Gigi was fifteen when she made her first vow: I will never fall in love. It wasn't said out loud, and it wasn't the result of some dramatic heartbreak. It came quietly, like most realizations that shape a lifetime.
It was the night she caught her brother sneaking out of their second-floor balcony - shirtless, shoes in hand, and grinning like a fool. She had stayed up late studying for her physics quiz when she saw his silhouette tiptoe across the hall.
"Again?" she asked flatly from the shadows.
Josh jumped. "You scared me!"
"Is it the girl from the gym or the one from the church choir this time?"
He laughed. "Does it matter? They both like me."
That was her answer. That was always the answer.
She looked at him and saw their father. She saw their grandfather. She saw the entire Santiago male lineage: charming, careless, and clueless. Josh wasn't even sorry. He was proud.
That night, Gigi took out her pink journal, ripped out every romantic poem she'd written, and threw them into the toilet.
No more fairytales.
No more princes.
No more pretending.
From then on, she built her world on ambition, not affection. She studied hard, spoke only when needed, and avoided any situation that even smelled like a crush. Boys tried - of course they did. She was smart, beautiful, and sharp-tongued enough to keep things interesting. But she never gave anyone the satisfaction of being her weakness.
They called her "hard to get."
They were wrong.
She was "not interested."
Now, walking toward her job interview in heels that clicked like purpose across the pavement, Gigi felt that same resolve pulsing through her veins. The world was full of boys like Josh - and worse. She wasn't here to be impressed. She was here to win.