"She needed a hero, so that's what she became."

But I don't like a gold rush, gold rush
I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush
I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch
Everybody wants you
Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you
Walk past, quick brush
I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush
I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush
Everybody wants you
But I don't like a gold rush
-Gold Rush by Taylor Swift.

GOLDEN BEAMS OF SUNSHINE. Hair damp from the ocean mist. Fingers entwined and bodies tangled in sheets.

His face luminous, eyelashes casting gray shadows on his cheeks. Eyes pools of warm earth, a pink blush tinting his nose. Silver hair like liquid platinum and diamonds. The lazy evening sunlight did wonders for his face.

Adonis looked like a Greek god. Eros himself.

And Aphrodite was absolutely enthralled.

"You look like you're in love," he chuckled, a melodious voice like the tinkling of a wind chime.

She reached out and brushed his cheek, a fingertip resting on his plump bottom lip, "Love's a long shot."

"Come on. Just a little?"

"We're not in love," she raised an eyebrow, daring him to challenge her, even though a smirk set on her lips.

"I'm not. But I'm sure you are," the fallen angel in Aphrodite's bed reciprocated, tilting his head to nibble on her fingertip. His candy-like luscious lips kissed her hand, sending a sparkly tingle through her body.

It was inexplicable, the way someone she'd met two weeks ago had changed her. Started to turn Kang Ambrosia into Aphrodite. She would smile. And giggle. And cackle loud enough to have people wondering whether she was psychotic. She loved it.

"In your dreams, dork—"

"Aw, crap!" A daily-wage labourer exclaimed. She almost dropped her tablet. Her precious tablet. Someone was definitely going to get a serious dress down.

"What going on here?" She walked down to the crime scene, hands on her hips. Observably, a stack of violet curtains had fallen on the ground, courtesy of the labourer who was groaning, laying on top of the purple hill.

Normally, if the criminal was Yoongi or someone, she would've really chewed him out. But she had a soft spot for labourers. Her dad was one for as long as she could remember.

"Hey, are you okay?" She kneeled down, helping him up, "What happened?"

He gingerly stood, skinny legs wobbling even with her support, "I—I tripped."

Tripped? The ground was even, not a stone out of place.

"Alright, I'll have my secretary give you some first aid and something to eat," she ushered the limping man over to Yoongi. Investigating a little, she saw a near-transparent string. A tripwire, undoubtedly installed by Jeon Jeongguk.

While deciding upon an appropriate punishment for the prince's secretary, her eyes strayed to the palace. Specifically, to Prince Kangmin's balcony. And there he was, laughing loudly as his wife yawned, staring at her phone.

She got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The future king, whose coronation she was planning, deliberately attempted to injure an innocent man. A labourer at that.

She always found being around the man uncomfortable, but now he straight up creeped her out. His wife was even worse.

The crown prince noticed her—who wouldn't? She was shooting lasers from her eyes—and smirked, winking.

A nasty chill went down her spine. He was creepy and disgusting and always winked at her and every single time, she shuddered. Words weren't enough to describe the hatred she had for him.

She could actually kill him. If this job paid even a single Sykarian Treph less, she would've quit long ago. Prince Kangmin was horrific—and in Jin's tasteful words—sucked ass.

Her Hindi-speaking tongue almost opened fire, when Yoongi grabbed her arm, pulling her back to the royal garden, "Miss Kang, please. Let it be."

"But, Yoongi—On purpose! How..." she hyperventilated, heart racing as her anger liquefied into adrenaline, "Get me the hell out of here."

"I'll handle everything, you get to your lunch meeting with Mr. Seokjin, okay?"

She huffed, squeezing her eyes shut, "Finish up the storage work before I'm back, okay? And keep an eye out for crap like this."

He nodded solemnly, pulling out his phone as he ushered his boss towards the building. She left, mumbling language obscene enough for her parents to fly down from Mumbai and smack her across the face.

As she climbed up the stairs—this time referring to Prince Kangmin with the Indian version of the "your mama" jokes—she ran into Jimin. She wasn't on great terms with this prince either.

"Morning, Jimin," she muttered, unable to hold eye contact with the blond.

"Good morning," he frowned, judging her uneasy disposition, "Uh, were you in my room last night? Around 2?"

"Nope," she blurted out, pitch high.

The younger prince scoffed, smiling. He stuffed his hands in his classic black trousers pockets, eyes disappearing into slits,"You're a terrible liar."

"And you're despicable. We're even now. Does that ring a bell?"

"I'm not answering that, Ambrosia," he chortled. Looking down at his watch, he frowned, "I'm heading out for some work. I'll be back by three at the most."

"Doesn't matter to me!" The girl called out, already on the third floor.

Mumbling a mixture of admiration and condemnation for the wedding planner, Jimin made his way out and into his silver Mercedes.

"And then I told him we'll call it even."

"Call it even!? Ambrosia, sweetie..." Jin shook his head, slowly sighing in disapproval. The twenty-four year old thought her summary of the rut she and the prince were in was immaculate. This response was certainly making her doubt herself.

"What?"

"Sia, Sia. You can't just call stuff like that even. Besides, he had a mental breakdown in your arms and it's so fucking romantic and—"

"Seokjin."

"Whatevs. But what happened with you? How's it even?"

"That's not important. And I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine, sweetie. Telling me doesn't matter. As long as you've got your shit together, we're all good. I'm not sure what's up with blondie nowadays, or I would've told you," he sliced a piece of his steak and elegantly topped it with some purée, eyes trained on that as he spoke matter-of-factly.

"Thanks for understanding, Jin. I really appreciate it."

Silence ensued, as she observed the rays of sunlight bouncing off Jin's shiny brown hair. She really appreciated him. He was the only person who wasn't a client, her parents, Yoongi or Iseul with whom she'd readily spoken to in ten years now. Jimin was there too, but she wasn't sure of their relationship.

She wanted to help the prince. Find out what made him collapse at The Oriole or cry at the hospital yesterday. Maybe it was the fraction of Adonis she saw in him. Or maybe—the unlikeliest of all—she felt something.

That perfect pearly white smile he always had on in Greece was a phantom of it's past self. His iridescent honey skin was pale and gaunt, a stark contrast to the flushed glow he carried with confidence and poise.

She wanted to know what was wrong, but not when he had something on her. The panic attack she had in the studio yesterday made her seriously reconsider talking to him. Ever.

She must've looked like a psychopath, staring at one place for so long when Jin finally cleared his throat.

"You've begun doing your eyeliner pretty well, Sia. The fox-eye look suits you much more than the stupid raccoon trash you used to do," Jin complimented, waving his fork at her face, "Maybe try a little brown eyeshadow between your browbone and nose next time. Add a little depth."

"Thanks, I'll try it," she cocked her head, "You're trying for the face of Prada Sykaria, right?"

"I was, but I figured it wasn't worth my time. Prada Sykaria isn't doing too well. Gotta do what suits you best, right?"

"Exactly my work ethic."

"—so you're saying Princess Aera is allergic to carnations?"

"Dangerously. We had emergency paramedics on standby at their wedding last year. I had a vial of epinephrine in my coat pocket too," he brushed stray stands of his silver hair out of his eyes, repeatedly tapping an expensive pen on the edge of his table.

"But Prince Kangmin explicitly asked for carnations at the ceremony," she protested. These royals were really one big dysfunctional family.

"Kangmin is Kangmin. The sooner you adjust to him, the better," he waved a hand in her direction, looking completely aloof to the wedding planner diplomatically extracting information on the job of her lifetime. Unbeknownst to her, Jimin was trying as hard as he could to keep his eyes off her.

Puffy netted sleeves cast diamond shadows on her smooth arms, long dark hair framing her face. Brow marred in concentration, she looked stunning. The sunlight did justice to those beautiful light brown eyes.

"—replace the carnations with marigolds or something. God, his own wife! No offence, but your brother is a complete asshole," she continued, waving her hands in the air. Jimin had zip on what she had been saying. No clue.

"Mhm. I've been saying that since I could speak," he mumbled, huffing. He fought back the urge to put his chin in his palms and stare shamelessly at his summer paramour.

She was wearing colour. Actual, real colour. Not those white pantsuits that she practically lived in. Even in Ithaca, all she wore was white. White swimsuits and white hats. Jimin had joked, asking her whether she was so in love with weddings. He'd written her expletives off as a joke, but now he was starting to rethink that.

Pink really suited her, bringing out the bronze in her skin. He wondered where she got those freckles on her collarbones from. She had a tiny scar on her temple, visible only when she wore her hair up.

"What are you looking at?" She frowned, raising an eyebrow. She was certain she'd washed up before coming. Experimenting with skincare did leave her face looking blotchy sometimes.

"You."

"Is there something on my face?" Patting her cheeks vigorously, she cursed that turmeric-honey-yogurt facemask she'd worn hours ago.

"Nope. Just you," he murmured, eyes glazing over for a moment, before he turned back to the papers on his desk.

Way to be weird, she chuckled to herself. Heart pounding, beating her ribcage as she felt the throbbing in the tips of her extremities.

"Is everything alright?"

"What? Kinda out of the blue, don't you think?" She scoffed, a nervous smile on her lips.

"Ambrosia, seriously. You nearly had a seizure yesterday. Should I call a doctor or something?" He sighed in response.

"I'm fine, Jimin. Besides, why are you asking when I told you we'll call it even? You agreed not to," voice nasal, she complained.

"Barging into my room at 2am and announcing "Shut up, it's even," doesn't mean I agree, Ambrosia. I would've agreed to wear that unicorn onesie Jin got me if you asked me at 2," he languished, tone satirical.

She grumbled under her breath, silently abusing the handsome blond, "I'm fine, I don't need a doctor. I'm fine."

He raised an eyebrow at her, lips in an incredulous set, "I'm sure, but-"

"I need to find Yoongi. I'm late for dinner."

"It's 4. You had lunch three hours ago."

"A girl can eat if she wants to. And I want dinner now."

"A girl sure can," he shrugged, "and so can I. Let's go. How does The Oriole sound to you?"

The wedding planner was at a loss for words, "You're not—Wait—"

"It's far from even, Aphrodite. We need to talk and you know it."

"You're impossible," she grumbled under her breath, getting off the couch in the centre of the prince's room.

She followed him out and into the passenger's seat of his car. Driving in silence, she felt the cool breeze on her cheeks. It had rained every night, the constant pitter-patter of the raindrops providing the perfect soundtrack for her to work.

Today was the fourth anniversary of her first individual commission. The day Iseul showed a stitch of mercy, changing Ambrosia's life forever. She had to celebrate, but Kangmin had put a damper on her happiness. Her father was a labourer, treated even worse than the poor guy this morning. No one deserved to be treated that way.

She glanced over at Jimin, observing the similarities between him and his brother. They had the same eyes, drooping yet almond shaped. Kangmin had a rougher face, a chiselled bone structure, a light stubble. Jimin's was graceful, the perfect balance of soft and sharp. Strokes of an almost feminine touch added to his fallen angel aesthetic.

Yet, the contrast was uncanny. Kangmin was a level-10, 100% dick, a complete asshole. His brother was a gentleman, one who had morals. He loved his country. She almost wished it was Jimin's coronation she was planning instead of Kangmin's. The elder would lay waste to this beautiful nation. She felt guilty, as though she had a part in the prospective destruction of paradise.

Reaching The Oriole, she recognised the spot where Jimin had tumbled into her arms, tearing up. She fought back the urge to ask him whether he was alright, for it would only provoke a reciprocated 'what about you?'. She didn't have the energy to answer that.

They ate quietly, only a few attempts of continuing their previous conversation from Jimin breaking the silence. They were rebuffed with a passion.

Returning to the familiar palace, they decided to head up to their rooms together-courtesy of Jimin's private jester, Jeon Jeongguk for giving them opposite rooms.

As she passed the courtyard, where the labourer was tortured earlier that day, she looked up at the king-to-be's room. It was empty.

"If I see that bastard again, I swear-"

"Quite the problem, wasn't it? My little game," Kangmin jeered, snapping her out of her anger.

"All due respect, Your Highness, I still don't get the joke," Ambrosia admitted, gritting her teeth at the sight of the devil.

"Nothin' more than a pretty face, isn't she, brother?" The crown prince scoffed, as though she were as easy to read as his favourite issue of Playboy.

"Don't you have work to do, Kangmin?" Jimin sighed, shoulders visibly drooping in frustration.

"It's Prince Kangmin to you, baby brother," he frowned, becoming serious.

Before the younger prince could respond, Ambrosia piped in, "Your Highness, should I keep carnations at the coronation or marigolds?"

She had no clue why she asked that question. She already knew the answer.

"Carnations, darling. Carnations. Need that spelled out?" He huffed, "And it's daddy to you, babe."

Her mouth hung open, before Jimin gave her a calming look.

"You have a wife, Kangmin," the blond breathed, begging his brother, "Please, respect your marriage. You will be the sole ruler of the Kingdom of Sykaria, you need to honour your promises to keep the faith of the public. It's the least you can do."

"What is your problem, prude?" He turned his attention to Jimin, "Wanna fuck my wife or something?"

Jimin saw red. Red in his irises, his breath, his vision. All his life he'd been the perfect prince, sticking up for his car-wreck of a brother. He didn't deserve this. He would've retaliated, but he couldn't abuse in front of Ambrosia. She was a woman, a lady who shouldn't have to bear witness to explicit dialogue-although she was usually the one dealing it out.

"Ambrosia, let's leave. Right now," the young prince asserted, pulling an abusive wedding planner behind him. Leaving the king-to-be to bask in his own inappropriate bubble, the duo stumbled into the palace building and up the stairs.

Ambrosia's head was throbbing, skin tingling with the arsenal of curses she could unleash on Kangmin if Jimin hadn't pulled her away. Her fingers were knotted so tight, pressing into her palms. She needed to do something.

"Hey, hey. Ambrosia, let's get some drinks, okay? You'll feel better," Jimin mumbled, opening the door to his room. He gently held her balled fist, causing her to unclench.

"You have rosé?" She bit her cheeks, breathing audibly as her fingertips pulsed from the pain.

"Yup. Make yourself comfortable," he pointed at a tan couch in the middle of the room.

She glanced at the prince's minibar, stacked with bottles of pink goodness, "I thought you didn't like rosé."

"I've been enjoying it since Greece. It's actually pretty good."

Lies. He hated it. Wine or champagne. It tasted like stale strawberry gum. How a woman so gorgeous religiously drank that fruit-water was a mystery he'd never solve.

The gorgeous woman was the only reason he drank it. Since their last day together in Ithaca, he'd been trying his best to replace his favourite white wine with rosé merlot, but it didn't work. It wasn't strong enough for him.

Still, he'd never tell her that. If drinking rosé allowed him to spend time with said gorgeous woman, he'd drink nothing but it all his life.

"Pinot noir or merlot?" He asked, lifting up two bottles, the contents differing in nothing but colour. Both tasted like crap.

She thought for a second. Rosé was when she felt like relaxing. Now, she felt like committing a murder, "Crack open the vodka, princey. I need something a little stronger than rosé," the annoyed brunette snapped her fingers, huffing loudly.

Jimin promptly nodded, gratefully putting down the bottles of salmon pink sparkling garbage. He found a frosted bottle of vodka and raised it up for Ambrosia to see. She approved.

As she looked around the room, searching for a place to sit, he opened the balcony door. On a sunny day, the view offered the beauty of Sykarian architecture, rivers tumbling down mountains in the distance. At night, the world fell quiet, lights of the many houses gleaming like fallen stars. When he looked up, he saw the bright twinkling balls of moonlight, shining on his city.

Ever since he was a child, Jimin thought someone threw a blue blanket over them every night, poking holes to let the light in.

"Where should we sit?" Ambrosia asked, examining his minibar more closely this time.

"How does here sound?" He gestured to the balcony where he was standing, "Besides, why are you so awkward? You've been in my room before."

Holding two glasses, she walked into the open air with him, "I've never been in your room at night, Jimin. Since Greece, at least."

"That's true," he pressed his lips together, leaning over the balcony, arms resting on the steel railing, "Take a sip," he handed her the bottle, screwing the lid open, "it'll calm you down."

She brought the frosted glass bottle to her lips, taking a few sips. Not plain sips. This was Kang Ambrosia. They were huge gulps.

"Now, now," he chastised, smiling as he recalled the time they first met, "Planning to get tipsy off of a single bottle of vodka, are we?"

"Why?" She played along, a reminiscent smile on her lips, "Do I look like a lightweight to you?"

The duo grinned, as the nostalgia of a simpler time washed over them. If only they could stay in their bubble longer. No coronation, no Kangmin, no responsibilities.

Everything Jimin had done till date was out of guilt. The pressure of being a burden. Everything was for Sykaria. For his people. For Kangmin. For his father. Going to Greece was the only thing he ever did for himself. The only thing he felt that he deserved.

"I hope you're not thinking of a drinking competition. We both know how that'll end," she joked, biting her lip.

"You caught me off guard, I didn't think you'd hold your alcohol so well." He sighed, allowing her relentless jab at his self esteem to continue.

"All six hundred times? Come on, admit it. You're a lightweight."

"Am not."

Ambrosia smiled to herself, cool monsoon breeze calming her senses. It wasn't even sundown yet, and the bottle of vodka was half-empty. She was a mess.

Orange, pink and yellow painted the lilac sky, one of the most beautiful sights in the world. This was the same sunset twelve year old Ambrosia would stare at the sky in the middle of a cricket match to admire. She'd occasionally get whacked on the head with a cricket ball for being a useless fielder, but it was worth it.

Slowly, like a lullaby, midnight blue engulfed the colour, leaving the whole sky starry and even more beautiful than before.

"Should we head back inside and sit? It's getting chilly," Jimin offered, raising an eyebrow.

Recalling her childhood sleeping on mattresses on the floor, cuddled up with her parents and friends, she felt a sudden bout of reminisce.

"Let's get some blankets out here, the weather is too pleasant to leave," she asked quietly, trying the count the number of mountains visible in the distance.

Chuckling to himself, Jimin started pulling the thick white blankets off his bed, Throwing them over his shoulder. Ambrosia joined in, picking up pillows. Spreading them on the floor of the silent balcony, Jimin placed a little table in the middle, a graveyard for the empty vodka bottles the night would bring.

They settled in the sheets, giving Jimin bittersweet memories of his time with her. This was exactly how they'd spend a whole month. Together, in sheets woven with stardust. Except, there was more physical contact, but that wasn't happening anytime soon.

Then they spoke. About everything under the sun. About everything that wasn't. About their thoughts, friends and jobs. About Greece. About the bartender at Greece.

Talking to Jimin was so easy. As simple as breathing. Conversation interspersed with swigs of vodka, they drained the first bottle. A second was popped open

She was definitely drunk now, her throat burning with alcohol. Looking over at Jimin, the honey-skinned, breathing angel, she couldn't help but put those feelings away. He had a lazy smile, lips tugging softly upwards. A wisp of a dimple peeking through his cheek. They'd just spoken about their favourite chocolates, promising each other a taste.

He turned to look at her, meeting her hazel eyes. It troubled him, how a woman so delicate had endured enough to make her break down. It hurt him. He would do anything to take her pain away. To have even an ounce of the woman he met in a bar in Greece back.

"You know, I've always hated the stars. They shine so brightly, all the way up there. Look at us. We're miserable. They don't give a shit. Just shining and sparkling and being all pretty," Ambrosia put her chin in her palms.

Jimin took a quick swing from the frosted glass bottle. She observed him as he did so, the way his head tipped back and his Adams apple bobbed up and down with every sip. She was especially intrigued by his neck, starting with a sharp jawline, creamy skin leading to his ever-crisp shirts.

She broke off her gaze once he lowered the bottle, holding it out to her. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he asked, "Why are you like this, Ambrosia? Why can't you let yourself live?"

She didn't want to answer this question. It was something she'd left behind the day she left Dharavi ages ago.

As though the vodka had diluted the black slits of ink in his eyes, replacing it with pure compassion and a child-like curiosity, she couldn't help but consider spilling the beans.

Heck, she was too far gone to think about inhibitions now. She downed a quick swig before speaking, "For my mom and dad. Dad was a daily wage labourer and mom worked as an escort. Sugar baby, whatever. Until she had to up her game. She worked the streets, sleeping with whoever offered the most cash. Then it happened. That bastard-He, oh my God, Jimin, he actually-"

"Hey, it's alright. You don't have to say anything. Here, take another sip."

Jimin saw the wedding planner throw her head back, breathing deeply. Her fists had balled up once again, knuckles white. Putting his hand over hers, he felt her fingers slack under his.

He'd always known there was more to his Aphrodite than what met the eye, but he didn't expect this. She was a closed box, a blank sheet. This confession surprised him. Her grace and elegance might indicate a high-class upbringing, but the fact that she was poor? Brought up in poverty? That was shocking.

Watching the moonlight illuminate her face, her tired and gaunt cheeks looked hollow. Tired eyes, dark circles. Yet, she was beautiful. Her determination made her so.

Whichever bastard hurt her and her family, he was now an enemy of the Sykarian royal family. Jimin would make sure of that.

"We're just one big fucked up mess, aren't we?," she exhaled sharply.

"A really fucked up mess," he mumbled, squeezing her hand. The warmth was making his eyes droop.

She relished the feeling of her hand in his, fighting back an urge to kiss him and take all her anger away. Just like they had before, back when life was simpler.

"Should we just do it?" She asked, staring at the stars silently chuckling at their miserable selves. Leaning in closer, she whispered, "Aphrodite and Adonis. Just for tonight."

"Ambrosia-"

"It's Aphrodite," she breathed, lips almost touching his.

"You're sloshed, Aphrodite," he mumbled. It took him all his energy not to give in and kiss her troubles away. He moved an inch away.

"Not as much as you, sweetie. And you know you want to," she posed a strong argument, the stars beginning to swirl round and round, creating concentric rings reflecting in his eyes.

"Fuck decorum," he muttered, slamming his lips against hers

Author's note.

*Cue Janice's voice*

Oh...my...god!

There's the kiss, everyone. I had to do it.

Also, the "daddy" dialogue kinda killed me. I was literally like "EW WHAT THE HELL AM I WRITING!?"

Anyways, there's a couple of things I want to thank you guys for:

• Thank you for a thousand comments, this is the first time any of my books has reached that milestone.

• I've been getting a lot of hate recently, from a girl who keeps making new accounts and targeting me, my nationality and the fact that I'm still alive. I want to thank those of you who stood up for and checked up on me. I really appreciate it.

So, theories. Let's get it.

Who is the bastard in Ambrosia's confession dialogue? What did he do?

What is Kangmin's deal? Why is he such a dick?

And literally tell me anything about Jin. I want him to be my best friend so bad.

I need some help, I'm unsure of whether I should give Jin a more important role in this story. I have a bunch of stuff planned out for him, but I need to know what you feel about him.

Thanks for reading, sweethearts! Have an amazing day and keep the votes and comments coming. I love y'all.