Alexander – Wednesday
The sky was clear, but the morning still felt suffocating.
I wasn't allowed to leave the house today.
Father's orders.
He didn't shout—he never does. He just looked at me last night with that cold, measured expression he reserves for stock portfolios and underperforming executives. I'd missed some idiotic finance mixer he expected me to attend. Something about "making impressions" and "networking with power." Right. Like a room full of smug billionaires in tailored suits was ever going to impress me.
He told me I was grounded. No school. No phone. No driver. No nothing.
Like I'm some teenager who needs taming.
The irony? To the outside world, Richard Worthington is the picture of perfection—a self-made magnate, board member, philanthropist, whatever else they plaster on magazine covers. The kind of man people quote at conferences and name-drop at cocktail parties.
But to me? He's just a man obsessed with legacy. Image. Control.
He doesn't raise a son—he curates one.
And when I don't fit the brand? I get benched.
So I spent the day drifting through rooms that felt more like showrooms than spaces to live. Everything polished. Everything pristine. And not a single thing actually mine.
At noon, I sat at the piano for a bit. Played something complicated, just to hear something imperfect echo through the damn perfection. The housekeeper said I had "soul." She got dismissed last month.
After that, I hit the gym. Burned through an hour of cardio and a full set of weights. Anger helps with form.
Then I lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, counting how many lines ran across the crown molding.
I wasn't sad. Not really. Just... numb. Detached.
Better than being controlled.
If Father thinks keeping me locked up will make me more obedient, he doesn't know me at all.
He never has.
---
Avaline – Wednesday
The thing about staying up late is… you always swear you'll never do it again — until you do.
I yawned for what had to be the sixth time in ten minutes, my head barely staying upright as the numbers on the board started swimming like little math fish. Math was even my worst subject, but still trying to solve problems with only three hours of sleep? That was just cruel.
I'd spent half the night researching ideas for our project — timelines, themes, even a few rough outlines I didn't totally hate. I told myself it was because I wanted to be prepared before I met with Alex Worthington, but deep down, I think I just didn't want to look clueless in front of him. Or give him a reason to think I wasn't serious.
I glanced at the empty seat across the room. No Alex. Maybe he had a dentist appointment. Or a broken shoelace crisis. Or his yacht's anchor got stuck. Who knows?
I lifted my eyes toward Bella, who was two seats ahead, twirling her pen like she was born to do math in her sleep. Figures. I bet she went to bed at 9 p.m. with a face mask on.
The bell rang, and I blinked out of my sleepy haze, gathering my books slowly. Next was Government. Honestly, it was the only class where I actually liked being wide awake.
---
Government class was in Room 201, which always smelled like cinnamon gum and old textbooks. The windows were wide, letting in the soft morning light, and the bulletin boards were crowded with laminated timelines of the Civil War and faded newspaper clippings from the 90s that our teacher swore were still relevant.
Mrs. Darlington stood at the front, dressed in her usual forest-green cardigan, her silver glasses perched on the bridge of her nose like she was one step away from running for Congress. She was one of those teachers who made you feel the power of history. She didn't just teach Government — she lived it.
"People," she said as she clapped her hands, "knowing your rights is not optional. It's survival. Let's talk about the First Amendment and why it matters more than your morning coffee."
A few kids groaned. I smiled.
But my eyes still drifted toward the back of the room. Still no Alex.
I wasn't worried or anything. Just… curious. We were supposed to start discussing the project this week, and knowing how fast time flew, I wanted to get ahead. As much as I dreaded working with him, I dreaded turning in something half-baked even more.
I tried to shake it off and listened as Mrs. Darlington launched into a story about a protest she joined in college. Her passion made everything sound like a movie.
---
By break time, I was finally beginning to wake up — though that might've been from sheer hunger. Bella caught up to me near the lockers, linking her arm through mine like she always did when she was about to spill gossip.
"Okay," she said, already chewing, "I have to show you this video I saw last night. I swear, people on TikTok have no shame."
We walked down the hallway, her voice echoing just slightly over the chaos of other students.
"So this girl," she said, pulling out her phone, "she's trying to do this weird DIY face mask made out of — wait for it — strawberries and toothpaste."
I blinked. "Oh no."
"Right? And she's like, 'It totally works, guys!' Meanwhile, she looks like she lost a fight with a smoothie."
I burst out laughing. "That's terrible."
"She starts crying in the middle of the video 'cause it got in her eye! I was like, girl, the strawberries were trying to help you."
We laughed together as we reached the cafeteria doors, but I caught myself looking around again. Just for a second.
Bella narrowed her eyes at me mid-chew. "Okay, who are you looking for?"
I blinked. "What? No one."
"Don't play innocent. That was a full-on scan of the room."
I sighed, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. "I was just wondering… have you seen Alex today?"
Bella tilted her head, like she was trying to remember. "Huh. No, actually. I haven't. But I'm not surprised. He skips school more than I skip leg day, and that's saying something."
I gave a small nod. "I just thought we'd meet today to start the project. But I guess… not."
"Maybe tomorrow," she said, shrugging. "Unless he got kidnapped by private jet pirates or something."
I giggled. "Right."
Bella squinted at someone over my shoulder. "Oh no," she muttered.
"What?"
"That junior behind you. Chewing like she's in a gum commercial from 2003."
I turned slightly and bit back a smile. "Oh. Wow. That's... enthusiastic."
"Girl's chewing like she's mad at the gum."
We found a spot near the windows and sat down. Bella launched into a rant about a new lip gloss trend and a boy in her physics class who smelled like vanilla protein powder, and I just listened, nodding and smiling. That was our rhythm. Bella talked, I listened — and somehow it never felt one-sided.
---
By the time school ended, the day had blurred into that sleepy fog where everything felt both fast and slow. Bella and I waited together near the school gate, chatting about the weekend like it wasn't creeping closer every second.
Once I got home, the house was quiet. Mum and Dad weren't back yet. Simon, probably still at school or caught up in chess club or robotics or whatever brilliant thing he was doing now.
I dropped my bag in the hallway, kicked off my shoes, and headed straight for the couch.
The pillows were soft. The silence was softer.
Just a nap, I told myself.
Just twenty minutes.
I curled up under the throw blanket, the last thought drifting through my head being:
Where is Alexander Worthington, anyway?
And then I was asleep.
---
AVALINE – Wednesday evening
I woke up to the faint sound of something buzzing — a low hum and flicker coming from the TV across the room.
At first, I couldn't move. My limbs felt like they were buried under a pile of heavy blankets, and everything was… sticky. My forehead, my back, even behind my knees — all sweaty, like I'd been asleep for a hundred years. The room was dark now, lit only by the soft blue glow of the screen. It danced in patterns on the ceiling, and for a second, I didn't even recognize where I was.
I blinked and turned my head. Simon was there. Curled up on the armchair with a snack in one hand, eyes glued to the screen. I couldn't even see what he was eating — just heard the slow, lazy crunch.
I gave a little cough, my throat dry from sleeping too hard.
He turned his head toward me. "You awake?"
I nodded, barely. My head throbbed just enough to make thinking annoying. I shifted a little, the blanket slipping off my shoulder. "What time is it?"
Simon glanced at his iPad without pausing the show. "Eight."
I sat up so fast the couch creaked. "Eight?" I repeated, wide-eyed. "As in… at night?"
He nodded, casually popping another chip into his mouth.
I frowned. "Wait. Mum and Dad aren't back yet?"
"Nope," he said, still watching the TV like nothing was weird about that at all.
My chest pinched a little. They were usually home by five. Six at the latest. Eight was… not normal.
I rubbed my arms, trying not to feel anxious. My eyes flicked to the screen — SpongeBob. Of course. Trust Simon to watch a cartoon while the world potentially collapsed outside. I didn't mean to smile, but I did. SpongeBob just had that effect. Right on cue, Squidward said something sarcastic, and I let out a small chuckle.
Still, my heart kept tapping faster than it should.
I grabbed my phone and scrolled to Mum's name, pressing call.
First ring.
No answer.
Second ring—
"Hello?" Her voice came through, soft and familiar.
I breathed out. "Mum. Where are you?"
"Hey, baby," she said gently. "How are you?"
"I'm fine. Where are you? And where's Dad?"
Simon looked over at me now, clearly picking up on my concern. He got up from the armchair and padded across the room to stand next to me.
"We're together, love," Mum said. "We're fine."
I sat up straighter. "Then… why didn't you come home?"
"We're at a housewarming," she said, almost sheepishly.
"A housewarming?" I asked, eyebrows raised. That's when I heard it — the soft music playing faintly in the background of the call.
"Yes, sweetheart. I'm so sorry for not telling you. We didn't plan on staying this long — we'll be back soon."
"Oh. Okay…" I said, still half processing it.
"Bye, baby. I have to go. You and Simon take care, alright?"
Then the line went dead.
For a second, I just sat there staring at my phone. Then Simon snorted. "Well," he said, "looks like we've got the house to ourselves. Let's just pray the monsters don't show up."
I burst out laughing — because I knew exactly what he meant. When we were younger, we used to scare ourselves silly with ghost stories whenever we were home alone.
I grinned at him. "Great. You summoned them."
Simon went back to the armchair, still grinning. I wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out a tub of strawberry swirl ice cream. Cold. Creamy. Exactly what I needed.
With the spoon in one hand and the ice cream tucked into the crook of my arm, I climbed the stairs to my room.
Once there, I set the ice cream down, peeled off my clothes, and darted into the bathroom. A cold shower washed away the heat and the sticky sweat from that monster nap. I wrapped myself in a towel afterward, still a little damp, and padded back to bed.
The covers were soft. My hair smelled like coconuts. And my ice cream? Still perfectly chilled.
I opened YouTube and searched for my comfort show — 2 Broke Girls. As soon as Max opened her mouth with that snarky humor, I couldn't help it. I laughed out loud, curling deeper under the blanket.
Maybe tonight wasn't so bad after all.