Chloe Gong

These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,

Which, as they kiss, consume.

—Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

Once, Roma would have been able to see right through her. But four years had gone by now. He had changed. So had she.

Then the sight of the Scarlet heiress washed over him like a bucket of ice. Roma’s lips parted with a small puff of air.

The last time he’d seen her, they had been fifteen.

“Juliette,” he exclaimed automatically, but they were no longer familiar enough to use each other’s first names. They hadn’t been for a long while.