Chapter 4: Framed in False Light

Priya's fingers wouldn't stop moving. She straightened the same stack of event folders three times in the firm's main office, the one with the wide windows facing the Pacific, while her mind replayed the attic. Lila's sleepy frown. The yellowed letter. The way her sister's voice had gone small and uncertain.

She had lied, of course. Just old stuff from when Dad left, sissy. The kind of half-truth that stuck in her throat. Lila had bought it with a quick hug and a distracted nod, but her eyes had lingered a second too long before she padded back to bed. No humming about wedding hashtags. Not this time.

Priya had spent the hours until dawn stress-baking pandesal in the kitchen, the familiar rhythm of kneading doing nothing to quiet the guilt. Now the rolls sat cooling on the counter behind her, steam still curling up like accusations.

The engagement photoshoot had been on the calendar for weeks. She had organized it herself—location, lighting, even the damn photographer. Back then it had felt like control. Today it felt like punishment.

Lila bounced into the space first, beachy waves already perfect, floral dress swirling around her petite frame. She dragged Douglas by the hand toward the spot by the windows where the light hit just right.

Smile bigger, babe. The photographer, some guy with too many lenses, adjusted his tripod. Douglas stood there in his tailored shirt, broad shoulders squared, auburn hair falling across his forehead the way it always did when he was pretending to be relaxed.

His green eyes kept sliding past Lila. Straight to Priya.

She crossed her arms, nails digging into her sleeves. Don't. The word echoed in her head like a command she couldn't quite obey. Her skin still remembered the press of his body under the cliffs last night, the way his breath had caught when their foreheads touched.

I need the sister in a few too. For the family vibe. The photographer waved her forward without looking up.

Her legs felt heavy, but she moved. Lila grabbed her hand immediately, squeezing with that bright, effortless affection.

You're the best maid of honor, Pri. Look at us. Three against the world.

Priya managed a smile that felt like broken glass in her mouth. The sound she made passed for a laugh. Douglas's jaw tightened. He rubbed the back of his neck once, quick, then dropped his hand when he realized she had noticed.

The photographer arranged them. Douglas behind Lila, arms around her waist. Priya slightly to the side, meant to look like support. Her pulse thudded in her ears. Those hands had traced her jaw only hours ago, careful, like he was afraid she might vanish.

Chin up, Lila. Douglas, pull her closer. The words landed like stones in still water.

Lila melted back into him with a soft giggle. Priya looked away, out at the whitecaps smashing against the cliffs. The development site glared back at her, yellow tape bright against the rocks. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it.

Marcus wandered in then, flask-shaped bulge in his jacket pocket even at ten in the morning. He leaned against the doorframe, messy dark blond hair falling into his eyes, easy grin in place.

Well, damn. If this isn't the most photogenic train wreck I've seen since that mall collapse.

Lila lit up. Marcus! Come be moral support. Or immoral. Whatever works.

She waved him over, still tucked under Douglas's arm. Priya watched her sister's cheeks flush and wondered why she hadn't noticed that particular shade of pink before. Guilt had sharpened her vision, apparently.

Marcus slouched into the frame. The photographer grumbled but kept shooting. He slung an arm around Lila's shoulders while Douglas held her from the other side. Priya stood off to the side, arms crossed, the silver locket burning against her collarbone under her crisp blouse.

Her bun was coming undone in the humid air, strands sticking to her neck. She left them there. Fixing it felt like pretending she had any control left.

You're glowing, Lila. Marcus's lazy drawl carried across the room, but his gaze lingered on her face a beat too long.

Douglas's grip tightened on Lila's waist. Priya's fingers flexed against her own arms. She reached over and adjusted a prop vase on the nearby table, sliding it two inches left, then right again. Anything to keep from staring at the way Marcus's thumb brushed Lila's bare shoulder.

The photographer called for a break. Lila bounced toward the tablet to check the previews, cooing over how perfect everything looked. Perfect. The word sat heavy in Priya's chest.

She turned toward the supply closet at the back of the office, needing air that didn't carry her sister's perfume mixed with Douglas's cologne. Footsteps followed. Of course they did.

His long stride ate the distance. The door clicked shut behind him before she could protest. The small space smelled of toner and paper, shelves crowded with extra lenses and rolled backdrops.

What are you doing? she whispered, spinning to face him. This is her shoot. Her moment. And you're looking at me like—

Like the last six years just collapsed in on themselves. His voice dropped to that low rasp, green eyes steady on hers. He stepped closer. The door at his back made the space feel even smaller. Her shoulders met a shelf. Something shifted behind her with a soft thud.

His hand rose, hesitated, then brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek. The touch sent heat racing across her skin. She could feel the tremor in his fingers, the same one that had been there last night when he admitted he had never stopped wanting her.

You chose her. The words scraped out of her. Safe. Stable. Everything I'm not supposed to ruin.

I chose the wrong foundation. His palm settled over her hand where it pressed against his chest. His heartbeat thudded steady under her fingers, nothing like the chaos in her own ribs. Every blueprint I've touched since I came back ends up with your lines in the margins. I thought distance would fix it. Turns out some structures aren't meant to stand without their original support.

Her breath caught. The memory of rain on his skin, his forehead against hers, flooded back. She wanted to push him away. She wanted to pull him closer until the rest of the world disappeared. Instead she curled her fingers into his shirt, the fabric warm from his body.

Lila's right outside. If she walks in—

Then maybe this lie finally cracks. His forehead dropped to hers. Their breaths mingled in the dim light, warm and uneven. She caught the faint trace of condensed milk on his breath, that secret he still kept even after all this time.

The locket at her throat felt heavier, a reminder of the night he had given it to her before everything fell apart. His free hand brushed the chain once, reverent, like he remembered too.

You're killing me, she breathed. Standing there letting her lean into you while I—

The door handle rattled. They sprang apart. Marcus's voice came through, laced with knowing amusement.

Hey, you two. Lila's asking for her future husband. Something about seashell props for the next set.

Douglas's eyes held hers a moment longer. This isn't over, he mouthed. Then he slipped out, leaving her with the scent of him and the wreck of her pulse.

She pressed her fingers to her lips. Her hair had completely escaped the bun now, waves tumbling down her back. The jealousy sat ugly and sharp in her gut, but she shoved it down. She was the reliable one. The fixer. Even if fixing this meant breaking herself.

When she stepped back into the main space, Elena had arrived with a basket of the pandesal Priya had baked at 2 a.m. The smell hit her like every late-night kitchen confession their house had ever held. Her mother's chignon was perfect, her gaze sweeping the room before landing on Priya's flushed cheeks and messy hair.

I thought you all might need something warm. Elena offered the basket first to Lila, then Douglas, then Priya last. Her eyes lingered. Anak, you look like the storm followed you inside.

Just helping with the lights. Priya took a roll and bit in too fast. The bread burned her tongue. Good. Something real to focus on instead of the way Douglas watched her chew, green eyes tracking every movement like he could still taste the kiss from last night.

Lila scrolled through the previews, posting one with a quick tap. She held the screen up for Priya. Look at this one of all of us. You look pretty, sissy. Even with your hair all wild.

Priya leaned in. Lila glowed in the center. Marcus grinned beside her. Douglas's arm circled his fiancée. But his head was turned. Not toward Lila. Straight toward Priya in the background, arms crossed, expression carefully blank.

Her stomach dipped. The photo captured everything she had tried to hide.

She straightened, forcing her face into something like a smile. The roll in her hand crumbled between her fingers. Outside the windows, dark clouds were gathering over the water again. Fitting.

Elena appeared at her elbow, voice soft enough for only Priya to hear. We should talk later. About that box in the attic.

Priya swallowed hard. Douglas shifted closer under the pretense of reaching for another roll. His arm brushed hers. Heat flared where they touched. Lila laughed at something Marcus said, still oblivious for the moment, already tapping out another caption.

Priya stared at the image on the screen again. At the way Douglas looked only at her. The words she wanted to say burned in her throat. Instead she took another bite of pandesal and nodded at her sister like her heart wasn't splitting down the middle.

The real storm was already here.