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The rooftop overlooked the glittering Manila skyline.
Vinci stood at the edge, the city wind tangling his hair. Ella leaned on the rail beside him, watching the lights below, her fingers cold against the steel.
“I shouldn’t be near you,” he murmured.
“Why?”
“Because I remember… things.”
Ella turned. “What kind of things?”
He hesitated, staring at his hands.
“I remember the first time I enjoyed hurting someone.”
Ella flinched. Not visibly—but inside, something tightened.
“It was small,” he continued. “A boy in school. He used to push me. Call me names. One day, I grabbed his hand and twisted it until I heard a pop. He cried. I smiled.”
“Vinci—”
“I was ten.”
He looked at her now—raw, bleeding with guilt.
“I never told anyone. Not even my father. Eon came after that. He’s not just a personality. He’s the part of me that grew from the rot.”
“Stop.”
“I’m not done—”
“I said stop.”
Ella reached out, gripped the sides of his face—and kissed him.
Hard. Sudden. Desperate.
Vinci froze. For a second, he didn’t know where she began and he ended. Her lips trembled, not out of fear—but fury. And aching, boundless confusion.
When they pulled apart, he whispered, “Why did you do that?”
“To remind you you’re not just darkness.”
Vinci stared.
Ella stepped back. “Tell me again that you’re unworthy of love, and I’ll kiss you until you forget every reason why.”
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