⊹₊ ⋆𝓜𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓕𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭 ⋆ ₊⊹⁶

The problem with Miles Fairchild was that he seemed to have been born with the ability to make anyone feel stupid without even raising his voice.

He was intelligent, polite when it suited him, and possessed such a serene expression that it was difficult to know what he was thinking. He didn't need to try hard to get your attention. And, for some reason that still defied all logic, you had fallen hopelessly in love with him.

Everyone knew Miles wasn't exactly a romantic. Even so, after weeks of working up the courage, you'd decided to confess your feelings to him in a letter. His response had been as cold as you'd expected. Maybe even worse.

"Did you really think this was going to work?" he asked, holding your letter between his fingers . "I don't mean to be cruel, but you should learn to distinguish between what you wish for and what can actually happen."

I had returned it to you with unbearable calmness, as if I had just corrected a math problem and not shattered your illusions.

After that, you had tried to avoid it as much as you could.

And then the earthquake struck. Your house was badly damaged, forcing you and your father to find somewhere to stay while the situation was being sorted out. Luckily, an old friend of your father's (Kate) offered to take you in for a while. The solution seemed perfect: a safe roof over your head, a room to sleep in, and a chance to start over.

Until you arrived at the house.

"You can stay as long as you need," the woman assured him as she helped your father with his suitcases . "Consider this your home!"

As soon as you crossed the threshold, you heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

—Kate, who are they…?

The voice broke off.

Miles appeared on the top step, dressed in a sweater and crisp trousers. His usual indifferent expression vanished for a split second, scanning you from head to toe.