Carcel Evander Dawson

"Carcel, we're home." Jordan's voice broke through my reverie, jolting me back to the present. I hadn't even noticed we had arrived. With a sigh, I opened the car door and stepped out, the evening, the cool air hit against my skin, making me shiver involuntary.

"You've been spacing out the entire ride. Are you alright?" Jordan's concern was evident in his voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I think I just ate too much pudding." I offered a half-hearted smile. I was telling the truth— I am fine, is just that the cashier in that grocery store is bothering me. Her eyes, and those freckles...I thought it was very familiar, is she the same girl I saw five years ago?

It was impossible.

The last time I saw her, she was in a terrible state. I had scared her enough to make her stop slashing at her throat, but those lifeless eyes were unforgettable. She was running from something—or someone. And it convinced me she had reached a point of no return. If she didn't die that night, I knew somehow she would do it again.

"Jordan, I might leave dinner early tonight. I think I'll go to the twins' party," I said, my voice steady as I walked toward the entrance of my house. "Please prepare my car."

Jordan nodded, but just as I was about to open the door, he called out to me again.

"I think Miss Ciel will be joining you for dinner," he said, his tone laced with that same concern. If Ciel was here, then it would be a peaceful night.

Our house is more of a mansion, fitting for the family that owns the largest conglomerate business in the country. The driveway is lined with sleek, luxury cars, each one a testament to our family's wealth. The front yard is meticulously landscaped, with lush green lawns and an array of exotic plants and flowers that add vibrant splashes of color. Tall, elegant trees provide shade and privacy, giving the estate a secluded, serene atmosphere.

The mansion itself is an architectural marvel, with its grand façade of polished stone and expansive windows that reflect the surrounding gardens. The front entrance is marked by towering columns and an intricately carved double door. Inside, the foyer opens up to a sweeping staircase and a chandelier that sparkles like a constellation of stars. Every room is filled with high-end furnishings, artwork, and décor that speak of elegance and sophistication. 

And yet

I can't help but feel a sense of disdain every time I come back. This is just a house, and for me a house and a home is completely different . Growing up, I never had a core memory of my parents living in harmony, not once. When I said it's going to be a peaceful night tonight, it means we have to pretend to at least look like a perfect family because we have guests. It's like playing house, and somehow, I've grown to like these kinds of scenarios.

A normal night for me is full of screaming, shattering, and breaking. The echoes of my parents' arguments reverberate through the grand halls, each word a sharp reminder of the discord that defines their relationship. Despite this constant chaos, they somehow manage to live long lives without killing each other. I often wonder how they endure it. Perhaps it's because if one of them dies, the other would benefit financially, and the same twisted logic applies to divorce. So, they stay married, bound by their greed and the need to keep their wealth intact.

Every fight chips away at the façade of perfection they so desperately try to maintain in front of guests. To outsiders, we are the epitome of a successful family—polished, poised, and enviably affluent. But behind closed doors, the reality is starkly different. The mansion, with all its grandeur, feels more like a battleground.

The sickening part of it, is that growing up I really thought, the dysfunction of our family was completely normal, and that's why Nanny took me and raised me. My mother didn't like the idea at all she completely brainwashed herself into thinking  that raising a child in a toxic environment would bear good results, well would you look at that.

Do I look like a good child?

And now they think, I would follow in their footstep and make my life miserable as theirs, well good luck with that. Perhaps I'll be their worst nightmare. I walked up the marble steps and pushed open the grand double doors, stepping into the  foyer. My mother was there, her posture rigid and her eyes scrutinizing every detail.

"Carcel, you're late," she said, her voice sharp with irritation.

"I had things to do," I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral.

Her eyes narrowed, and I could see the storm brewing. "You always have things to do. When will you understand the importance of family appearances?"

I sighed, my patience already wearing thin. "Mother, we're not a family. We're actors in a play that never ends."

She bristled at my words, her face flushing with anger. "How dare you speak to me like that! After everything we've done for you—"

"Everything you've done for me?" I interrupted, my voice rising. "All you've ever done is use me as another pawn in your social games. You don't care about me, you care about your image."

Her hand twitched, as if she wanted to strike me, but she held back. "You ungrateful—"

"Enough!" My father's voice boomed from the staircase. He descended the steps with an air of authority, his expression stern. "The guests will be arriving soon. We cannot afford to have another scene."

My mother and I glared at each other, the tension between us palpable. But we both knew better than to defy him, especially with company on the way.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth, turning on her heel and stalking off towards the dining room.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the anger simmering inside me. My father placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm.

"Carcel, go change, look formal for once" he said, his voice low and commanding.

I nodded, swallowing my resentment. "Yes, Father."

I turned and made my way up the grand staircase, my footsteps echoing off the marble floors. My room was at the far end of the hall, a lavish suite. I opened the door and stepped inside, the familiar surroundings doing little to calm the turmoil within me.

I walked to my walk-in closet and selected a charcoal gray suit with a crisp white shirt and a deep blue silk tie. I dressed quickly, the routine motions providing a brief distraction from the earlier confrontation. I glanced at myself in the full-length mirror, adjusting the tie and smoothing down my jacket. The suit fit perfectly, if there is one thing I'm thankful for my parents it's the fact that they made me good-looking.

Pretty privilege, is indeed true, because if I came out looking like shit my mom would do everything she could to make me handsome, in that way, I could play the part of the best son, everybody wishes for. 

I'm so sick of this.

Satisfied with my appearance, I headed back downstairs. The sound of laughter and conversation drifted from the dining room, signaling that the guests had arrived. I took a deep breath, plastering a polite smile on my face, and walked into the room.

"Ah, Carcel, there you are!" my father called out, his voice warm and welcoming, a stark contrast to the stern tone he had used earlier.

I exchanged polite greetings with the Montclair, each handshake and smile feeling mechanical. We moved through the motions of civility, the tension from earlier hidden beneath layers of practiced charm.

And then I saw her—Ciel. She was standing beside my mother, looking like a robot as usual. She wore a sleek, form-fitting dress that accentuated her elegant figure, her hair styled perfectly. Her eyes met mine, and she gave me a small, knowing smile before making her way over to me.

"Carcel," she purred, slipping her arm through mine. "You look dashing as always."

"Thank you, Ciel," I replied, forcing a smile. Her presence was a double-edged sword. On one hand, she could defuse the tension between my parents and me, but on the other, her attitude gets on my nerves, and I am not in the mood to be patient with her.

She leaned in closer, her voice low. "I looked everywhere, for you at school. Are you avoiding me?."

I chuckled dryly. "Oh no sweetheart."

As the evening progressed, we mingled with the guests, laughing and telling news of the current market state, and I'm here itching to ruin this evening. Ciel stayed by my side, her posture and expressions exuding an air of superiority. She was used to social games, and I wish she could teach me some tips to trick my parents eyes.

The night dragged on, and the wine kept flowing, filling the room with a heady haze. I glanced at my mom, chuckling quietly; she looked like she had indulged a bit too much. The conversations around me were a monotonous hum, blending together into a dull background noise that matched my growing boredom.

My gaze shifted to Ciel, who was fidgeting slightly, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. Her obvious disinterest mirrored my own. Her boredom seemed to be the perfect way to excuse myself from this boring dinner, I leaned over and whispered, "Hey, why don't we look around the house?"

Her eyes widened in surprise, but then a hint of curiosity sparked in them. "Alright, let's go," she agreed, and stands up.

My mother noticed our movement and shot me a pleased smile. "That's nice of you, Carcel. Show her around."

We slipped away from the crowded room, the air growing cooler and quieter as we wandered through the grand hallways. Ciel's eyes roamed over the elaborate decor, her fingers occasionally brushing against the fine fabrics and polished surfaces. As we turned a corner, she finally broke the silence, her voice soft but probing. "You're acting unusual tonight, Carcel. What's going on?"

I grinned, letting my natural charm take over. "Just trying to create an opportunity to spend the night alone with you. Why are you complaining?"

Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, the color rising slowly like dawn breaking over the horizon. "I'm not complaining," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. I fought to keep my smirk from widening. I knew I had struck the right chord. She was showing her weakness again—her weakness is me.

We continued to walk down the hallway in silence, a good silence. I noticed that the only way we could coexist was if she kept her mouth shut and didn't let her attitude spill over the place. Our footsteps echoed softly against the polished marble floor as we made our way towards the balcony.

The view from the balcony was stunning, but it was the only nice thing about this house. In front of us were well-kept gardens with lots of green plants and colorful flowers. Beyond the gardens were gently rolling hills. The sky above was filled with stars, and the moon shone beautifully.

Ciel seemed more at ease than she had been at dinner a moment ago. With a deep sigh, she turned to me, her eyes searching mine for something I couldn't quite place. "Do you know how many years we've been engaged?" she asked, her voice tinged with a hint of melancholy.

I shrugged, keeping my expression neutral. "I don't know," I replied. "No one told me I should count." I knew my words would hurt her, but I couldn't give her false hope. I couldn't let her believe that a wedding would happen.

She turned away from me, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "Sometimes I wonder if you even care," she murmured, more to herself than to me.

I remained silent, not trusting myself to speak. The truth was, I did care. But caring wasn't enough. Not in this world. Ciel and I were trapped in a web of expectations and obligations, and breaking free would require more than just good intentions.

"Let's head back its chilly here." I didn't like how the conversation is going so its better to avoid it for now.

Ciel nodded softly, and we headed back inside, walking down the same hallway we had come from. But a loud crash caught our attention, echoing through the silent corridor. It was coming from one of the rooms. I knew immediately—it was my parents fighting again. Ciel looked up at me with concern, and I put a finger to my lips, indicating that we should be quiet.

As we neared the room, we heard the conversation clearly. My mother's voice was raised, filled with frustration and anger. "It's your fault that Carcel doesn't feel love in this family!" she shouted. My dad's voice was calmer, trying to pacify her, but I could sense the tension in his tone. "You're overreacting," .

"You and I both know, I'm not! Was it because Carcel is not that woman's son? Are you disappointed that you had a child with me instead of that other woman?" My mother's voice was filled with a mix of pain and fury.

Ciel flinched at the words she was hearing, it was clear she was not used to this kind of stuff, Part of me wanted to cruelly tell her that she should take a good look at a glimpse of our potential future. But I knew that would be too harsh, even as a joke.

It was also my first time hearing that a woman was the reason they fought like cats and dogs. I instinctively held her hand, desperate to get her away from here. It was humiliating to let her witness our family falling apart, like a house of cards in a storm.

"Come on," I whispered, forcing a smile as I gently pulled her away from the scene. We walked back to the dining hall, the echoes of the argument fading behind us.