I woke with a gasp, heart pounding against my ribs.

The room was too dark, and the silence clawed at my ears. I looked around in a panic, sweat clinging to my face, neck, and limbs. The sheets beneath me were damp, tangled around my legs.

Where is it?

My hands fumbled across the mattress until they snagged the familiar shape of my earbuds. I shoved them into my ears with shaking hands.

A second later, heavy guitars and thundering drums tore through the silence.

My pulse slowed, but my hands still trembled. I reached for the bedside lamp and flicked it on. Warm light spilled into the room, pushing shadows into the corners.

I stared at the lamp. Had I turned it off? I couldn't remember. A shiver ran down my spine.

Curling into myself, knees tight to my chest, I buried my face in my palms.

Just a dream. Just a puppy. Just a dream.

But the weight in my chest stayed rooted. Like something had followed me out of the dream and was still here. Watching.

Sleep wasn't coming back. So, I slid out of bed and padded quietly to my study nook.

Everything was in place. Highlighters arranged by shade, notes and textbooks stacked with edges aligned, and a laptop centered like a shrine.

At my touch, it hummed to life. Its gentle glow lit my notes as I lost myself in calculus formulas and essay drafts, though my pulse still pounded beneath each stroke of my pen.

By the time dawn's pale light crept in, my alarm had already gone off. Still, I refused to stop until one last equation was solved.

It was almost six when I descended the grand staircase. Morning light poured through silk curtains, washing the hall in soft gold. The dining table was set. Empty as always.

I settled at the head of the table just as a woman stepped in. A new maid, judging by the stiffness of her uniform and the way her eyes flitted across the room like she was memorizing it for an exam.

She approached with a silver tray, placing a cup of tea before me. The steam rose in slow curls, carrying the unmistakable scent of jasmine.

I didn't look up. "Did you go into my room?"

"Sì, miss. I placed your uniform in the bathroom, freshly pressed."

I raised my eyes to meet hers. "Did you turn off my lamp?"

Her smile faltered. She must've caught the cold edge in my tone. "Yes... I thought maybe you were too tired last night to notice. My fratellino, he studies too much and always forgets too, so—"

"Don't do it again."

She stilled, caught mid-sentence.

"I prefer people not touch what they shouldn't," I said evenly, keeping my gaze locked on hers. "Understood?"

Something flickered in her eyes. Pride, or maybe principle, bruised. Her fingers pressed slightly into the tray she held. Then, with a clipped smile, she dipped her head.

"Capito, miss. I understand."

"Good." I smiled sweetly, dimples out. "Thank you for the tea."

She nodded and turned to leave, her steps faster on the way out.

I lifted the cup and took a slow sip.

Did I go too far?

My eyes flicked toward the door she disappeared through. I sighed.

She should've known better. Even if she's new.

Silence filled the room again, broken only by the occasional clink of silverware.

Across from me, the other chair remained empty. I glanced at it, then looked away.

I didn't need conversation. Solitude didn't scare me. It had long since hardened into armor.

My fork scraped against porcelain as my thoughts shifted to school.

There, I'd be perfect. Untouchable. Flawless in both appearance and performance.

By the time I stepped through the gates of Fictus Academy, that version of me had already settled into place.

Fictus pulsed with life. The sun cast a golden sheen over the campus. Students flooded the hallways, laughter bouncing between glass walls and stone columns.

"Guys, it's her!"
"Good morning, Desiree!"
"Hey, Desiree!"

I offered a small nod, the corners of my mouth curving just enough.

They always greeted me with admiration. Boys, politely. Girls, more eagerly. Three weeks in, and the mask of a flawless model student fit like skin.

Inside, floors reflected the shuffle of uniforms and every polished shoe. Framed photographs of alumni lined the walls, silent reminders of the legacy we were expected to match, if not surpass.

I slipped into French class and into my seat at the front. The room buzzed with sleepy chatter and quiet dread.

"Bonjour, mes élèves," Miss Allen greeted us warmly, as if we'd all spent the summer in Paris.

The worst part about language classes? Teachers acted like you were already fluent on day one.

She skipped roll call and launched into conjugations, eyes far too bright for the hour. Half the class still struggled to say "my name is" in French.

I answered each question smoothly when called on. Though a faint ache gnawed at my stomach.

I should've eaten that last piece of bread. But control was louder than hunger.

The day blurred until the student body gathered in the auditorium for the Student Council Election.

I'd been nominated for President, along with Ethan Kingsley and two others. The competition was steep, but everyone knew the real race was between me and him.

When the votes were counted, the student council advisor stepped onto the stage, envelope in hand. Cheers erupted as Ethan's name was announced.

At Fictus, the runner-up for president became Vice President by default. So I had to join him onstage.

Ethan extended a hand. "Congrats, Desiree."

"Thank you." I shook it with a smile.

Deep down, something dark tugged in my chest, but I straightened my spine and lifted my chin.

We faced the crowd together, applause still echoing around us.

My palm still held the bitter chill of defeat.

But it didn't matter.

Appearances were everything. And no matter what, mine would never crack.

๋࣭ °࣪ ִ⭑․𓃠⭒˚.• ݁

After school, I went straight to the HQ of Dream Catcher Entertainment.

Mother's assistant had called me during lunch. She was back from her business trip and would see me in her office.

The lobby hummed with activity. Employees glanced up as I passed. Some smiled, others gave curt nods. I was the future of the company, and they all knew it.

The elevator ride to the top floor was silent. When the doors slid open, the familiar scent of bamboo drifted out like it had been waiting for me.

Aliana Grace, stood by the door. Her brunette bob framed a sharp face, and her tailored black suit made her look more like a top-tier prosecutor than a head secretary of an entertainment company. She had the presence of someone who never lost.

I gave her a polite smile as she knocked and held the door open for me.

I exhaled slowly, the words I'd rehearsed all day tangling on my tongue. That familiar sting of not being enough crept up my spine.

"Vice President?" Mother asked as I stepped inside.

She didn't look up. The glow of her monitor lit her glasses, casting her eyes in a sheen of electric blue.

"Yes, Mother," I answered, voice quiet but steady. "I was elected today."

Silence settled like fog, heavy and sharp.

"Why not President?" she asked, calm as ever. But her voice landed like a slap. She never had to raise it.

She looked up then, her gaze pinning me in place. No surprise in her eyes. Just that familiar flicker of disappointment she wore better than perfume. The kind she always reserved for me.

"I'm new at Fictus," I said carefully, evenly. "Ethan's well-connected. The vote was fair."

A soft hum escaped her lips, thoughtful but unreadable. Then she slid a thick folder across the desk, her manicured fingers barely touching it.

"Do you know why I called you here?"

I shook my head. "No, Mother."

"It's about Wallace Aldridge."

My stomach tightened, but I didn't flinch.

After that dinner yesterday, she immediately left on a business trip, leaving me alone at home with my thoughts. I hadn't asked her about the sudden engagement. I never asked. I obeyed.

"Wallace?" I echoed, knowing it was never really a question.

"Yes. His little escapades have been entertaining, but I believe it's time we reel him back in."

I stared at the folder, fingers brushing its edge. I didn't need to open it to know what was inside.

The file was thick, likely stuffed with Wallace's life, his secrets, his recent activities, and every move he'd made in the past months.

She had done this before, whenever she wanted me to study and befriend someone influential.

But no matter how many folders like this I'd received, the weight of it still twisted my stomach.

Maybe I'm never going to get used to it.

"You know what to do," she said. "Learn everything. Make sure he doesn't surprise us. I don't care what rebellion he's playing. I expect you to keep him in line. He belongs to you now."

The words landed like ice against my skin.

I swallowed, hands numbing as I forced my grip not to tighten around the folder's spine.

"Your engagement must proceed smoothly. No scandals. No stunts. No room for him to embarrass us." She paused, then stood and moved toward me, her heels silent on the rug. "You do want what's best for this family, don't you?"

I met her gaze, steady despite the flutter of doubt beneath my ribs.

"Always," I said, smiling through the stiffness in my jaw.

She reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was featherlight, almost loving, but it lodged into my skin like a splinter.

"I knew my daughter would understand." With a wave of her manicured hand, she turned her back to me. "You can go home now."

I nodded silently. I walked out of her office with perfect posture, even as my knees wanted to fold beneath me. The door clicked shut behind me, and only then did I let the breath escape.

"Do whatever it takes."

She'd said those words before. But this time... they sounded like a sentence.

I slipped into one of the empty conference rooms overlooking the city skyline. Beyond the glass, the view stretched wide, like a living advertisement for Dream Catcher Entertainment itself.

Massive LED screens wrapped some buildings, flashing with images of our artists winning awards, performing onstage, their dazzling smiles lighting up billboards for commercials and new singles.

The city moved in sync with Dream Catcher's success. A silent reminder of the empire I was heir to.

I looked down at the folder in my hand, fingers hovering over the edge.

Opening it meant accepting everything. Not opening it... was never an option.

For a moment, I imagined dropping it. Leaving it behind. Pretending I'd never seen it.

But I knew better. No ignoring her expectations laid on my shoulders since I was old enough to stand beneath them.

So I opened the folder.

The first page was a photo of Wallace, taken from afar. One hand shoved in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette to his lips. Streetlights cast him in soft gold, like a lone figure in a sprawling movie. His eyes were raw and distant, so different from the polished stars on those glowing billboards.

The reports followed. Fights. Clubs. Cigarettes. Detentions. Skipped exams. More fights. Every detail documented like a trail of crimes.

And yet, the more I read, the less I understood him.

I was supposed to be learning how to control him. To make sure he fell in line with Mother's plans.

Instead, all I could think of was the way he looked at me across that dinner table.

Who was he, really? Beneath the chaos, beneath the boy who refused to be anyone's pawn?

"I'm not your fucking prop, and I sure as hell ain't marrying some stranger to clean up your mess. Hard pass."

A hush settled around me. Then, a daring thought crept in.

Without hesitation, I tore the photo from the file and tucked it into my pocket. Something I wasn't meant to keep.

I shut the folder with a soft thud.

"I do want what's best for us, Mother," I murmured, a faint smile tugging at my lips.

It just doesn't include a political marriage.

And since I'm not the only one who feels that way...

My smile widened, a quiet thrill blooming in my chest.

I'll just have to make sure that bad boy doesn't change his mind.

𓇢𓆸

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[Edited: 2,012 words]

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