Chapter 1: Forced Family, Rainy Graves

In the vast stretch of the Midwest—

The kind of endless, rolling country where the horizon just won’t quit, fields rolling on for miles. You know the type—fields for miles, nothing but sky. The gold turns to green and back again as the seasons change, and tucked away in the southwest corner of the state sits Maple Heights, a small city most folks never think about.

Most people just blow right through Maple Heights—just another blip on the map, another quick turnoff from the interstate. Blink and you’ll miss it. But if you’re paying attention, you’ll spot tidy brick houses, a main street with an old-school hardware store and a diner, and, come autumn, maple trees that light the whole place up like fire.

Here, it rains nearly half the year. The air is so damp, you could wring water from your jeans. Seriously, it’s that bad.

It’s the rainy season now, and the drizzle just won’t quit. It’s the kind of rain that seeps into your bones, makes the world shrink a little, hushes everything. Sometimes, honestly, it feels like the clouds just can’t let it go. Not that it’s anything new around here.

There’s a kid out there—what, twelve? Thirteen?—standing in the curtain of rain.

He’s not using an umbrella. His thick brown hair is plastered to his pale skin, soaked through. Water slides down his jaw, mixing with the rain as it quietly drips onto the granite headstone, the one engraved with names.

The black suit he’s wearing—jet-black, really—was picked out for him that morning by Vanessa Hall, but now it’s drenched right through.

Vanessa stands off to the side, umbrella in hand, watching the gravestone. She’s not really in the moment—just going through the motions.

Inside the urn are the ashes of her mother and the boy’s father. The funny thing is, she and the boy out in the rain aren’t related. Not even close.

They got forced into being siblings overnight, and then forced to be each other’s only family. No choice in the matter.

Sometimes, life is more dramatic than any story—though sometimes, it’s a little too much. Sometimes, it’s just plain exhausting.

But Vanessa doesn’t care. Honestly, she couldn’t care less. She just needs to finish her task.

The rain picks up, pounding harder, but Mason Grant still stands there, not budging an inch, staring at the headstone.

If this were a TV drama, she’d probably be right there next to him, sharing the umbrella, both of them getting soaked, and then they’d have some big, sappy moment. That would be perfect.

But Vanessa just isn’t in the mood. Not today.

Even if this mission world barely counts as a TV drama—basically a knock-off, really—she’s not the main character. She’d rather fade into the background.

She doesn’t want to get wet. No thanks—she’s not about to ruin her hair for anyone.

Looking good while soaked like a drowned rat? That’s for the main couple, not for her—she’s just the extra, the third wheel. Just her luck, right? If fate gets annoyed, maybe she’ll get struck by lightning for no reason.

Vanessa is zoning out when someone in white catches her eye.

Speak of the devil—the heroine shows up.

A clean, pretty little girl, maybe ten, with big, earnest hazel eyes. She’s got on a white dress and a matching cape, holding a pale blue umbrella, awkwardly trying to cover Mason from the rain.

The two of them seem to have a spotlight following them—a perfect six-foot circle of light. Vanessa feels like a third wheel just standing there. She’s just the awkward extra.

She sneaks a look at Mason. The boy is still standing there, not budging, not even looking at her.

The little girl is right under the same umbrella, their clothes almost brushing, but Mason’s got a wall up, shutting everyone out.

But it doesn’t matter. That’s just how these stories go. As the main character, he’ll eventually fall for her.

Then he’ll go off the rails, and the whole possessive plotline will play out.

This romance is a little twisted and predictable, but there’s one weird thing: the heroine is strong-willed and never falls for her captor, no matter how obsessed he gets.

Even at the end, she still doesn’t fall for Mason. Not once. It’s kind of impressive, honestly.

In the finale, the main character is mad as hell because he can’t stand it, and they both die.

Vanessa clicks her tongue, thinking about her mission. What a mess.

"Main Task: Change the story to a happy ending. Shift the tone to warmth."

"Side Task: Let the main character, Mason Grant, feel love and peace." Like that’s going to be easy.

She rolls her eyes. Make a guy this twisted learn love and peace? Yeah, right. Ridiculous.

She starts plotting, running through a rough strategy in her mind.

The rain keeps falling. Those two are still lost in their own world.

...Don’t their legs get numb, standing there so long?

Besides, they’re just kids—what kind of romance is that supposed to be?

She steels herself, decides to play the villain, steps up, grabs Mason’s wrist, and drags him away, breaking up this awkward little duo—

Well, more like two little chicks.

Vanessa flashes a smile and says goodbye to the little girl: "Sweetie, go home. Go hang out with the neighbor kid—he’s probably got snacks."

Go back to your old friend, sweetheart. Stay away from Mason Grant, the future psycho. Keeping your life is more important.

She takes the chance to ruffle the little girl’s hair—man, her hair is like silk.

Vanessa’s smile gets even brighter. She can’t help herself—this kid is adorable.

Seriously, who wouldn’t love a strong, independent heroine who doesn’t have Stockholm syndrome?

Under the little girl’s confused gaze, Vanessa quickly walks away, dragging her new, budget-priced little brother, leaving the cemetery quiet and empty.

The air is thick with the smell of wet grass and stone. Vanessa’s shoes squelch in the mud as she hustles Mason away—the sound is oddly comforting in the hush of the cemetery. She glances back once, making sure the little girl is heading for the main gate, her umbrella bobbing like a pale blue balloon in the gray rain. Just a quick check—old habits die hard.

Mason feels the warm, soft grip on his wrist, makes a face, and tries to yank his arm out of Vanessa’s grasp.

He can’t stand this kind of closeness. Ugh.

Besides,

If anyone’s gonna hold his hand, it shouldn’t be Vanessa.

Vanessa is the daughter of the woman his dad brought home four years ago, six years older than him, always scheming—seriously, the girl’s a total lunatic.

His father hated his ex-wife, so he hated Mason too, letting Vanessa’s little tricks slide. Figures.

She was always making a big deal out of ordinary stuff, acting like everything was amazing. So fake, always pretending to be grown up.

They hated each other. Four years of this—besides trading insults, they barely even looked at each other.

And now this annoying Vanessa is holding his hand, forcing a black baseball cap onto his head. What is her deal?

She doesn’t even look at him, but her voice is gentle: "If you don’t want to share an umbrella with me, then wear the hat, okay?"

She pauses, just a beat.

"But you’d better get used to sharing an umbrella with me. ‘Cause, you know, it’s just us now."

Mason: "..."

He feels weird. He doesn’t need whatever this is supposed to be—he’s fine alone. But he doesn’t say a word.

Vanessa is pleased with her warm approach. If she’s going to make Mason feel love and peace, she’s gonna lay on the mom vibes thick from here on out.

She’s a little nervous. Honestly, it’s her first time playing mom—she’s totally winging it.

She glances at Mason’s hunched shoulders, at the way he keeps his eyes glued to the sidewalk, and wonders if she’s doing any of this right. Maybe she should’ve read a parenting blog or two. Maybe she should’ve just left him in the rain. Too late now—she’s all in.

The cab ride from the cemetery to the edge of town is weirdly expensive, almost wipes out all the cash Vanessa has left. Just her luck.

She used to have a decent stash, but supposedly the cemetery has some kind of good luck or spiritual energy, and the original owner was way too devoted to it.

Not to mention, the parents in the grave left behind a mountain of debt.

Even as a fast-travel missioner—basically someone who jumps into stories to fix things—her system is missing most of the time, and money is a real problem.

As for Mason, when she asked, the kid only knew how to be paranoid and twisted—saving money? Yeah, right.

Their living situation is barely figured out: a run-down apartment building on the city’s edge, cheap and tucked away, just right for two broke siblings.

After paying utilities and rent, she can still swing a few packs of ramen noodles.

Vanessa wonders what kind of air sandwiches taste best. She’s about to find out.

Their shabby apartment’s on the top floor. Mason knew things would get rough after his dad died, but he didn’t think it’d be this bad. Not even close.

The stairwell reeks of sweat, smoke, and mildew—enough to make anyone gag.