Austin's POV
After class, I dragged myself out of campus and headed home—not the condo, home. Not because I wanted to. I had every intention of collapsing on my couch, letting the world forget I existed for a few hours. But of course, the universe had other plans.
Or more specifically, my father did.
He called me right after my last class. No greetings. No "How are you, son?" Just a sharp, authoritative command: "Come home. We need to talk."
I sighed, unlocking the front door of our house—big, cold, and flawless-looking from the outside. Everyone else would call it a dream. To me? It was a gilded cage. A place where smiles were currency and love was measured in achievements.
"Austin, you're here!" my mother's voice called out the moment I stepped in. Excited. Overly so. Like I had appeared out of nowhere and was blessing them with my presence.
"Yeah, Mom," I muttered, voice low and flat, kicking off my shoes as if my body could absorb my irritation.
"Come, dear. Let's talk in the dining room. Your father's waiting," she said, moving ahead as though I had no choice but to follow.
I rolled my eyes so hard it almost hurt. Of course he's waiting. Always. Sitting at the head of the table, suit perfect, expression immaculate, like a king in his castle. A man who rules not with warmth but with orders and expectations.
"So what is this all about?" I asked, crossing my arms, leaning against the back of a chair. I didn't even bother to sit; I already knew I wasn't here to linger.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and handed me an envelope.
I stared at it. Annoyance already curling in my chest.
"What's this?" I asked, snatching it from him.
"It's an invitation to a party," he said casually, as though we were discussing the weather. "We're going. Make sure you come, and dress appropriately."
I ripped it open, scanned the contents. A business associate's event. Another networking opportunity disguised as a social gathering. Another night of forced smiles and handshakes for someone else's benefit.
"As if I have a choice," I muttered under my breath.
"I heard that, Austin," he snapped, eyes narrowing. "And for the record, behave. You'll meet their son—he's important. You might get along. This is for the future. Connections. Business."
There it was. The truth. Always business. Never me. Never what I wanted.
"Yeah, fine. Happy now?" I said, standing straighter, turning toward the door.
"Where are you going?" my mom's voice followed, hesitant.
"Condo," I replied flatly, not even looking back.
"We haven't finished talking!" my father barked, jaw tight, voice like steel.
"We're done," I said, glancing just enough to meet his eyes. "I'll go, I'll dress, I won't cause trouble. Happy?"
No answer came. I left. My mother's quiet pleas trailed behind me, helpless. She tried to touch my arm, but even she knew she couldn't stop me.
Outside, I let out the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
I hate this place. Every second spent under this roof is suffocating. They see me as potential, not a person. A tool. And I'm tired.
Let them have their party. I'll smile. Nod. Shake hands. Be the obedient son for one night.
Then I'm done pretending.
---
Beau's POV
I sat in my room, walls echoing thoughts I'd never dared voice. My room, once comforting, now felt oppressive, weighed down with secrets.
Earlier, my mother had announced the news with her usual cheerful energy.
"Good news! You're transferring back to your old school. Familiar ground," she said, smiling wide.
Familiar? That place was a nightmare. A playground for ghosts—bullies, memories, the boy I once loved and left behind. The boy I hurt.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
"Anak, are you there?" my mother's voice called softly.
"Yes, Mom. Why?" I kept my voice careful, even, pretending I wasn't unraveling.
She peeked through the door, smiling. "Your cousin is here. He wants to meet you."
"Cousin?" I frowned. I had only known my grandparents far away in Canada.
"Come on. You'll meet him now," she said, coaxing me down the stairs.
I wasn't ready for what—or who—I saw.
Standing casually in the living room, as if he belonged, was Pond. Austin's best friend. The boy who had circled the person I had once given my heart to.
"Pond?" My voice barely a whisper.
"Good afternoon, Beau," he said, calm, composed, like our history didn't exist.
"Do you two know each other?" my mother asked, puzzled.
"Yes, Tita," Pond answered smoothly. "We went to the same school, so… yes, we know each other."
Once my mother left, Pond's expression softened.
"So… how's life been?"
I shrugged. "It's… good."
"The whole two years you were gone… just Canada?" he asked, incredulity in his voice.
I didn't answer. Instead, I asked, "Since when?"
"Since when what?"
I stared at him, expression unreadable. He understood.
"If you mean when I found out we were cousins… a few days ago. My mom showed me a picture," he explained. "Don't worry, I won't tell him. But be prepared—he's coming to your party."
I froze.
"Party?" I repeated, disbelief in my voice.
"Your welcome-back party," Pond smirked. "And yes… he'll be there. Business. Politics. You know how his dad works." Then he was gone, leaving me alone with the words echoing: He's coming.
Later that night, I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. This wasn't just a party—it was my party, my supposed homecoming. Yet, I felt more exposed than ever.
How can I feel safe when Austin is going to be there?
The boy I left. The man whose family dictated my past.
"Am I ready to face him?" I whispered. "The boy I loved… or the man I feared?"
And sleep claimed me before I could answer.
---
Fast Forward: The Party
The grand ballroom glittered with gold trim and laughter. Crystal chandeliers reflected light across smiles too polished to be genuine. Austin arrived late. On purpose.
He didn't care about the Buenavista heir. About introductions or social protocols. He only wanted the night to end so he could retreat to his condo.
"Austin, where have you been?" his father demanded, sharp and commanding.
"I overslept," he said, eyes avoiding the question.
"Let's talk later. You need to make a good impression. The heir—he's someone you know. No excuses," his father added, smirking like a predator sizing up prey.
Austin ignored him, scanning the room for a familiar face—or the promised mini-bar.
Then he froze.
There. Across the room. In a black suit, composed, infuriatingly calm.
Him. The boy who had broken him.
For a long moment, they stared. Party noise faded to nothing. Memories flared—betrayal, lies, heartbreak.
And worst of all, he looked at Austin like he wanted a conversation.
No. Not tonight. Not ever.
Austin tore his gaze away. Heart pounding—not from longing, but from fury and disbelief.
What cruel fate placed him here, now, when all he wanted was to forget?
---
Beau's POV
After my parents introduced me as the Buenavista heir, people swarmed me. Businessmen, politicians, socialites—all talking in a language I barely understood.
Mom stayed beside me, graceful and confident. She answered when I couldn't. Smiled when I felt lost. Guided me through the performance I had to give.
Everyone called me the golden heir. The prodigal son returned. But inside, I felt like a stranger in my own skin.
I excused myself.
"Mom, I'll just use the restroom," I said.
She nodded, distracted by guests. Perfect.
I needed air. Space. A moment away from the fake smiles.
Outside the ballroom, the cool night hit me like a slap. And then—he was there.
Austin. Black suit. Cold, sharp, stormy.
Eyes locking. Hearts colliding.
He hadn't forgotten. Neither had I.
The past, buried and locked away, came crashing down in a single glance.
We just stood there, frozen in the weight of what we were—what we once were.
The boy I loved and left. The boy who ruined everything.
And neither of us could look away.