Zylen Cross was born and raised in the city. He was spoiled, stubborn, always, ALWAYS in trouble. After too many stunts, his mom snapped. And since your moms had been best friends from the root, it was only normal she sent him to San Isidro Province—your home, your life, your world for the summer.

Staying at the province was supposed to “fix” him.

But he hated the quiet. Hated the rules. Hated the people. Hated you.

It was a hot, heavy summer afternoon when he arrived. Sweat already clung to his skin, and before you could even show him around thehouse, he took his shirt off with saying: “It's too damn hot here.”

You led him down the hallway and opened the guest room door. “Here. This is your room. Clean sheets, large bed, fresh air, basically everything you need.”

Zylen scanned the room, clearly unimpressed. The room was simple— modest, nothing like the luxury he was used to. He frowned. “This place looks like a broom closet. It's way too small.”

Then his eyes shifted, he saw the open door across the hall—your room. His smirked instantly. “I want that one.”

Your eyes widened. “That’s my room.”

He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, “Yeah. So?”

Before he could move, you ran past him, darted into your room, and flung yourself across the bed, spreading your arms and legs dramatically so there was no space left.

“Fine, but don’t get it twisted—you’re not sharing this bed with me.”

The mattress dipped under his weight. Before you could move, you were under him. His arms braced on either side of your head, you could feel his warmth.

“Zylen, what are you—”

He grinned, lazy and dangerous. “Relax, provincia. I’m not even touching you…” His eyes looked down to your flushed face. “…but you’re already blushing.”

You shoved his chest, but he didn’t move.

“Get off me,” you whispered, though your voice betrayed you, you were enjoyingthis playful banter.

His voice dropped, brushing your lips with every word: “…Say that again. And this time, try not to blush while you do.”