The moon cannot speak love.

Ashton Vance and I had been locked in a vicious dance for six long years.

He drove my mother to a fall that left her paralyzed, and I leaked classified info, watching his empire crumble.

Everyone believed we were destined to torment each other for an eternity.

When we met again, he had already risen from the ashes, effortlessly fielding questions from reporters.

“Remember back in college, we all said we’d find love by 18, marry by 25, and have a kid before 28? Ashton, which step are you on now?”

“I’m almost engaged.”

“Wow, you’re the fastest one here then!”