ＷＡＬＬＡＣＥ

The fading light of the sunset bathed the streets in hues of pink and orange, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. The air was thick with tension, and the smell of sweat and blood hung in the humid air. 

Wallace wiped the corner of his lip, tasting the familiar metallic tang of blood as he released the boy's shirt. His fists connected with the flesh of his opponent, the satisfying thud reverberating through his knuckles. His muscles burned with the effort, but the pain was dulled by the overwhelming anger swirling inside him. The boy in front of him—no more than 18—stumbled, clutching his ribs as he gasped for breath.

Wallace barely registered the sounds of his friends shouting around him. His focus was entirely on the fight, on the need to expel the rage building within him. His father's words echoed in his mind, sharp and cutting.

"If you keep screwing up, I'll pull your friend's scholarship."

The threat had hit him harder than any punch ever could. His father had always found ways to control him, but this time, he wasn't the only one affected. Wallace could still remember the icy look in his father's eyes, the way he leaned back in his leather chair as if Wallace's struggles were an inconvenience rather than his son's life. Wallace had always been able to bear the weight of his father's expectations, but this... this was too much.

The anger flared again, just as it had in the moment when his father had delivered the ultimatum. But this time, it was followed by guilt. Guilt over his friend, who had worked so hard for that scholarship, and guilt over his mother. His mother, who had come to him after years of enduring his rebellion, her eyes red and tired, her voice soft with desperation.

"Please, Wallace," she had begged, her hand resting lightly on his arm. "I know how you feel, but you don't have to fight this alone. Just come home. For me. Your brother misses you. I miss you, baby."

Wallace had hated seeing her like that, hurt and drained. He'd put her through too much already with his street fights and reckless behavior. And it wasn't worth it. His father's approval wasn't worth watching his mother fall apart.

Back in the fight, Wallace stepped forward, ignoring the aching in his knuckles. With one last punch, he sent the boy crashing to the ground.

"You good, man?" one of Wallace's friends called from the side, breathing hard from his own fight.

Wallace didn't respond right away. The street was silent now, save for the heavy breathing of his friends and the wind whistling through the dark.

"Wallace?" another voice interrupted his thoughts. His friends were circling, but the fight felt meaningless now, just like all the others.

His head snapped up when he saw a black car slowly driving by, the headlights casting eerie shadows across the scene. He caught a glimpse of the girl sitting in the backseat. Her sharp features, framed by the soft glow of the sunset, seemed distant, eyes focused straight ahead, oblivious to the violence playing out on the street.

It was Desiree Hart.

Wallace didn't know how he recognized her in the brief second their worlds collided, but there was no mistaking it. Her car drove past without stopping, and Wallace's gaze lingered on the taillights as they disappeared into the night.

For a moment, he wondered what it must be like to live that life, polished, controlled, and trapped.

He looked down at his bruised knuckles, feeling the empty weight of it all. The fight wasn't helping. None of this was helping.

"That's it for tonight," Wallace muttered, shaking out his hand as he turned away from the scene, the adrenaline fading into a dull ache.

"You sure you're good?" one of his buddies asked again, still concerned.

"Yeah. I'm done." Wallace glanced back down the empty road where Desiree's car had vanished. "It's time to head home."

His friends shot him with uncertain looks but didn't argue. Wallace had always been the leader, the one who didn't back down from a fight. But now, the weight of the evening pressed on him, and for the first time in a long time, he realized the fighting wasn't the answer.

Without another word, he began walking down the dimly lit street, his friends trailing behind in silence. The street grew darker as he moved away from the fading streetlight, leaving the fight and part of his old self behind. The fight was over, but the emptiness remained.

❀⚘❀

After six months of running away, Wallace wasn't sure what he would find when he finally returned home. The grand, sprawling estate loomed ahead of him, its perfectly manicured lawns and towering columns bathed in the soft glow of moonlight.

He pushed open the front door, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as the weight of the evening pressed heavily on his shoulders.

Inside, the house felt strangely unchanged, yet at the same time, completely different. The scent of his mother's favorite lavender candles lingered in the air, the soft glow from the wall sconces casting familiar shadows on the grand staircase. Everything was pristine, the same meticulous order his father demanded. But the weight of six months away pressed down on him now, making the space feel hollow.

He stepped inside, his footsteps echoing in the silence. The house was quiet, almost too quiet, as though it hadn't noticed his absence in the months he had been away. The old grandfather clock in the corner still ticked rhythmically, its hands frozen at the same time they'd always been when he used to sneak in after late nights out.

Wallace closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the times he had stormed out, cursing the house and everything it represented. Yet, a part of him had missed it. He couldn't deny the comfort of familiarity, the feel of the cool marble under his feet, and the faint sound of the wind rustling through the trees outside.

But things had changed. He had changed.

The first thing Wallace wanted to do after returning was find his little brother. He hadn't seen him in six months, and guilt gnawed at him for leaving so abruptly. Climbing the stairs quietly, he made his way down the hall toward his brother's room. As he reached the door, he knocked lightly.

No answer.

He hesitated before pushing it open, revealing the spacious room filled with bookshelves that towered over a neat, tiny desk. Winston sat in the corner, his head buried in a book, his dark hair falling into his eyes as usual. For a six-year-old, Winston's demeanor was shockingly indifferent, as if nothing in the world could surprise or shake him.

Wallace smiled faintly. His brother was always like this, lost in his own world. "Winston."

Winston didn't look up immediately, but Wallace caught the slight pause in his movements. After a moment, Winston glanced up from his book, his expression blank but his eyes betraying a flicker of excitement as he looked back down to his book.

Without looking up from his book, Winston responded flatly, "You're back."

Winston was always like this. Quiet. Distant.

Wallace stepped further into the room, leaning against the doorframe. "Yeah, I am. Miss me?"

Winston scoffed, turning a page in his book. "You wish."

But Wallace could see the way his younger brother's hands gripped the book a little tighter, the way his eyes darted back to Wallace every few seconds. Winston had always idolized him, even when he tried to hide it behind a mask of indifference.

"How've you been?" Wallace asked, though the question felt strange coming from him as if he were a visitor in his own home.

He hadn't been gone that long, but it felt like he had missed so much. His little brother had grown taller, though his dark hair still fell into his eyes in that same indifferent way.

Winston turned the page of his book, finally glancing up. His gaze was sharp for someone his age, almost unnerving. "Fine. Mom and Dad are the same. Busy. Though, mom's been depressed."

Wallace sighed. Of course, his father was. Even with him gone, nothing in that man's world seemed to shift. But his mom...He will have to make it up to her.

"What are you reading?" Wallace asked, stepping closer.

Winston held up the cover. Advanced Quantum Theory.

"Just something to pass the time."

"You've always been the smarter one," Wallace said with a small grin.

Winston shrugged, but the corners of his mouth twitched. "I try."

Wallace ruffled Winston's hair, earning a small, indignant glare from his brother, though the boy didn't push him away. There was a moment of quiet, the weight of Wallace's absence hanging between them.

"I'm sorry," Wallace said softly. "For being gone."

Winston's grip on his book tightened again, but he didn't look up. "It's fine. You had stuff to figure out."

Wallace nodded, knowing that Winston understood more than he let on. "Yeah. But I'm back now."

"Good," Winston replied, still keeping his voice even. "I'll pretend I missed you."

Wallace chuckled, knowing his brother too well. Despite the cold front, Winston had been waiting for him to return. "I'll take that."

Winston simply returned to his book, pretending to be unfazed by the reunion. Wallace watched him for a moment longer before stepping back out.

As Wallace turned to leave the room, Winston's voice called after him. "Don't go disappearing again, okay?"

Wallace paused in the doorway, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I won't."

He closed the door gently behind him, feeling lighter than he had in months. Winston's cold exterior was just that, an exterior like his, a thing they unfortunately take after their father.

Maybe some things hadn't changed, but that made the suffocating familiarity of it all even worse.

Wallace stepped into his room, stripping off his shirt, exhausted from the night's fight. His knuckles throbbed, but the pain was muted by the weight of everything else on his mind. He collapsed onto the bed, his eyes heavy. The cool sheets beneath him were a stark contrast to the grime of the streets, but the relief didn't last long.

Sleep overtook him, deeper than he expected.

When he woke up, the room was dim, the soft glow of the moon peeking through his windows. He cursed under his breath. He was late for the dinner his father had warned him about.

Throwing on a shirt, he rushed downstairs, his steps echoing in the cavernous halls of his family's mansion. When he finally entered the dining room, it was already filled with soft chatter and the wood scraping against the tile as four people settled in their seats.

The grandeur of the room always made Wallace feel small, despite its elegance. His father, sharp as ever, sat at the head, while his mother, delicate and poised, smiled faintly just beside him.

But it was the sight of Desiree Hart, seated quietly with her hands folded neatly in her lap, that gave Wallace pause.

What is she doing here?

"Wallace," his father's voice cut through the haze, "you're late."

Wallace ignored the comment, his gaze lingering on Desiree for a moment.

She sat still, her posture immaculate, yet there was an air of indifference about her. She was entirely different as he remembered her from last week. There was something different about her tonight, something in her eyes, cold, aloof as if the world around her was too insignificant to bother with. The smile she wore didn't carry the warmth or sincerity it had last week. There was a distance in her eyes, a guardedness that hadn't been there before, as if the walls around her had grown even higher.

Wallace's brow furrowed. He couldn't understand why he was so drawn to studying her, but something about her tonight unsettled him. Maybe it was the way she carried herself as if she belonged to a world he detested, the same world his father cherished and tried to drag him into. But despite that, there was a lingering question at the back of his mind, a curiosity that hadn't been there before.

Desiree looked up then, her gaze meeting his for the briefest of moments. Her expression didn't change, her face remained neutral, eyes cold but something flickered behind her eyes. She remembers me, right?

Wallace quickly glanced away, heat rising to his neck. He wasn't sure if it was embarrassment, frustration, or something else entirely. Whatever it was, he didn't want to dwell on it. Not now. Not here.

"Take your seat, Wallace," his father said, breaking the tension.

Whatever. He thought as he sighed. 

Wallace slid into his seat, and his father began introducing him to the visitors but he tuned out of the conversations.

The dining room at his parent's mansion was impossibly large, with long mahogany tables and shimmering chandeliers that cast warm, golden light over the polished floors. The clink of silverware echoed in the grand room as Wallace sat stiffly in his seat, his hands clenched beneath the table. Across from him, his father, looking sharp and powerful as always, was deep in conversation with another wealthy businesswoman, Eveline Hart.

The Hart owned the prestigious Dream Catcher Entertainment, renowned for producing and managing global artists, including his favorite singer—a dream he once had for himself but never got to be.

His mother sat beside his father, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes darting nervously between the two.

Wallace's gaze wandered, unable to focus on the superficial chatter. This dinner wasn't a simple family meal. He knew something was coming, something bigger than his father's usual manipulations.

And then it happened.

"Wallace," his father said, breaking through his thoughts. "You've met Desiree Hart, haven't you?"

Wallace's eyes flickered toward the girl sitting across from him at the table. She was younger than him, but not by much, her delicate features framed by perfectly styled hair. Her smile was polite, almost too polished as if it had been practiced for moments just like this.

Wallace had met her before, though not formally. The memory came rushing back, it was the first day of school at Fictus Academy. He had been late, as usual, and racing up the stairs to make it to class when he'd accidentally bumped into her. She'd stumbled, nearly falling down the long staircase if it weren't for his quick reflexes. He remembered the look on her face, wide-eyed and startled before she composed herself, offered a smile and a quick thank you. He hadn't thought much of it then, but now, sitting at the dinner table, he started to doubt whether she was the same girl from last week.

"We've crossed paths," Wallace said, his voice flat, doing his best to suppress the irritation rising in his chest.

"Well, you'll be seeing more of her," his father continued, ignoring the tension in his son's voice. "Eveline and I have come to an agreement. We believe a partnership between our families would be mutually beneficial."

Wallace's mind went blank for a second. An arrangement? What the hell was his father talking about?

"We've decided," His father continued, "that it would be in everyone's best interest for Wallace and Desiree to marry."

"Indeed, we've thought long and hard about this. I believe a formal union between our families is the best way forward."

The realization hit him like a brick. Marriage. Of course. His father wasn't content with just controlling his academic life, now he wanted to control his entire life, including who he would spend it with.

Wallace's knuckles turned white under the table as he gritted his teeth. He stole a glance at Desiree again, who seemed entirely unfazed by the announcement. Her smile was still fixed, perfect, poised. She didn't seem the least bit fazed by the conversation.

She played the role well of the obedient daughter, the dutiful heir. But Wallace could see through it. She wasn't any different from him, trapped in a world dictated by parents and expectations. The only difference was that Desiree seemed content to play her part, while he was suffocating under the weight of it all.

"So," his father said, turning his attention back to Wallace, "what do you think? It's a perfect match, isn't it?"

Wallace didn't respond immediately. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared down at the pristine white tablecloth, the conversation fading into a dull hum in his ears. He couldn't do this. He couldn't just sit there and accept this life, this marriage, this future his father had planned for him.

Without a word, Wallace pushed back his chair, the loud screech of wood against tile cutting through the conversation. His parents looked up in surprise, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to be a pawn in their game.

"I'm not doing this. I'm not marrying anyone just because it's convenient for you." Wallace said, his voice cold and sharp.

His father's face flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment. "Wallace—"

"I don't care what kind of 'arrangement' you've made. I'm not marrying her."

The shock on his parents' faces was brief, but it didn't matter. With that, he stormed out of the room, the weight of his decision pressing down on him as he left behind the dinner, the conversation, and the suffocating expectations of his family.

This wasn't over. But he was done playing their game. For now.

☀༉‧

Hiiii lovables!💖

I hope you enjoyed the first 2 chapters!

If you feel like sharing your thoughts, I'd love to hear them in the comments—and don't forget to hit that vote button if you're enjoying the story so far!

But hey, if you're a silent reader (just like I was for so long!), please know that I'm just happy to have you here. Enjoy every twist, turn, and secret as it comes! ✨

I will update every 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒂𝒚 and 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝖺𝗍 𝟣𝟤 𝖠𝖬 𝖦𝖬𝖳+𝟪

Thank you so much for reading!

__melodyshhh 𓇢𓆸