snuck into her room and sprayed her signature vanilla and amber perfume on my wrists and neck.

"Isn't this dress a little too tight, Penny?" I tugged at the hem of the black fabric. It clung to my ribs and rode high on my thighs, making every movement a calculated risk. Cami wore dresses like this effortlessly because she had the curves to fill them out. I was flat. A standard fifteen-year-old body trying to fit into a mold built for a mature woman.

"It is not too tight," Penny rolled her eyes, stepping behind me to smooth the wrinkles from my back. "You are wearing it. That is final. Don't you want to make Van notice you?"

"Fine." I drew in a deep, shaky breath, letting the suffocating fabric squeeze my ribs. Come on, Syl. You can do this.

"Let's go. We are going to miss your brother and sister's grand entrance," Penny chirped, grabbing Gwen's hand and dragging her out the bedroom door.

The Sterling family never did anything small. Every milestone required a lavish, grand event, and the twins' nineteenth birthday party was no exception. Almost half the prominent families in the city filled our ground-floor ballroom.

I stepped into the dazzling hall, the crystal chandeliers blinding me for a second. My chest thudded against my ribcage like a trapped bird. My palms turned clammy with sweat. The short dress rode up with every step, making me hyper-aware of my bare legs.

I scanned the sea of guests and spotted my parents near the champagne tower. They stood close, arms linked, radiating quiet devotion. Even after twenty years of marriage, they operated as a single unit. Seeing them sparked a warm hope in my chest. If Van and I could build something like that someday...

"Sylvie!" Mom's voice cut through the jazz music.

I pasted on a bright smile and padded across the marble floor.

"Oh my goodness, look at you." Mom gasped, her face lighting up. "My little baby looks so beautiful tonight."

"You think?" I felt a blush creep up my neck.

"Of course. You should dress up like this more often."

Dad remained quiet. His thick brows drew together, his gaze dropping to the high hemline and the heavy eyeliner framing my eyes. He did not look pleased. It was too far removed from my usual self.

"You didn't like the gown I bought for you, princess?" he asked, his voice low and careful.

I loved the modest, pure white gown he picked out. But Van would not look twice at a girl in a pure, innocent dress.

"Of course I did, Dad," I lied smoothly, avoiding his penetrating stare. "But I couldn't find any jewelry to match it."

He gave a slow nod, choosing not to press the issue in front of the guests.

Mom gave me a knowing, soft look. Everyone in the house knew about my crush on Evander Vanguard. They just thought it was a passing phase. They did not understand the roots ran deep into my soul. He became my dream prince the day he walked through our front doors with Rowan when I was seven. He became my hero the afternoon he chased off a group of older boys bullying me at the park. Over the years, he simply became my heart.

Where was he?

I stood on my toes, searching the packed room. He promised me he would be here tonight. Last month, over a quiet game of chess, he swore he wouldn't miss it. Van never broke his promises to me.

Before last year, Van lived at our house as much as his own. But after the unimaginable tragedy struck his family twelve months ago, he pulled away. The details remained locked behind closed doors—our families respected privacy over gossip—but the aftermath was clear. The tragedy changed him. It killed the carefree, playful Van I knew. In his place stood a lost, brooding, and perpetually angry young man. Yet, beneath the anger, he always kept a soft spot for me. He still came by once a month to check in and play our scheduled chess matches.

The crowd erupted into loud cheers. The spotlight shifted to the grand sweeping staircase. Rowan and Cami descended, soaking in the attention. Cami wore a glittering pink mid-thigh dress, looking like a literal fairy, while Rowan looked sharp and mature in a tailored black tuxedo. They posed for the flashing cameras, laughing as their friends whistled from the bottom steps.

I clapped along with the room, but my eyes darted toward the entrance. Still no sign of Van.

Excusing myself from my parents, I wandered aimlessly through the outer edges of the crowd, adjusting the irritating hem of my dress.

Where are you?

I turned the corner near the ice sculpture and slammed hard into a solid wall of muscle.

"Oww!" I gasped, stumbling backward on my low heels.

A pair of strong arms shot out, wrapping securely around my waist to steady me. The scent of dark cedar, expensive cologne, and a faint trace of cigarette smoke hit my senses.

"I'm so sor—" I tilted my head up, and the breath hitched in my throat.

Stormy grey eyes stared down at me. He had shaved the dense stubble he wore last month, exposing his sharp, chiseled jawline. His thick black hair was slicked back, giving him a dangerous, untamed edge. The silver ring usually piercing his right eyebrow was missing tonight. Deep, haunting shadows clung to the skin beneath his eyes, a physical reminder of his grief, and his cheekbones looked sharper from weight loss. Even carrying the weight of the world, he looked breathtaking in his dark formal attire.

"Snowdrop?" His forehead creased as he lifted me upright, ensuring my feet were steady on the floor. He dropped his hands from my waist like the fabric burned him. His gaze swept over my straightened hair, the heavy layer of makeup, and the tight, short dress. His lips tightened into a hard, unforgiving line.

"What're you wearing?" The deep, exotic Greek accent coated his words. The accent only thickened when he lost his temper. A sudden flash of anger darkened his grey eyes.

My pulse spiked. Did he hate it?

"Uh, why?" I stammered, wrapping my arms around my middle. "Don't I look good? I thought... I thought you would like it."

His frown deepened. He studied the unnatural straightness of my hair and the thick black liner winged past my eyes. He gave a sharp, dismissive shake of his head.

"You don't need my approval in anything, Sylvia. It is your choice to whatever you want to wear," he stated, his voice dropping to a freezing, detached chill.

With those devastating words, he turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing into the throng of guests.

My heart plummeted, crashing against the floorboards. I stood frozen, staring at the empty space he left behind. I looked down at my trembling hands and the black fabric of the dress. Why did he look at me with such stark disapproval? Why was he so cold?

The sting of his rejection burned the back of my throat. I spun around, pushing past the confused guests, and fled up the back staircase. I burst into the safety of my bathroom, turning the brass handles of the sink. I grabbed a washcloth, soaked it in warm water, and frantically scrubbed the heavy, suffocating makeup off my face until my skin turned raw and pink. I yanked the tight black dress over my head, throwing it into the corner of the room.

I opened my closet and pulled out the modest, pure white gown Dad gifted me. It flowed softly down to my ankles, light and comfortable. I brushed out my damp hair, letting it dry in its natural, untamed waves. Staring at the clean-faced girl in the mirror, I breathed out a shaky sigh.

Heading back downstairs, I ignored the raised eyebrows from Penny and Gwen near the dessert table. I needed to fix this. I needed to find Van.

I spotted Rowan and Cami laughing with a tight circle of their friends near the bar. Van was nowhere near them.

"Hey, Syl!" Rowan spotted me and waved me over.

I forced a smile and walked into the circle.

"Aren't you forgetting something, little sis?" Rowan teased, stepping forward.

I let out a genuine chuckle and wrapped my arms around his waist. "Happy birthday, Ro."

He lifted me clean off the marble floor, getting a squeal out of me before setting me down. "Where is my gift?"

Every year, I baked Rowan a massive red velvet cake from scratch. It was a tradition. Van loved that specific cake just as much as Rowan did.

"You will get it after the party. It is safe in the fridge," I promised, my eyes darting past his shoulder, searching the perimeter of the room.

There. Standing isolated in the far corner of the room, leaning against a high top table. He held a crystal glass of amber liquid, staring intensely at the ice cubes, looking shut off from the celebration around him.

"Happy birthday, Cami." I turned, giving my sister a quick hug.

"Thanks." Cami pulled back, her sharp blue eyes raking over my white gown. "You changed?"

Before I could answer, I watched Jared—one of Rowan’s loud, obnoxious friends—slap Van on the back. Jared reached for the glass in Van’s hand. Van’s head snapped up. He shot Jared a look so sharp and lethal that the older boy immediately raised his hands in surrender and backed away.

"Uh, yeah," I muttered absentmindedly, tracking Van’s every movement. "The black dress was uncomfortable. I will be back in a minute."

I took a step toward the corner, but Cami’s hand shot out, her manicured fingers digging into my arm like a vice. She yanked me backward, pulling me behind a towering floral arrangement, well out of earshot of her friends.

"You're going to confess tonight, aren't you?" Cami demanded in a hushed, sharp whisper.

I gasped, my eyes widening. How did she know? I never told anyone but Gwen and Penny.

"Don't," Cami hissed, her tone dripping with venomous warning. "You will only end up heartbroken."

A flash of defiance sparked in my chest. I jerked my arm back, breaking her grip. "How do you know? Who knows, maybe he likes me too."

Cami let out a dry, mocking laugh. "Don't be foolish, Syl. Just because he is soft with you doesn't mean he harbors any kind of feelings for you." She stepped closer, her blue eyes flashing with unyielding cruelty. "You and I both know he only cares for you as a brother. Not a lover. Do not embarrass him with your stupid, childish infatuation. He is already disturbed with his own problems. Leave him alone."

Her words hit me like physical slaps. They echoed my deepest, darkest fears. I always terrified myself with the thought that his kindness was merely pity or brotherly obligation. But my heart screamed that there was something more beneath his protective gaze. I refused to let her crush my hope without a fight. I had to know the truth from him.

"I won't embarrass him," I spat back, my voice trembling with sudden rage. "You do not know everything. Why don't you just go enjoy your party and let me handle my own life?"

Her expression hardened into ice. "Stay away from him, Sylvia. He isn't the one for you."

The anger boiled over. "I will do whatever the hell I want, Cami. It is none of your business. Leave me alone!"

I spun on my heel, pushing past her before she could say another word.

My chest heaved as I marched across the room. As I neared the quiet corner where Van stood, the sudden burst of adrenaline evaporated, replaced by fluttering nervousness. I took a deep, shaky breath and smoothed the fabric of my white gown.

"Hey." My voice came out meek, swallowed by the loud music.

Van slowly lifted his head. His stormy grey eyes met mine. The intense anger from our earlier encounter was gone, but the warmth I desperately craved was missing too. His gaze was flat, guarded, and cold. He looked miserable.

Telling him I loved him right now felt like a terrible idea. His mood was too dark. But if I backed out now, I did not know if I would ever find the courage again.

"Won't you play chess with me today, Van?" I asked softly, hoping to pull him out of the dark pit he was stuck in. "I have been waiting for another match."

He stared at me for a long, agonizing second. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. Finally, he gave a curt nod. "Yeah, that sounds good. This party is boring me anyway."

A massive wave of relief crashed over me. My face split into a wide grin. "Alright! Let me go set up the board. In the library, as usual?"

He nodded, bringing the rim of the glass to his lips. "I will be up in a few."

Overjoyed by this tiny victory, I acted on pure, unfiltered impulse. I stepped forward, throwing my arms tightly around his neck. I buried my face in his shoulder. The rich, exotic scent of cedar and smoke filled my lungs, making my head spin. "I will be waiting for you."

The hug caught him off guard. He froze. His body turned as rigid as a stone statue. He did not return the embrace. His hands hovered in the air before gripping my shoulders. Inhaling a sharp, jagged breath, he forcefully pushed me back, putting a solid foot of distance between us.

His lips pressed into a thin line. "Go," he commanded, his voice tight.

Swallowing the lump of hurt in my throat, I nodded and skipped toward the back hallway leading to the library. The rejection stung, but he agreed to play. I was going to tell him. Tonight, over the chessboard, I would pour my heart out.

I flipped the switch in the library, the warm yellow glow of the lamps illuminating the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. I pulled the heavy wooden chessboard from the shelf, setting it precisely in the center of the mahogany table. I lined up the black and white pieces with trembling fingers.

Ten minutes ticked by on the grandfather clock. He did not show.

Then fifteen.

Then twenty.

I sat in the oversized leather chair, staring at the empty seat across from me. The silence in the library was deafening, only broken by the muffled, thumping bass of the party music vibrating through the floorboards. I checked the clock again. I missed the grand cake cutting. I missed presenting the red velvet cake. I stayed locked in this room so he would not have to wait for a single second if he walked through that door.

He said he would be up in a few.

A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. Letting out a heavy sigh, I pushed back the chair and headed downstairs.

The dynamic of the party had shifted. The older relatives had retired for the night, leaving the younger crowd to drink heavily and dance wildly under flashing strobe lights. The sharp, bitter stench of spilled alcohol and sweat hung thick in the air, making my stomach churn.

I scanned the shifting bodies. I saw Penny grinding against Rowan on the makeshift dance floor. Gwen was throwing back shots with a group of girls near the bar. But Van was missing.

I pushed my way through the drunken crowd, excusing myself as elbows bumped my shoulders. Did he leave? Did the memories of his father become too much, forcing him to abandon the party without a word?

No. Van never forgot our matches. He never left without saying goodbye.

Disappointment weighed down my limbs. I dragged my feet toward the far side of the hall, intending to seek fresh air before retreating to my room to cry in peace. The heavy glass doors leading to the secluded outdoor balcony were cracked open.

I stepped toward the threshold.

A sound stopped me in my tracks. A low, wet noise. A heavy breath.

Curious, I peeked through the narrow opening, my eyes adjusting to the dim moonlight washing over the stone balcony. I looked to my right.

My feet rooted to the ground.

The breath hitched in my throat, cutting off my oxygen. The thumping bass of the music faded into a high-pitched ringing in my ears. The world jerked to a halt.

There, pressed against the stone railing, was Van.

He was not alone.

His large hands wrapped tight around a girl's waist, dragging her flush against his hips. Her arms tangled desperately around his neck, her fingers gripping the thick dark hair at the nape of his neck, tugging hard. Their mouths worked aggressively against each other in a breathless, wet, open-mouthed kiss. He tilted his head, parting her lips wider, pushing his tongue inside and devouring her mouth. There was not an inch of space left between their bodies.

He broke the kiss for a fraction of a second, his chest heaving, before attacking her mouth again. A heavy, muffled groan ripped from his throat, vibrating in the quiet night air. She let out a soft moan in response, arching her back. His hands abandoned her waist, roaming hungrily over her curves. His large palms squeezed her hips, pulling her flush against his groin, before his hands dragged up her ribcage, squeezing and groping her breasts through the thin fabric of her dress.

Every wet sound, every desperate grind of their bodies hit my chest like the serrated blade of a hunting knife. Blood rushed from my head. My vision blurred with immediate, hot tears.

The girl shifted her angle under the moonlight, and the pale glow illuminated her face.

The blonde hair. The pink fairy dress.

Cami.

My own sister.

I stumbled backward, the heel of my shoe scraping loudly against the marble floor. My knees buckled. I forcefully slapped a trembling hand over my mouth, suffocating the agonized, soul-tearing sob ripping up my throat.

They didn't hear me. They were too lost in the physical heat of each other.

I spun around and ran.

I pushed blindly through the laughing crowd, tears spilling over my eyelashes and blinding my vision. I didn't feel the elbows hitting my ribs or the spilled drinks soaking the hem of my white gown. I just ran. I took the stairs two at a time, tripping and scraping my knee against the wood, but I didn't stop until I reached my bedroom.

I slammed the heavy door shut and twisted the lock.

The dark silence of my room wrapped around me, but it offered no comfort. My legs gave out. I collapsed onto the freezing cold hardwood floor, curling my knees into my chest. I pressed both hands hard against my sternum, trying to hold my ribcage together. The physical pain radiating from my heart was excruciating. It felt like my internal organs were being shredded into jagged pieces.

Fists pounded against the wood of my door. "Syl! Syl, open up! What's wrong?" Gwen's panicked voice leaked through the crack.

"Sylvia, please unlock the door!" Penny yelled.

I ignored them. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the haunting image of Van's hands squeezing Cami's breasts and grinding his hips against hers burned brightly against the back of my eyelids. He pulled her closer. He devoured her. He wanted her.

He didn't know about my feelings. He was oblivious. But Cami knew.

Cami stood in the grand hall, looked me dead in the eye, and told me to stay away from him while she fully intended to sneak out to the balcony and wrap her arms around his neck. The betrayal felt like acid pouring into an open wound.

How could she do this? She was my sister. She knew exactly how much I loved him.

I squeezed my eyes tighter, letting the tears soak into the cold floorboards. I lay there in the suffocating darkness, clutching my physically aching chest, left alone to mourn the naive, consuming love that my own sister so mercilessly stole from me.