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It’s time to stop fleeing my past. Perhaps going on this cruise was what I needed to finally recognize the path I was on wasn’t sustainable.

I don’t want to live life to please others, to follow each rule to a T and not allow myself the grace to try new things, to make my own mistakes and learn from them.

I want the world to see me for me, like how Rex sees me.

Maybe my time with him is limited because, for whatever reason, he doesn’t want to be with me, and I won’t force him because I deserve more.

My forever will choose me. He’ll pick me over and over again.

And in the meantime, I’ll treat this trip as a break—have fun, make mistakes with a sexy man who can’t be my forever. The old me would never have done it—broke rules, set myself up for heartbreak.

But the new me?

She’s scared of pain, but isn’t afraid of heartbreak. She’s still afraid of heights and small spaces, but won’t stop challenging herself. Because I would’ve lived. I would’ve done something worth risking everything over.

That’s got to count for something, right?

And so, when Mom rambled about braised pork belly again, asking me,“Ni chi fan le ma?”if I’d eaten yet, because she’s still incapable of saying “I love you,” I stopped her.

The thick pause, the way my heart seized when I told her one of the many truths I’d held inside me all these years.

“Ma, I’m Olivia, not Mia. I’ll never be Mia. I never liked braised pork belly. Mia did. My favorite dish is not even Chinese. It’s Italian. Wild boar ragu. I hate almond cookies, but tolerated them because you and Mia loved them. I’m not outgoing, don’t need to try out a new restaurant every week because I’m happy eating the same ten dishes on rotation. I love you and don’t blame you. I just want to let you know I’m not Mia, and I’ll never be her. And I need you to be okay with it.”

I hung up without waiting for her response.

It’s rude. Filial piety—respecting, taking care of, and obeying your parents and elderly relatives without question—is something that has been drilled into me since I was young. It’s my cultural heritage, but I guess that’s the issue with being second generation—I’m not Asian enough for my parents, nor have I forgotten my culture.

I’m a blend.

That’s me. Unapologetically me.

Harried whispers reach my ears as I approach the lounge chairs by the infinity pool where I’m meeting Lana. My feet come to a halt at the scene before me.

Bree is standing next to Elias. She’s gesturing wildly, her face scrunched up. She’s clearly stressed about something. The mobster, dressed in his usual suit, leans casually against the railing, but the tense clasp of his hands tells me he’s anything but relaxed. He murmurs a few words, which seem to calm Bree down, and she stalks off.

What is Bree doing with Elias? The puzzle pieces float around in my mind—the strange interactions between Rex and Bree, the vagueness when I ask about their relationship. The sadness in Bree’s eyes when she talks about moving. And now, her interacting with a dangerous man everyone in New York City fears.

Something is brewing.

Elias huffs out a sigh before he unfurls himself from the railing. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a metallic object—a lighter I’ve seen him carry around.

Then he turns around and walks toward the aft of the ship, pausing when he reaches a figure lying on a lounge chair, clearly asleep.

Lana.

My breath catches. Something tells me to stay put to see what he’ll do.

The man steps forward and shrugs off his jacket, then he drapes it over my slumbering friend. He reaches down, his lips curving up slightly into a rare smile. His hand almost grazes her face, but he pulls back before they touch. For a moment he freezes, so still he almost doesn’t even seem human.

Then he stands up, his head whipping toward me, his piercing eyes intense. He lifts his index finger to his lips as if to tell me to be quiet, which would be silly since I’m not making any noise.

He’s telling me not to tell her what he did.

Strange indeed.

When I nod, he returns the gesture, then walks away.

Frowning at the bizarre sequence of events I just witnessed, I walk over to Lana, biting back a smile when I see her normally sleek brown hair windblown and covering her face, her nose scrunching, her mouthslightly parted. Any second now and she’ll probably start drooling. Her fingers are loosely clasping a small black box.