Chapter Text
In the quaint, sun-drenched town of Eldridge, where manicured lawns and colonial-style homes whispered of old money and political power, Love Harrington reigned supreme. As the only daughter of Mayor Elias Harrington, a man whose name graced every campaign sign and local headline, she was the town's golden girl. Beautiful, with chestnut hair that fell in effortless waves and green eyes that sparkled like emeralds under the spotlight, Love was smart enough to breeze through her classes at Eldridge Academy. Popular? Absolutely. Boys tripped over themselves to ask her to dances, and girls either envied her or begged to be her friend. But beneath the glamour, Love was a spoiled brat through and through—reckless, impulsive, and utterly convinced that the world existed to cater to her whims.
Take that afternoon, for instance. Love had skipped her last two classes at the academy, opting instead for a leisurely shopping spree in downtown Eldridge. Her father's credit card burned a hole in her designer purse as she flitted from boutique to boutique, picking out a new dress for the upcoming mayor's gala.
"This one," she declared to the wide-eyed sales clerk, holding up a slinky red number that cost more than most families' weekly groceries. "And wrap it up, Daddy's paying. Oh, and throw in those matching heels. I deserve them."
As she strutted out of the store, bags in hand, her phone buzzed with a text from her latest fling, Net.
'Hey, babe, meet me at the old mill tonight? Got something special for you.'
Love smirked, her fingers flying over the screen.
'Only if it's diamonds. See you at 8.'
Net was cute, rich, and from a family that rivaled her own in influence, perfect for a little fun. But fun with Net always came with a side of drama, and Love thrived on it.
By evening, the sun dipped low, casting long shadows over Eldridge's cobblestone streets. Love slipped out of the Harrington estate, ignoring her mother's calls to stay for dinner.
"I'm eighteen, Mom! I can handle myself," she snapped over her shoulder, slamming the door behind her. "Besides, your cooking is so last season," she muttered under her breath.
She met Net at the abandoned mill on the town's outskirts, a spot notorious for teenage rendezvous. The air was thick with the scent of damp wood and forgotten secrets.
Net greeted her with a hungry kiss, his hands sliding possessively around her waist, pulling her close against the rough wooden wall of the mill. His lips were warm and insistent, tasting faintly of whiskey he'd snuck from his dad's cabinet. Love responded eagerly, her fingers tangling in his tousled hair, pressing her body against his. The thrill of sneaking out, of defying her parents, sent a rush through her veins.
"Missed you too," she murmured against his mouth, her voice breathy and teasing.
Net's hands roamed lower, tracing the curve of her hips, and she arched into him, a soft moan escaping her lips. "You taste like trouble," he growled, nipping at her earlobe.
"The kind of trouble you love," she shot back, her nails grazing his back through his shirt, igniting sparks of heat between them.
They stumbled deeper into the mill's shadows, the dim light filtering through cracked windows casting a sultry glow on their flushed faces. Net pinned her gently against a beam, his breath hot on her neck as he whispered promises of stolen moments and secret adventures. Love's heart raced, not just from the danger of being caught, but from the wild freedom of it all. She was the mayor's daughter, untouchable yet craving the edge.
"Show me that 'something special,'" she purred, her eyes locking onto his with a mischievous glint. Net grinned, reaching into his pocket, but before he could reveal it, Love pulled him back for another searing kiss, her body alive with the heat of their connection.
But the night soured quickly. As they caught their breath, Love casually mentioned flirting with another boy at school to see his reaction, to fan the flames of their passion.
"What? You're mine, Love. You don't get to play games like that."
"Oh, please," Love rolled her eyes, tossing her hair. "I'm not property. If you can't handle it, maybe I should find someone who can."
The argument escalated, voices rising as thunder. Net's face darkened, and he aggressively grabbed Love's wrist. "You're a tease, you know that? Spoiled little princess who thinks she can do whatever she wants."
Love yanked free, her bratty temper flaring. "Let go of me, you jerk! Or I'll tell Daddy, and he'll ruin your family's business. Poof—gone, just like that." Net's eyes flashed with rage, and before she knew it, he shoved her toward the mill's crumbling entrance. "Get out of here before I make you regret it."
Heart pounding, Love stormed off into the night, her heels clicking angrily on the gravel path. She wasn't scared—not really. This was just another thrill, another story to tell her friends. But as she cut through a shortcut alley behind the mill, she heard footsteps behind her. Faster. Closer. Net? Or worse, given her father's political enemies, it could be anyone.
"Net, if that's you, back off!" she called, spinning around. But it wasn't Net.
Three shadowy figures emerged from the darkness, their faces obscured by hoods. One sneered, "Heard you're the mayor's little girl. Bet Daddy would pay big to get you back in one piece."
Love's bravado cracked. Her pulse raced as they advanced, one pulling out a switchblade that glinted under the dim streetlight.
"Stay away!" she shouted, backing against the cold brick wall. This wasn't a schoolyard fight or a jealous spat—this was real danger, the kind of danger that her father's status attracted like moths to a flame.
She fumbled for her phone, but a hand shot out, knocking it to the ground. "No calls, princess," the leader growled, stepping closer.
Panic surged through her. She swung her purse wildly, connecting with one attacker's jaw, but it wasn't enough.
"Get your hands off me, you creep!" she yelled, her voice cracking with fear and fury. But it wasn't enough. They closed in, and Love squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the worst.
Then, out of nowhere, a blur of motion. A tall figure materialized, moving with eerie precision. She was swift and silent, disarming the first attacker with a sharp kick to the wrist, sending the knife clattering away. The second lunged, but she sidestepped effortlessly, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back until he yelped in pain.
"Run, or I'll break it," she warned in a low, commanding voice. The third hesitated, then bolted into the night.
Love blinked, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The stranger turned to her—a girl, maybe a year or two older, with sharp features, dark hair tied back, and an air of quiet authority. She wore simple, expensive clothes that screamed wealth, but her eyes were unreadable, like storm clouds over a calm sea.
"Are you okay?" the girl asked, her voice steady and warm, like a blanket on a chilly night. She extended a hand, helping Love to her feet. Her touch was gentle, sending an unexpected flutter through Love's chest, like a spark in the dark.
"Do I look okay?" Love rolled her eyes, brushed off her dress, her cheeks flushing with a mix of adrenaline and embarrassment. She yanked her hand away, but not before noticing how strong and sure Milk's grip felt. "Who the hell are you? And why are you following me? Are you some kind of stalker? Because if you are, my dad has connections, he'll have you arrested faster than you can say 'guilty.'"
The girl smiled faintly, retrieving Love's phone from the ground and handing it back. "I'm Milk. And I wasn't following you, I was just... in the right place. You looked like you needed help. Though I have to say that the purse swing was impressive. Almost took his head off."
Love snatched the phone, crossing her arms defiantly. "Milk? What kind of name is that? Sounds like something you'd call a cow. And 'impressive'? Please, I was just getting started. I could've handled those losers myself. I'm Love Harrington—people don't mess with me."
Milk chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Love Harrington, huh? Fitting name for someone who clearly loves trouble. But sure, you had it all under control. That's why you were backed against the wall, looking like a cornered kitten."
"A kitten? Excuse me?" Love huffed, but a tiny smile tugged at her lips despite herself. There was something about Milk's teasing tone—light, playful, and oddly charming—that made her heart skip again. She wasn't used to people talking back to her like this. "Fine, whatever. Thanks for the... assist. But don't think this makes us besties. I don't need a sidekick."
Milk raised an eyebrow, glancing at the fleeing attackers. "Sidekick? I prefer 'guardian angel.' Come on, I'll walk you home. It's not safe out here, even for fierce kittens like you."
"I don't need a babysitter," Love protested, but her legs felt shaky, and the alley suddenly seemed darker.
"You sure you can go home alone?" Milk raised an eyebrow, smirking as Love reached for the hem of her jacket. "That's what I thought."
Reluctantly, she let Milk guide her toward the main street. As they walked, Love stole glances at her savior. Who was this girl? She moved like someone trained—maybe martial arts? And that name... weird. But there was a warmth in Milk's presence, an unspoken reassurance that made Love's annoyance simmer rather than boil. And that flutter in her chest? Probably just the adrenaline. Yeah, definitely.
By the time they reached the Harrington estate, Love's mind raced. "Thanks again," she muttered, not meeting Milk's eyes. "But don't think this means we're friends or anything. I can take care of myself. And next time, stay out of my way, unless I ask for help, which I won't."
Milk nodded, her smile unwavering. "I know you can. But everyone needs a little help sometimes. Even princesses." She turned to leave, disappearing into the night as quietly as she'd appeared.
Love slammed the front door behind her, leaning against it with a sigh.
"Weird girl," she grumbled to herself, touching her chest where that strange flutter lingered. But as she replayed the night's events—the banter, the touch, the warmth—a flicker of curiosity stirred.
Who was Milk, really? And why did her presence feel... kind of nice? Love shook it off, heading upstairs to her lavish bedroom. Spoiled brats like her didn't need protectors. Or did they?