Felicity's P.O.V.
After a tense, confusing day at school, I came home feeling like my brain had been tossed into a blender. Emotionally drained, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed on the living room couch, rubbing my temples.
Of course, Mom noticed something was off right away. She always did.
"What happened?" she asked gently, handing me a cup of tea as she sat beside me.
I tried to shake my head and keep it all in, but it just came pouring out—the kiss, the weird tension afterward, Chris avoiding me, me avoiding him. I hated how messy it sounded. I hated how much I cared.
She listened in complete silence, just sipping her tea and occasionally nodding with this strange, annoying little smile.
When I finally stopped talking, she chuckled softly.
"Sweetheart," she said, setting her cup down, "this is exactly how love begins—messy, confusing, and terribly inconvenient. You're in love with Chris."
"What?" I blinked. "How could you say that? I'm not in love with Chris… am I?"
"You're flustered, and trying to deny it. But I need to come clean about something," she said. "That day I came to visit… Chris was here. We talked. He told me everything. I saw it in his eyes, Felicity. That boy is in love with you. So I planned the whole drinking part—yes, that was me. But Chris isn't at fault. Don't blame him—he was just doing what I asked."
My heart dropped. The tea suddenly tasted bitter.
"You what?" I asked, my voice rising. "You planned it? You tricked me? That's… messed up, Mom."
"I didn't trick you. I nudged you," she said calmly. "I knew your heart had been broken once. I just wanted to spark something—to help you open your heart again."
I stood up so fast the cup nearly slipped from my hand. "How could you, Mom? Do you think this is funny? My feelings aren't part of some… experiment!"
She reached out, but I stepped back. "Please—just leave me be for now."
I stormed up to my room, slammed the door, and collapsed onto my bed. Angry. Embarrassed. Heartbroken. And even more confused than before.
**********
Christopher's P.O.V.
Later that evening, I found myself at a quiet, tucked-away pub just off campus. Jake and the rest of the crew were already there, crowded around a wooden table littered with glasses and fries, looking at me like they knew something big was about to happen.
I took a breath, grabbed my drink, and stood.
"I'm calling it off," I said. "The bet. It's done."
Silence.
The guys stared at me, stunned—especially the one who started the whole thing.
Brian blinked. "Wait… what?"
"No way," Liam muttered. "You're serious?"
"As a heart attack," I said, sitting down. "This was never about the bet. Not anymore. I didn't just fall for her... I'm crazy about her."
Jake raised a brow. "You're in love? I knew it—from the moment you walked in frowning. You had that look."
"What?… Whatever. But yeah," I muttered. "I think I am."
The group exploded with laughter and teasing.
"Mate, you caught feelings? Oh no, you're doomed," Brian said dramatically, clutching his chest.
"This is worse than I thought—he's in love," Liam gasped, mock-horrified.
But then the tone shifted.
"I'm serious," I cut in, voice firm. "And you all need to be, too. No one says anything to her about the bet. You hear me?"
The table quieted.
"If Felicity finds out from someone else... it's over. For real. I mean it."
A long pause. Jake raised his glass.
"To falling... hard," he said.
We clinked glasses. It wasn't celebratory. It felt like the end of an era. A silent promise that something bigger was now at stake.
**********
Felicity's P.O.V.
It was Monday morning. The sun was out, the air smelled like freshly cut grass, and birds chirped like the world was perfectly fine.
But inside, I was a storm.
I'd barely slept the night before, tossing and turning with flashbacks—Chris, Mom's confession, my heart acting like a traitor. I hadn't texted Chris. I hadn't looked him in the eye since the kiss.
I hadn't spoken to Mom since Saturday night. She tried knocking a few times, even slipped a note under my door that read: "Please, let's talk. I only did what I thought was best."
I ignored it.
Until Sunday morning.
She made pancakes. Soft, cinnamon-dusted ones, just how I liked them. And on one of them, she spelled "SORRY" in whipped cream.
She sat across from me and gently said, "I'm sorry, Felicity."
I said nothing, just stared at the syrup melting on the plate.
"I never meant to hurt you," she said softly. "I shouldn't have interfered. I just… didn't want you to miss something real."
I looked up.
"Then why did you do it?" I asked. "Why plan something so... manipulative?"
She sighed. "Because I saw how you looked at him. And how he looked at you. It's called love. I knew there was something there. I just wanted to give it a little... push."
"By setting up fake alcohol to get my attention? That's your idea of a push?" I snapped. "You shouldn't have done that, Mom."
She leaned on the counter, her eyes tired.
"Okay, maybe it was wrong. I admit it. But I wasn't trying to trap you, Felicity. I was trying to help you open your heart before you locked it away for good."
Silence fell between us.
Then, almost without thinking, I asked, "What happened between you and Dad? Why did you get divorced?"
Her eyes widened—like I'd caught her off guard. She blinked slowly, then folded her hands.
"You always said it just didn't work out," I said. "But that's not the whole truth, is it?"
She sighed and sat across from me again.
"No," she said. "It's not."
I waited.
"Your father… he loved me. But he was tied to something else. Something I couldn't be part of. Duty. Expectations. Secrets. I wanted a love that was real and free. He... couldn't give that to me."
"What kind of secrets?" I whispered. "Was he a prince or something?"
She gave a dry laugh. "Not quite. But close enough to live in a world I didn't belong in."
She paused again.
"Let's just say… your father lived in a world that expected loyalty over love. Power over truth. And I chose love—even if it meant walking away."
"So… you left?"
"I had to. I didn't want you growing up with half-truths and public appearances. I wanted you to live real moments—not performances."
For the first time in days, I looked into her eyes. And they looked… tired. Not because she was weak. But because she'd been strong for far too long.
I stood up slowly, walked over, and hugged her. She held me like she hadn't in years.
I frowned. "What do you mean by 'a world'? Was he… rich?"
She gave a soft, almost sad smile. "Not rich. Royal."
My breath caught.
Royal?
"Wait… are you saying Dad was a—?"
She stood before I could finish. "I have to go pack. I'm heading back to the city tonight."
She kissed my forehead.
"I love you, Felicity. And you deserve a love that doesn't come with lies."
And then she walked away, leaving me with more questions than answers—and a heart pounding harder than it had all week.
Still, my heart wasn't settled. I didn't know what this meant for me… or for Chris.
But I knew one thing for sure:
There were secrets everywhere.
And I was only just beginning to unravel them.