The sky had been threatening all day. Ominous clouds hung low over the valley, casting a gray pall over the town of Willowcreek. As the evening wore on, the first drops began to fall, and the streets emptied as townspeople hurried indoors, seeking shelter from the coming storm.

Amelia Rothwell, however, was not among them.

She stood alone at the edge of the Rothwell estate, staring at the dense line of trees that separated her family’s land from the wild woods beyond. The wind tugged at her long chestnut hair, whipping it around her face as the drizzle quickly turned into a downpour. In her finely tailored coat and boots, she looked like a woman lost, her sharp green eyes staring into the swirling mist with an intensity that belied her carefully controlled exterior.

She knew she shouldn’t be out here. It was foolish—no, reckless. But recklessness had never been part of her nature, not until recently. In the past, she would have listened to her father’s warnings, obeyed the unwritten rules of the Rothwell name. She would have been seated at dinner by now, politely enduring another discussion about the future of the family business, the potential marriage alliances being considered for her. A life mapped out in such fine detail it left no room for mistakes—no room for desire.

But tonight was different. Something in her had snapped.

She couldn’t stand the suffocating walls of her home, couldn’t bear the thought of another evening of her father’s oppressive control, of her brother Matthew’s sharp gaze watching her every move. So, she had fled. Where she was going, she hadn’t known until her feet led her here—on the cusp of the woods, the place she used to visit as a child before the feud between the Rothwells and the Hargroves grew too bitter for even a moment of peace.

Her eyes flicked toward the dark line of trees, drawn to a memory she hadn’t thought of in years. Beyond the forest, nestled in a forgotten clearing, lay an abandoned chapel. It was old, crumbling, and had been untouched for decades. It wasn’t sacred anymore, but it was the only place in Willowcreek that felt truly neutral, a relic from a time before the endless battles between her family and the Hargroves poisoned the town.

As the rain beat down harder, Amelia pulled her coat tighter and began to walk, her boots sinking into the softening earth. Her heart pounded in time with the rhythm of the rain, faster now, as if the storm had kindled something inside her. Each step took her deeper into the forest, farther from the safety of her home and the expectations that had chained her for so long. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, only that she needed to escape the weight of her family’s legacy, even if only for a few hours.

The chapel emerged like a ghost from the mist—stone walls cracked and weathered by time, ivy crawling up its sides, claiming it as part of the forest. The roof sagged in places, but it still stood strong, a testament to something long forgotten. Amelia hesitated at the edge of the clearing, her breath catching as she stared at the familiar structure. The air here felt different—heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth and moss, a quiet sanctuary from the world outside.

She took a deep breath and stepped forward, the rain now running in rivulets down her face. She had almost reached the door when she noticed something—a faint flicker of movement in the corner of her vision. Her heart jumped, and she froze, squinting through the rain. For a moment, she thought she was imagining it, that her mind was playing tricks on her in the storm.

But then she saw him.

A man stood in the shadow of the chapel, half-hidden by the trees. His dark hair was slick with rain, and his sharp blue eyes met hers with a sudden intensity that made her heart skip. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and though his clothes were worn—a leather jacket and jeans soaked from the rain—there was a rugged strength about him that drew her attention. His face was set in a frown, and the moment stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tension.

Amelia’s breath caught in her throat. She knew who he was before he even spoke. She didn’t need an introduction—there was no mistaking Ethan Hargrove. She had seen him from a distance before, at town events, across crowded rooms, and in fleeting glimpses through the window of her father’s car as they passed the Hargrove estate. He was the last person she should be standing across from now.

The Hargroves were the enemy. That was what her father had drilled into her for as long as she could remember. They were ruthless, proud, and had stolen what rightfully belonged to the Rothwells—or so the story went. The feud had started long before Amelia was born, a bitter battle over land and power, but it had grown into something far more personal. The Rothwells and the Hargroves despised one another, and that hatred had become woven into the fabric of the town itself.

Yet here Ethan stood, staring at her with an intensity that made her shiver, though it had nothing to do with the rain. For a long moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was the steady drumming of the storm on the chapel roof, the rain cascading around them like a curtain, isolating them from the rest of the world.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was low, rough, as though he hadn’t spoken in hours. It cut through the rain, startling her.

Amelia blinked, her mind racing for an answer. What was she doing here? She could hardly admit the truth—that she had come here to escape the prison of her family’s expectations, to seek solace in a place that had once felt free. And she certainly couldn’t admit that she hadn’t expected anyone else to be here, least of all him.

“I could ask you the same question,” she replied, her voice sharper than she intended, trying to mask the flutter of panic in her chest. She took a step back, suddenly aware of how close they were.

Ethan’s frown deepened, his eyes narrowing. For a moment, she thought he would turn and walk away, but instead, he stepped forward, closing the distance between them. The air seemed to crackle with the weight of unspoken history, the rivalry that had shaped their lives, the invisible barrier that divided them. And yet, in this moment, under the shelter of the storm, it felt like that barrier might break.

“I come here to think,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. “It’s the only place left in this town that isn’t tainted by our families’ bullshit.”

Amelia stared at him, surprised by his candor. She hadn’t expected him to speak so plainly, to reveal even a sliver of vulnerability. It disarmed her, leaving her unsure of how to respond. For so long, the Hargroves had been faceless enemies in her mind, a shadowy force to be fought. But Ethan wasn’t faceless now. He was real, standing before her, and she could see the weight he carried just as she did.

“I didn’t think anyone else came here,” she admitted, her voice softer now, almost a whisper. The storm had softened too, the rain a steady rhythm in the background.

Ethan’s eyes flicked to hers again, and for the first time, she saw something flicker in his gaze—something that wasn’t anger or disdain. It was curiosity, tempered by caution.

“Maybe it’s because we’re not so different after all,” he said, his voice barely audible over the rain.

Amelia’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath catching. The storm around them seemed to still, the world shrinking to just the two of them, standing in the shadow of the chapel. For a moment, it felt as if they were the only two people in the world—two people bound by something far stronger than the feud that had torn their families apart.

And in that moment, under the dark sky and the rain, Amelia Rothwell realized she was dangerously close to crossing a line she could never come back from.

The chapel was a tomb of forgotten history, its cracked stone walls silent witnesses to lives that had long passed. As the rain continued to beat against the roof, Amelia and Ethan stood in the stillness of the clearing, their breathing the only sound in the quiet space between them. A gust of wind swept through the trees, rustling the leaves and sending a chill through the damp air, but neither of them moved.

Amelia's mind raced. Her eyes were locked on Ethan's, searching for answers she wasn't even sure she wanted. The memory of their families' long feud hovered between them like a thick fog, but in this moment, it felt distant—like a story told so many times it had lost its meaning. What mattered now was the storm inside her, the way her pulse quickened at his presence, and the unsettling realization that she was standing dangerously close to the one man she had been taught to hate.

Ethan’s words echoed in her mind: "Maybe it’s because we’re not so different after all." It was absurd, of course. They were supposed to be enemies, destined to follow the paths laid out by their families. And yet, here they were, sharing a moment of raw honesty beneath the storm, cut off from the expectations of Willowcreek.

But as the silence stretched, tension curled tighter between them. Amelia fought to keep her composure, but there was no denying the unspoken energy in the air. Ethan had crossed a line by coming here—so had she—but the line between right and wrong, between loyalty and defiance, was beginning to blur.

"I should go," she said, her voice a whisper, barely convincing herself of the words. She took a step back, willing her body to obey, but her feet felt like they were glued to the earth.

Ethan's gaze remained steady, his expression unreadable. "You don’t have to." He stepped closer, his boots squelching in the mud, closing the space between them. There was something in his eyes now, something that made her stomach twist—a heat that was both dangerous and undeniable.

"Don’t tell me what I have to do," Amelia shot back, her voice sharper than she intended. Her defenses were rising again, instinctively. That was how it had always been between the Rothwells and the Hargroves—attack first, shield yourself before they had a chance to strike. Yet even as the words left her lips, she regretted them.

Ethan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t retreat. Instead, his eyes locked onto hers with a ferocity that took her breath away. "I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Amelia. I’m trying to figure out why the hell you’re here. Out of all places, why this chapel? Why now?"

His voice was steady but laced with frustration, and for the first time, she saw the cracks in his armor. He was just as confused as she was, both of them caught in a moment that neither could fully understand.

"I needed to get away," she admitted, the truth slipping out before she could stop herself. The storm outside was nothing compared to the one raging inside her, and her words felt like a small release, like letting go of a burden she hadn’t realized she was carrying. "From them. From everything. I don’t know. I just—"

"You just needed to breathe," Ethan finished for her, his tone softening. "I get it."

Amelia blinked, surprised by the tenderness in his voice. It was a strange relief to know that someone understood, even if that someone was the last person she should be confiding in. But the empathy in his eyes unnerved her. How could the son of the Hargroves—the family that had fought tooth and nail to destroy her own—know what it felt like to be suffocated by the weight of family duty?

"Why are you here, Ethan?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. Her voice was low, more a whisper to herself than to him. "You could have gone anywhere, but you’re here, in this forgotten place. Why?"

He hesitated, as though the answer wasn’t something he’d fully processed himself. His blue eyes darkened, and he glanced away, toward the old chapel doors, the wood swollen and rotting with time. "This place... it used to mean something before all of this," he said, motioning vaguely, as if to encompass the feud that had split their families for generations. "Before we were forced to pick sides."

Amelia’s heart thudded in her chest as she took a slow step toward him. Her mind screamed for her to turn around, to retreat, to stop this before it went any further, but something stronger kept her in place. She was tired of pretending. Tired of playing the role of the perfect Rothwell daughter, tired of the hatred that had been passed down like a curse.

She bit her lip, her voice barely audible over the rain. "Do you ever wonder what it would be like if none of this had happened? If our families hadn’t..." She trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought.

"If our families hadn’t poisoned everything?" Ethan finished for her, his voice tight with bitterness. "Yeah. I think about it more than I should."

Amelia nodded, a cold knot of anger tightening in her chest. It was unfair—this life they had both inherited, built on grudges they had no part in. She thought of her father, her brother, of the endless dinners where the feud was discussed like it was a matter of life and death. It was all-consuming, suffocating, and she wanted nothing more than to escape it.

Ethan stepped closer, his hand lifting as though to touch her, but he hesitated, his fingers hovering inches from her arm. The heat between them was undeniable now, an electric tension that crackled in the air. Amelia’s breath caught in her throat, her pulse racing as she felt the pull, the magnetic force drawing her to him, despite the warning blaring in her mind.

"You should go," she whispered, though the words felt like a lie. She didn’t want him to leave.

Ethan’s gaze flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes. "Do you want me to?" His voice was low, rough, filled with a dark intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

She swallowed hard, her heart hammering in her chest. Everything about this was wrong. Everything her father had told her, everything she had grown up believing—it all pointed to one inevitable truth: she shouldn’t be here, and she shouldn’t want this. But the truth, the raw truth that she couldn’t deny any longer, was that she did.

"No," she breathed, the word barely escaping her lips before his hand brushed her arm, a light, tentative touch that sent a shockwave through her body. She closed her eyes for a moment, caught in the sensation, the warmth of his skin against hers.

The storm outside intensified, the rain pounding harder on the roof, as if the world itself was mirroring the tempest building between them.

Ethan moved closer still, his body inches from hers, his breath warm against her cheek. His hand trailed down her arm, sending a rush of heat through her. "This is dangerous," he said, his voice a rasp.

"I know," Amelia whispered. But she didn’t pull away.

There was no going back now.

The storm raged outside, its fury a mirror to the emotions swirling between them. The rain beat down in relentless sheets, but inside the chapel’s crumbling walls, there was only the tension—the crackling energy of two souls standing on the edge of a precipice. Amelia could hear nothing but the pounding of her own heart, feel nothing but the warmth of Ethan’s hand still lightly touching her arm. It was dangerous. It was wrong. Yet every fiber of her being screamed for her to close the distance between them.

His blue eyes bore into hers, filled with an intensity that left her breathless. Neither of them moved, as if the world had frozen for just a moment, waiting for one of them to break the spell.

And then he did.

Ethan’s hand slid up her arm, slow and deliberate, until it reached her shoulder. He stepped closer, his breath warm against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. He didn’t say a word, but his gaze flicked between her eyes and lips, asking a question he didn’t need to voice. Amelia knew what he was asking—what he wanted—and she knew her answer before he even spoke.

Without thinking, without hesitation, she leaned in.

His lips met hers in a fierce, sudden kiss that shattered the stillness around them. The tension that had been building between them erupted into a fire that neither could control. Amelia gasped softly as the kiss deepened, her hands instinctively reaching for him, tangling in his wet hair. The taste of rain lingered on his lips, and the heat of his body pressed against hers sent a thrill of adrenaline coursing through her veins.

Ethan’s hands were on her waist now, pulling her closer, his touch firm yet careful, as if afraid she might pull away. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. The world outside the chapel—the feud, their families, everything that had once seemed so important—faded away in that moment. There was only him. Only this.

Amelia’s mind raced, caught between the overwhelming need and the voice inside her that whispered warnings. This is wrong, it said, but she didn’t care. She had spent too long being told what was right and what was wrong, too long living under the weight of her family’s expectations, and for the first time in her life, she was free. Free to feel, to want, to give in to something purely for herself.

Ethan broke the kiss just long enough to look at her, his breathing ragged, his forehead resting against hers. “Amelia...” His voice was hoarse, filled with something raw, something real. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing gently across her skin. “Tell me to stop, and I will. I swear I will.”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment, her heart pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it. Every rational part of her screamed that she should say it—that she should pull away before they crossed a line neither could come back from. But when she met his gaze, her resolve crumbled. The way he looked at her, like she was the only person in the world, was enough to silence the warnings in her mind.

“I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the rain.

Ethan’s expression shifted, a flash of relief and something deeper passing through his eyes. He kissed her again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if savoring the taste of something forbidden. His hands roamed her body, cautious but filled with need, while Amelia’s own hands traced the strong lines of his back, pulling him closer still.

But just as the fire between them seemed to consume everything, there was a sound—a sharp snap from somewhere outside the chapel.

Amelia froze, her body tensing in Ethan’s arms. The noise was faint, almost drowned out by the rain, but unmistakable—a branch breaking under the weight of someone’s footsteps.

Ethan heard it too. He pulled back, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the darkened entrance of the chapel. “Did you hear that?”

Amelia nodded, her heart racing for an entirely different reason now. The warmth of their kiss vanished, replaced by a cold spike of fear. She stepped back, her mind suddenly racing with the possibilities. Was someone out there? Had they been followed? The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

“Who could it be?” she whispered, glancing toward the door, half-expecting to see a figure emerge from the shadows.

Ethan’s expression hardened. He took a step toward the entrance, his body instinctively positioning itself between her and whatever threat might be lurking outside. “Stay here,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I’ll check.”

“No,” Amelia whispered urgently, grabbing his arm. “What if it’s someone from your family? Or mine? We can’t let them see us here together.”

Ethan paused, considering her words. He nodded slowly, his jaw tight with tension. “Then we need to leave. Now.”

Amelia’s heart pounded as the weight of the situation sank in. If they were caught here—together—the consequences would be disastrous. Their families would never forgive them. The feud, already on the verge of boiling over, would erupt into something far worse. But more than that, it was her own fear that gripped her—a fear of being seen as something other than the perfect Rothwell daughter. Of being seen with a Hargrove.

Ethan reached for her hand, his fingers wrapping tightly around hers. “Come on,” he whispered, pulling her toward the back of the chapel, where the forest stretched out into the darkness.

Amelia followed, her mind racing, her pulse hammering in her chest. They moved quickly, their footsteps muffled by the rain and the soft earth beneath their boots. The trees loomed ahead like dark sentinels, offering cover from whoever—or whatever—was out there.

But just as they reached the tree line, another sound cut through the storm.

“Amelia!”

The voice was sharp, unmistakable, and it stopped her in her tracks.

She turned, her heart sinking into her stomach as she saw the figure emerging from the mist, stepping into the clearing just outside the chapel.

It was Matthew. Her brother.

His face was shadowed by the rain, but even from this distance, she could see the fury in his eyes. He took another step forward, his gaze locked on Ethan, and everything in Amelia’s world came crashing down in that moment.

“What the hell is going on here?” Matthew’s voice was like ice, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Amelia felt her blood turn cold. Ethan stiffened beside her, his body tense and ready for a fight.

They had been caught.