[Editing]

I left my room and headed toward her office.

The walk to the far wing of the mansion felt longer than usual.

The grandeur of the house, sometimes comforting in its familiarity, often felt imposing, almost suffocating.

The soft glow of the morning sun from the outside cast elongated shadows in corners that didn't reach the lights, and the faint echo of my footsteps seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness.

When I reached the heavy oak door of her office, I hesitated.

My hand hovered over the ornate brass handle, the cool metal beneath my fingertips a stark contrast to the heat rising in my chest.

Guilt tugged at me, but I pushed it aside.

This wasn't betrayal. This was clarity.

The office was pristine, as usual, but the air was thick with an almost tangible weight—as if the room itself was alive, aware of my intrusion.

I moved with care, my fingers tracing the edges of her desk, the leather-bound books on the shelves, the intricate carvings in the wood.

My movements felt mechanical, driven by a determination I wasn't sure I fully understood.

What was I hoping to find?

Proof that the rumors were false?

Or something deeper—something I didn't yet dare to name?

I opened one of the drawers on her desk, the smooth slide of wood against wood breaking the silence.

Inside were neatly arranged files, each labeled with precision. Contracts, financial reports, correspondence. Everything was so impeccably organized that it almost felt sterile.

But nothing stood out. Nothing screamed secret or scandal.

I closed the drawer, my gaze drifting to the glass cabinet filled with framed certificates and gleaming trophies.

Each item was a testament to my mother's success, her relentless drive.

Yet, as I studied them, I couldn't shake the feeling that they were also a fortress, a barrier meant to shield something hidden.

My eyes roamed the room, searching for anything—a clue, a detail out of alignment.

Then, something unusual caught my attention—a sleek, inconspicuous panel embedded into the side of the bookshelf.

It was a flat, featureless rectangle of black glass, barely noticeable among the carved wood.

A faint hum emanated from it when I moved closer, and a thin line of light pulsed at its edges as though sensing my presence. It wasn't a handle or a switch.

This was something else.

I hesitated, then placed my palm against the cool surface.

Nothing happened.

What would she use? A passcode? A biometric lock? A voice activation?

I tried them all. Typing or entering a passcode seemed impossible—the panel didn't display any numbers, letters, or buttons. I went for a fingerprint next, then laughed at myself for even thinking mine would be registered. Face recognition felt even more absurd. Why would Mother use my face to access her secret room—if this even is a secret room?

Honestly, I wasn't entirely sure the panel opened anything at all.

StilI, my voice was steady but tentative as I went for the last option I could think of.

"Open. Open up. Open sesame?"

Hmm... maybe quotes and phrases she loves?

I bit my lip as my mind raced, recalling snippets of conversations with my mother.

"Audacia vincit."

Nothing happened.

English, maybe?

"Courage conquers."

Still, nothing.

"Power is not given to you. You have to take it."

I sighed when nothing happened.

"Never be number two."

The room was silent, the panel still unresponsive.

I scoffed, the absurdity of my actions catching up to me.

Here I was, guessing at passwords like some amateur sleuth.

My mother would have found it laughable—her ever-pragmatic daughter chasing whispers.

Maybe there wasn't even a door here and this panel was just part of the design.

Shaking my head, I muttered under my breath, mimicking the sharp tone my mother often used when she thought I wasn't living up to expectations. "You're smarter than this, Desiree."

The words fell from my lips with a bitterness that surprised me.

And then, as if mocking me further, the panel's light pulsed faintly before a soft chime echoed through the room.

My breath hitched, disbelief colliding with realization.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the bookshelf began to move, sliding soundlessly to reveal a hidden doorway, its presence a stark contrast to the room's polished elegance.

My stomach dropped as I stared at the opening, my pulse pounding in my ears.

No...

This wasn't real. This can't be real.

I hadn't expected it to actually work, let alone so suddenly.

Beyond the doorway, a staircase spiraled downward, each step shrouded in shadow. The air that wafted up was cool and carried a faint metallic tang.

"One might find... interesting details in unexpected places. Say, behind closed doors."

"Behind closed doors... no."

Does this mean there really is darkness behind my mother's...

I hesitated at the threshold, the enormity of what I was about to uncover settling over me like a heavy cloak.

Am I ready to confront whatever secrets my mother had hidden away?

What if—

I flinched a little when my phone suddenly sounded with an alert tone, notifying me that I had just received a message.

It was Wallace with his simple message, I'm here.

I gripped my phone a little tighter while looking back and forth between the entrance of the secret door and his message.

What should I do?

If I go down those dark stairs, I might find out something I'm not sure I'm ready to face.

And if I do, and it turns out to be darker than this doorway, could I still face him like I can at this moment?

I'm afraid I really won't have a choice but to leave Wallace.

That scares me more than this darkness I am currently facing.

๋࣭ °࣪ ִ⭑․𓃠⭒˚.• ݁

The crisp autumn air of late November carried a lingering chill as I stepped outside.

Wallace was already outside, leaning casually against the car as if the world were his playground.

The morning sun caught in his hair, turning the dark blonde strands into threads of gold. He looked effortlessly stylish in his plain white shirt and dark denim jacket, a combination so simple yet maddeningly effective. Dark tones, sharp angles, and that self-assured grin—he exuded a confidence that both drew me in and made me want to punch him.

I lingered on the stone steps for a moment, looking back at the mansion. The grandeur of it stood in stark contrast to the casual scene before me.

My chest tightened as my thoughts drifted to the secret underground room I'd discovered today.

Whatever lay beyond those stairs could change everything—my understanding of my family, my future, even my fragile bond with Wallace.

But today, I chose to push it aside. I wasn't ready to unravel that mystery, not yet.

For now, I would focus on him.

Walking toward the car, my steps felt heavier than usual. My muscles ached, a reminder of the previous night's grueling events. Every fiber of me longed to retreat back to my room, cocooned in its quiet luxury.

But it was Sunday, my scheduled second date with him.

I didn't meet his eyes, intent on opening the car door and escaping into the silence of the ride.

Before I could, Wallace stepped in front of me, his smile widening in that infuriating way of his.

"What, not even a good morning?"

"Is it a good morning for you?" I shot back, my voice sharper than intended. My irritation stemmed as much from his persistent charm as it did from my own exhaustion.

He chuckled, the sound warm but undeniably smug.

"Okay, how about a compliment?" He spread his arms wide, showcasing his outfit like he expected applause.

I took a deliberate moment to inspect him. Casual, yet irritatingly stylish. How did he manage to look like he'd stepped out of a magazine without even trying? The thought annoyed me.

"You look fine." I said, my tone clipped.

His frown was immediate. "That's it?"

I raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smile. "Must I write an essay for you?"

He grumbled under his breath, looking away like a sulking child.

It was endearing—just a little.

When he moved to open the car door, I grabbed the edge of his denim jacket. "Wait."

He turned back, blue eyes narrowing with a mix of curiosity and irritation. "What?"

"Aren't you going to compliment me as well?" I tilted my head, watching him closely.

He shrugged. "You look... you."

My jaw dropped.

That was it? Not a single word about the effort I'd put into my appearance this morning?

He didn't even glance at my outfit.

Ha! This infuriating man!

My temper flared, but I forced a smile, determined not to let him see how much his indifference bothered me.

"Charming as always, Wallace." I muttered, sliding into the car with a huff.

As he joined me, I caught the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

"What now?" he murmured, the question hanging in the air as he leaned closer, casually draping his arm across the back seat.

"Nothing." I turned to the window, rolling my eyes.

"Aren't you going to ask where we're going?"

"No."

"Huh. You trust me that much now? Aren't you scared I might take you somewhere scary?"

I shot him a hard stare. "No. I trust Mr. Moso, not you."

His side brushed my left arm as he leaned closer, a sly smirk playing on his lips.

"Don't worry." he said, his voice dipping into something softer, almost intimate. "I'll make you trust me."

I straightened instinctively. "Did I overdress?" I quickly asked, determined to change the topic.

His eyes traveled lazily from my shoes to my hair, his smirk growing whilst one hand was covering his front in a subtle manner.

"Hmm. Slightly. But better than nothing." He shrugged as if it didn't matter, but I could tell he was enjoying my flusterred expression.

Before I could fire back, he tapped the driver on the shoulder.

"Let's get going, Mr. Moso."

The car started moving, and I folded my arms, bracing myself for whatever Wallace had planned.

I wasn't used to all these impromptu plans and definitely not with someone like him, who always seemed to enjoy making me feel flustered.

Yet, I couldn't deny the strange mix of curiosity and thrill that stirred inside me whenever I was with him.

As the car moved through the streets, I took a moment to study Wallace in the corner of my eye. His posture was relaxed, one arm casually resting on the back of the seat while the other hung by his side. He was so at ease, while my insides were in a knot, anxious about the unknown.

The car ride was quiet, though not uncomfortably so.

I stared out the window, trying to piece together where Wallace could possibly be taking me. He hadn't said much, just flashed that knowing grin of his when I hesitantly asked where we headed, clearly enjoying my confusion.

"Are you sure this isn't some elaborate plan to eliminate me?" I asked dryly, breaking the silence.

He chuckled. "You think too much, Desiree. Maybe I just wanted to spend time with you."

I blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

His words lingered in the air, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond.

"Trust me." he added, his gaze meeting mine. "You'll like it."

Barely a minute had passed before we screeched to a halt, and as I took in the sight before me, my jaw went slack.

"You brought me here?"

"Yep." Wallace hopped out and opened my door, extending a hand.

I hesitated before taking it, my gaze darting to the bustling street. Vibrant stalls lined the sidewalks, their colorful signs advertising everything from skewers to sweets. The air was rich with unfamiliar yet tantalizing scents. This was nothing like the refined establishments I was used to.

My first instinct was to turn around and go back into the car, knowing full well what my mother would say if she saw me there.

But Wallace's excited expression made me pause.

"Street food?" I whispered, still processing.

Wallace's grin was boyish and unrestrained. "You've never had street food before, have you?"

"No." I frowned. "And my mother—"

"Your mother's not here." His tone was light, but there was something else beneath it. A challenge.

This wasn't my world. But there was something freeing in that. Something... exciting.

"This is the best spot for street food in the city. I used to come here a lot," he said, glancing around with a boyish grin. "Come on, you'll love it."

I glanced down at my cream-colored dress, painfully aware of how out of place I looked. "I'm not sure I—"

"Des, just try it. You're always stuck in these fancy restaurants. Don't you ever want to see how the other half lives?" His voice was softer now, a bit more genuine than his usual teasing tone.

A small part of me did. And maybe that part of me wasn't as small as I thought.

He held out his hand. "Come on."

Reluctantly, I took his hand.

"Fine." I muttered, letting him lead me toward one of the stalls.

My heels clicked awkwardly against the uneven pavement as we walked.

People stared, some in amusement, others in confusion, probably wondering what someone dressed like me was doing here.

We stopped at a small vendor selling skewers of marinated meat and vegetables. The smell was surprisingly mouthwatering.

Wallace ordered a few things, and I watched with a mix of curiosity and skepticism as he handed me a skewer dripping with sauce.

"Here, try this." he urged, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

I eyed it suspiciously. The glossy sheen of the sauce catching the light. It smelled tantalizing but I hesitated, wary of what I was getting myself into. Still, the aroma was impossible to resist. I took skewer from him, careful not to let the sauce dripped onto my dress.

Reluctantly, I took a bite.

The burst of flavors caught me completely off guard. Sweet and tangy notes hit first, followed by a gentle spice that lingered on my tongue. The contrast was unexpected, and for a moment, I forgot to mask my reaction.

Wallace's grin widened as he watched my expression shift from cautious to pleasantly surprised. He looked so smug, so insufferably pleased with himself, yet I couldn't even summon my usual irritation.

"See?" he said, his voice filled with quiet satisfaction. "Not bad, right?"

I swallowed and nodded, reluctantly admitting, "It's... okay."

"Yeah, okay." he echoed, a teasing lilt in his tone as he watched me take another bite.

I wasn't used to this—any of this. Not just the food but the simplicity of it all. There were no expectations weighing me down, no judgment hovering over my every move.

It was just me, standing in the middle of a bustling street with Wallace—Wallace of all people—watching me like I was the most fascinating thing here.

He smiled then, softer this time, the kind of smile that wasn't meant to charm or tease. It reached his eyes, warm and sincere in a way that made something stir in my chest.

"I like seeing you like this." he said, his voice quiet, almost as if he hadn't meant to say it out loud.

I stopped chewing, my gaze snapping to him.

"Like what?"

"Not pretending. Just... being you."

The simplicity of his words disarmed me. I blinked, momentarily stunned as my heart gave a quiet, traitorous skip.

Before I could find something to say, he nudged me playfully. "Come on, we've got more to try."

We moved from stall to stall, Wallace leading the way with an easy confidence that contrasted sharply with my hesitation. The narrow street buzzed with life—vendors calling out their offerings, sizzling pans, the warm, mingling scents of spices and smoke. It should have been overwhelming, and perhaps it would have been, if Wallace weren't here.

He stayed close, his arm brushing mine as we walked. For him, this chaos seemed second nature, but for me, every sound, every scent, every brush of a passerby felt magnified. Yet, somehow, it wasn't as suffocating as I'd expected.

Every time I tried something new, I could feel Wallace watching me. Not in the critical way I'd grown accustomed to, but with an almost childlike fascination, as if he were cataloging every small reaction I had—not just to the food, but to the world around me.

And somewhere along the way, I felt myself begin to relax.

The tension that always sat tight in my chest loosened with every bite of unfamiliar food. There was something oddly freeing about eating without worrying about which fork to use or if my posture looked perfectly composed. Here, none of that mattered.

"You've got something..." His voice broke through my thoughts, low and slightly teasing.

Before I could respond, his hand reached out, brushing against my skin as he wiped the corner of my mouth with his thumb.

The contact was fleeting, but it was enough to send a warm shiver racing down my spine.

His touch lingered just long enough for his gaze to meet mine, and for a moment, the teasing light in his eyes was gone, replaced by something else entirely—something that made my stomach flutter uncontrollably.

I turned away quickly, my heart hammering in my chest as I gestured to the tissue box on the vendor's counter.

Forcing my voice to remain neutral, I muttered. "There was a tissue near me, but thanks."

"Don't mention it." he said softly, his tone quieter now.

We continued through the market, but it felt as if we were in our own little bubble, the world around us reduced to a distant hum. The noise, the crowd—all of it faded, leaving just the two of us in a fragile, unspoken moment.

"You're actually smiling." Wallace said, breaking our silence as we wait for the vendor to come back from his emergency.

I blinked, startled out of my thoughts, and glanced at him. "I do smile, you know." I said, rolling my eyes.

"Yeah, but not like this." he countered, his expression playful but earnest. "Not like you mean it."

There it was again—that infuriating ability of his to get under my skin, to disarm me with just a few words.

Before I could formulate a response, a voice cut through the lively chatter around us.

"Wallace?"

...

𓇢𓆸

ᴍᴇʟᴏᴅʏꜱʜʜʜ