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I once read a quote.

A mother is the only person in the world who can turn a daughter's worries and fears into happiness.

I used to believe that, thinking maybe one day my mother could be that guiding light for me. But for us, the quote couldn't be further from the truth. If anything, it's the opposite.

My mother doesn't turn my fears into happiness.

She turns my happiness into something small, insignificant, and weak. She loathes anything that might pull me away from her vision of success.

Dreams? To her, they're childish distractions. They hold you back from achieving real success.

Happiness? She understands happiness, sure, but only when it's earned through money, control, and admiration. Her joy is in the power she wields, in the luxury she's built. It's never soft or warm. It's calculated, like another deal she's closed.

For years, I convinced myself that if I could just make her happy, I'd be happy too. If she approved of my grades, and praised my behavior, I would tell myself that her approval was all I needed. I'd force a smile, force myself to believe this was everything I'd ever wanted.

Even my dream of becoming a playwright, I buried so deeply that it was almost easy to pretend it didn't matter. It was just a silly, childish wish, something I told myself I'd grow out of. 

After all, she knew best. Or so I thought.

From day one, she made the decisions. I was sent to the best schools, given private tutors, and signed up for extracurriculars. None of it was about my interests, it was about control, about crafting me into the perfect heir to her empire. I went along with it, thinking it would make her proud. Maybe even make her notice me.

But when I succeeded, when I brought home awards or aced my tests, she didn't offer me praise. 

She'd hand me a designer purse I'd never use or some expensive gadget I didn't want, and I'd put it away in my room, right next to the pile of trophies she never cared to look at. They became things I barely looked at either, hidden reminders of achievements that felt empty.

Lately, though, something's been changing. 

The things that used to feel "good enough" are no longer enough. Her plans, her dreams for me, they're starting to feel like clothes that don't fit. 

What I once thought of as a life full of pride and accomplishment is starting to feel... farfetched.

I'm beginning to realize that simply making her happy won't be enough to fulfill me. It never was.

I looked down at my textbook, trying to refocus, but the words blurred together. This wasn't the first time I'd struggled to concentrate lately. Every time I tried to throw myself into the plans and studies she'd chosen, some small, rebellious part of me would push back. A question, faint but persistent, would rise in my mind, Is this really what I want?

A sudden commotion pulled me out of my thoughts, and I glanced up. 

There he was. Wallace, the source of so many new, disconcerting feelings. He was gripping some guy by the collar, a scene that would've been comical if it weren't so disruptive. I could make out Audrey nearby, trying to pull him back.

These people...

For months, they'd been caught up in this melodrama, dragging everyone else into their orbit. At first, I hated it. I wanted peace, order, and control, the same qualities my mother insisted I embody. But now... I don't know.

Wallace's passion, and his lack of regard for rules, has been unsettling something inside me.

Shaking my head, I turned back to my book, determined to ignore the ruckus. But my mind wouldn't settle. 

Wallace was irritating, and yet, I couldn't deny that his unpredictability stirred something in me. A feeling of wanting more, something undefined but real.

I forced myself to focus again, reminding myself that this was all part of the life Mother planned for me. The right schools, the right friends, the right career—each piece was chosen to reflect her own success.

She always said she was preparing me for a "high life" one of recognition and respect. And I tried to believe that if I stayed the course, I'd eventually grow to love it. I clung to that hope, letting it be enough, letting it replace any desire for something different, something my own.

I don't want to admit it to myself, but maybe, just maybe, my happiness lies somewhere outside the life she's so carefully sculpted for me.

I sighed, glancing down at the heavy stack of books. Political theory, economics, and finance—the subjects she insisted I excel in. These were the tools of success in her world. I used to force myself to study them, convincing myself that the knowledge would one day be rewarding. Now, they feel weighty and burdensome. I can't help but wonder if they were ever meant for me at all.

A memory of my first day at Fictus Academy suddenly resurfaced.

𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𓂃 𓈒⚝

First week of school, morning at 7:00 am.

My mother had barely looked at me as she adjusted the collar of my blazer, her gaze already drifting toward her car, probably to her next meeting. 

"Remember," she'd said curtly, "they'll judge you by the way you present yourself. I don't want to hear any complaints from your teachers. You're there to show everyone what it means to be a Hart." Her eyes flicked back to me. "And keep to yourself. You're not there to make friends."

"Yes, Mother."

I remember watching her drive away, feeling strangely alone as I turned toward the looming gates of Fictus Academy. I told myself it didn't matter. I wasn't here for friendship or self-expression. I was here to learn, to make her proud. As I walked through those gates, I pushed down any thought that didn't align with her expectations. That's what I'd been doing for years. I was so used to it, I almost thought it was natural.

Now, I felt the tightness of that first day even more. I felt the limits of the life I've lived, shaped by her hands. For years, I accepted her rules and let them defined me. But lately, the boundaries are wearing thin, and I'm not sure how much longer I can stay in line with her vision without losing myself entirely.

"Lost in thought?" A familiar voice interrupted me.

I looked up, sighing inwardly. Franko, the one person here I could tolerate, leaned against the table with a grin.

Wondering why he's here right now?

Well, after his visit during the high school day, he'd decided—without a second thought—to transfer here. He'd been captivated by Audrey ever since he saw her performing with Wallace in the singing contest a month ago. Since then, he'd been trying to catch her attention at every turn, as determined as ever—because the word give up doesn't exist in his vocabulary.

The first day he showed up here, I nearly strangled him right in front of the school gates for making such a reckless move without telling me. But since he was set on staying, I had no choice but to put up with him again—along with his endless talking and flirting with every girl who crossed his path.

"Not exactly," I replied, stifling a groan. "Just... distracted."

Franko raised an eyebrow, leaning in with a knowing smirk. 

"Distracted by them, I bet?" He nodded toward Wallace and Audrey, who were still locked in an intense, whispered debate across the library.

I glanced in their direction, feeling the same twinge of something. "Maybe."

Franko chuckled. "They're like a soap opera, you know? Impossible to look away from all the drama."

I nodded, lowering my gaze to hide my emotions. "Something like that."

Mom's not going to be thrilled if she finds out I spent two hours daydreaming instead of studying. I glanced down at my schedule book, gathering my things. I stood to leave, with Franko trailing behind, as usual. Just then, a girl bumped into me, her books scattering with a loud clatter.

Perfect.

"You alright, miss?" Franko asked.

The librarian approached and, instead of scolding us, asked if everything was okay, then turned a concerned glance toward the girl, who looked pale and sweaty. I nodded with a reassuring smile, catching Franko's eye as I signaled for him to handle it.

Once the librarian left, I muttered, "Take care of her," and moved on, leaving Franko to play the charming savior.

As I walked out, I caught sight of Wallace and Audrey standing by the door. They stopped talking when they saw me. Audrey waved at me, a hesitant smile on her lips. Wallace, though, looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

I ignored them. I still didn't understand this deep jealousy or this weird longing for the unknown, so I've been doing everything I can to avoid them.

Instead, I focused on the one place I could be alone with my thoughts.

When I stepped into the quiet room, a sense of relief washed over me. I set up my laptop and smiled slightly, ready to write again. 

Only a few moments passed before my phone buzzed.

It was a message from Franko.

I took care of the girl. Her name's Hansel, by the way.

I replied, feeling a small sense of relief, then returned to my work. But soon, a call from Ember pulled me back to reality.

"What is it this time?" I muttered, my patience thinning.

๋࣭ °࣪ ִ⭑․𓃠⭒˚.• ݁

The late afternoon sun filtered through the large windows of the student lounge, casting long shadows across the polished floors. Autumn had painted the world outside in warm hues of amber, crimson, and gold, while a crisp breeze hinted at the oncoming chill of November. The scent of fallen leaves lingered faintly, carried inside by students rushing in and out.

Inside, the lounge buzzed with a cozy energy. Students wrapped in light scarves and sweaters filled the room, their quiet conversations mingling with occasional laughter.

I scanned the space briefly, noting familiar faces engaged in their predictable routines. Groups clustered together. Some gossiping in hushed tones, others buried in their studies. 

Despite the lively atmosphere, it all felt monotonous to me. A cycle rarely broken, save for the occasional ripple of drama.

Adjusting the thick knit throw draped over my lap, I leaned back, the picture of relaxed elegance. My pen moved idly across the pages of my notebook, though my attention were elsewhere.

By the wide windows, Wallace and Audrey stood side by side, bathed in the golden glow. Their postures were casual but lacked the intimacy they once seemed to share, or so I convinced myself.

Rumors still whispered of their ongoing relationship, but the sting of jealousy no longer gnawed at me. 

Watching them now stirred something deeper... a quiet, unfamiliar longing I wasn't ready to name.

Beside me, Franko was engrossed in his latest obsession—his hair.

"Perfect," he muttered, angling his phone for yet another selfie. 

His freshly dyed platinum locks gleamed in the golden light, an almost ethereal halo against his darker complexion. He shifted slightly, tilting his head until he captured the exact angle he wanted.

"Des, you should join this masterpiece,"he said dramatically, leaning toward me with an impish grin. His phone hovered between us, camera ready.

I raised an eyebrow, laughing softly as I shook my head. 

"It's all you, Franko. I'd hate to steal your spotlight."

"Please, darling, no one could overshadow me," he quipped, snapping another photo with mock arrogance.

A shift in the room's energy drew my attention. Jaclyn had arrived, her presence commanding as always. Her sharp, calculating gaze swept across the room before settling on Audrey, who remained blissfully unaware of the brewing storm.

I sighed inwardly. 

Jaclyn's barbs were predictable, but her persistence with Audrey was beginning to feel personal.

Franko caught the shift as well, his playful demeanor vanishing. He followed my gaze, his expression tightening when he saw Jaclyn. 

Lowering his phone, he muttered, "What's she up to now?"

"Trouble, as always," I replied evenly, my eyes fixed on the scene.

Jaclyn moved deliberately, gearing up to remind Audrey of her "place." Typical Jaclyn, always finding a way to assert her dominance. She'd been like this for months, and I still couldn't figure out why she despised Audrey so much.

"Audrey, did you get lost on your way to the clearance rack? Or is this a new trend you're starting?" Jaclyn's words were sharp.

Franko stiffened, his fists clenching. 

"She's doing it again," he muttered, stepping forward, his intent clear.

I reached out, brushing his arm lightly but firmly. 

"Don't," I said softly.

He turned to me, his eyes blazing. "Why not? She's out of line."

"Because stepping in will only fuel the gossip," I said calmly. "By tomorrow, it'll be all about Jaclyn, Audrey, and you with my name conveniently thrown into the mix."

Franko hesitated, his frustration evident. "So we just let her get away with it? Audrey doesn't deserve this."

"No, she doesn't," I agreed. "But making a scene won't stop Jaclyn. You know she thrives on this kind of attention."

In truth, my reasons were far from selfless.

A part of me, a part I wasn't ready to examine too closely, wanted to intervene myself. Wanted to step into that small orbit where Wallace stood, to feel his gaze on me, even if only briefly.

His jaw tightened, but he stayed put.

"Fine," he muttered, stepping back. "But she better not push it too far."

"She won't," I said quietly, already rising to my feet.

Jaclyn's friend chimed in, her lips curving into a saccharine smile. "That's an... interesting outfit, Audrey. Looks like something old people would wear."

"Oh, is that true, Audrey?" Jacklyn purred, her voice laced with honeyed venom, "How bold of you to raid your grandmother's wardrobe. Retro, I suppose?"

Audrey stiffened but didn't falter. A mischievous smile tugged at her lips. 

"It's called vintage, Jaclyn. I wouldn't expect you to understand subtlety."

Wallace chuckled softly, the sound only aggravating Jaclyn further.

I snapped my notebook shut with a deliberate thud and approached with a soft laugh, sliding seamlessly into the conversation.

"Oh, Jaclyn," I called, my voice smooth as silk as I approached. My smile was warm but held the weight of expectation.

"You always have the most colorful observations, but I have to say, Audrey's look today is refreshingly unique. Don't you agree?" My tone was warm, with just a hint of a playful edge, enough to make Jaclyn pause.

Jaclyn hesitated, her smile tight. 

"Of course," she said after a beat, her voice syrupy. "I was just teasing. No harm meant, right, Audrey?"

"Of course," I echoed, offering Audrey a reassuring smile. "You know Jaclyn doesn't mean anything by it. She just loves to liven things up."

Audrey nodded, clutching her blazer tightly. 

Wallace watched me, his expression unreadable.

Jaclyn tossed her hair with feigned nonchalance. 

"Well, I should get going. Got things to do." She flashed me a smile before sauntering off, her entourage trailing behind.

Crisis averted.

Audrey's eyes flicked to mine, gratitude flickering across her expression. 

"Thanks, Desiree," she said softly.

"You handled that well," I replied.

Audrey smiled lightly. "I guess Jaclyn has a way of making you appreciate your own resilience."

Wallace chuckled at that, his gaze lingering on me. He stepped closer, his presence drawing a shiver I barely suppressed.

"You didn't have to step in. Audrey could've handled her," he said, a teasing edge to his tone. "But you did. Why?"

I met his gaze, offering a disarming smile. "I hate unnecessary drama. It's better for everyone if things stay peaceful, don't you think?"

He smiled, that infuriatingly charming smile of his, one that almost always made my pulse quicken.

"Always the peacemaker, aren't you?"

"Someone has to be," I replied lightly, though my heart raced under his scrutiny.

He moved closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. 

"Or maybe you just like being in control."

His hand brushed against mine, the fleeting contact sparking an unexpected warmth. My smile never wavered, though my heart beat faster than I cared to admit.

"Control," I said, meeting his gaze, "is just balance well-executed."

His smile deepened, a mix of admiration and something unspoken.

"You're good at that," he said softly.

Before I could respond, he stepped back, breaking the moment.

"I'll see you around, Des." His voice was light, but his eyes lingered a second too long before he turned away.

As he walked off with Audrey, her bright chatter filling the space between them, I remained rooted in place.

The weight of his words and his touch hung in the air like a whisper I couldn't quite catch.

Control, I reminded myself. It's all about control. But now, I wasn't entirely sure who had it.

Me or him...

☀༉‧

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