PROLOGUE

BASH I'm pissed off. My art teacher annoyed me. She didn't appreciate my watercolor painting. It's not so terrible, and I put a lot of effort into that project.  I hop out of the car without thanking my driver. Sprinting inside the house with my backpack tightly grasp, I stomp my feet to our expansive living room. I practiced the same concept last night over and over again until it looked satisfactory. I admit I'm so bad at art, but it hurts my ego because I'm excellent at every subject. I can play the piano, cello, violin, and guitar with my eyes closed. I can solve math with just one look at the problem, but art? Ugh! I grimace at the thought of it. I stop to halt when I notice mom and one of her best friends are laughing together. Their voices echo in the living room. They abruptly pause when they notice me. I roll my eyes. Mom's beautiful face lights up, and she smiles at me. Aunt Zoey, the redhead, does the same. I smile timidly back at her. I'm not in the mood to deal with them, especially Mom. I'm already eleven years old. She still pecks me on my lips and pinches my face in front of everyone—it's annoying. What kind of girls like a mama's boy? "Hey, Mom. Aunt Zoey." I play cool because everyone knows I'm King and Hughes's good boy. I stride to the carpeted staircase, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. I almost bump into Kiara, standing in the middle of the stairs. Her right hand is gripping the rails, and the other is in the sketchpad, pressed against her chest. "Bash!" she shrieks in surprise. Her green eyes are big and grow even more prominent. Her curly or, more likely, ringlet red lack looks like she has jammed her finger into the electrical outlet—so messy. She reminds me of Nerida with freckles all over her face. And she's too skinny. Kiara is Aunt Zoey and Uncle Logan's daughter—our family friends. Her parents both work in our company. "What are you doing here, goldfish?" I narrow my eyes, asking her annoyingly. Her lips quiver. She doesn't like the nickname I give her, but I enjoy annoying Kiara. "You're a bully, Bash," she murmurs and doesn't meet my gaze as she grips her sketchpad to her chest. "Well, you look like goldfish, Trinity," I say mockingly. "I'm not a fish, and my name is Kiara," she says softly with a shaky voice. I know she's about to cry. "Whatever, Kiara or Trinity! You still look like a goldfish. You have orange hair with big eyes," I say, demonstrating how big her eyes are. "I said—" I quickly snatch it from her grip. "I heard you the first time, goldfish. And what's in that sketchpad of yours? As if you can draw," I grunt as I flip through the pages. She tries her best to snatch it back from me, but I'm way taller than her. In the end, she stops when she struggles to reach for my hand that I raise in the air. "Give that to me, Bash, please?" Kiara starts crying, eyes filling with tears. She twists her fingers, sliding down herself at the railings of the stairs. "Oh, sorry, Trinity, but this is mine now. I continue flipping each page. And I know there's nothing worth looking in here." To my surprise, I am entirely wrong. My eyes widen in awe at what I see. "You did all these, Trinity?" I can't believe she can actually sketch like this. "Or your mom did these? Don't lie to me. You don't know how to draw, goldfish." I laugh out loud, but deep inside, I feel something unfamiliar. She's good at something that I don't, and I'm jealous of her. "I did all that. Please, give it back to me," Kiara says between sniffing and twisting her fingers. I almost chuckle as I see a drawing of a boy in Manga surrounded by hearts. I look at her for seconds. With a mischievous grin, I point to the sketch of a boy. "And who supposedly this boy is?" She looks at me, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "That's you."