After what feels like hours riding along endless streets, the taxi finally slows down.
Riley's jaw aches from cursing nonstop, the tension in his chest still coiling like a live wire.
Yet every time his gaze drifts to the small boy cradled in his arms, face serene, breathing soft and even.. something inside him softens, a rare warmth piercing through his storm of exhaustion and frustration.
The boy looks startlingly good now that Riley can see him clearly... pale skin smooth as porcelain, thick black hair full and healthy, fine brows shaping a face too perfect for his age.
Riley can't help imagining what he'll look like grown, and in his mind he... he swears he sees what Skye's father must look like.
He looks at the clothes Sky is wearing-- they stand out, sharp and expensive, the kind that whisper money.
He looks away, pushing the thoughts from his head.
It is already past six in the morning. He has no clue where he is, only fragments of a name buzzing in his mind: Karen- Phase Six.
The name feels unreal, like it belongs to some storybook place. He never thought this city could hold something so perfect.
Through the taxi window, he watches the streets unfold, each house looking richer than the last.
Lawns are cut with impossible precision, gates rise tall and polished, walls shine in soft creams and ivory.
Even the road feels unnatural ..too clean, too untouched compared to the city's chaos he just left behind.
His own street, with its cracked sidewalks, graffiti, and endless noise, feels like it belongs to another lifetime.
Here, everything radiates wealth... silent, controlled, and free of struggle.
Luxury cars glide past, tires whispering against smooth asphalt, and Riley's chest tightens, not with envy, but disbelief.
Places like this actually exist?!
He feels like he doesn't belong here. The air is too clean, carrying the fresh bite of morning dew, and even the ground looks too spotless for him to step on.
He glances down at himself... faded jeans, a plain t-shirt, a black hoodie. Clothes that suddenly make him wish no one notices him, because if they do, they'll see exactly what he is…
The taxi slows again, the driver squinting at a cluster of identical gates. "This it?" the man asks, voice low, as if the houses themselves demand reverence.
Riley adjusts the boy in his arms, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "Yeah… somewhere around here," he mutters, eyes scanning the endless line of stately facades.
Even in exhaustion, he can't help but marvel at the contrast... his noisy, cracked-up city fading behind him, replaced by calm, pristine wealth that feels almost unreal.
When they finally get to the gate of the house written in the address, Riley transfers the money to the driver's account. "Wait for me," he mutters, voice rough from the long night, before he steps out of the taxi.
The door shuts behind him with a muted thud, and the cool morning air greets him.
He can feel the driver's eyes on him through the rearview mirror, that steady, questioning look as if he can't wrap his head around what Riley is doing in this estate.
Skye is still completely dead asleep in his arms. He doesn't stir, doesn't twitch, doesn't even make a sound.
It must be pure exhaustion of staying up all night in that noisy, chaotic place, shivering in the cold, crying himself out until there were no more tears left. Fear and panic all stripped the boy of his strength.
Riley tilts his head back to look at the house, or rather, the fortress looming behind the high walls.
The compound is surrounded by a tall concrete fence, and above it, coils of electric wire. His brows draw together. Electric wires? What for?!
His eyes drop to the gate itself... huge, imposing, painted in a glossy black that reflects the light like polished stone.
He hesitates. Where does he even begin? Is there some smaller door tucked into the massive thing where people pass through on foot, or do people here always roll in with their shiny cars, engines humming, like kings behind their walls?
He shifts his hold on Skye and pushes forward before his nerves can stop him. No more second-guessing. He raises his fist and knocks against the metal. The sound echoes dully, swallowed by the stillness of the morning.
He barely has time to drop his hand before a narrow panel creaks open. A smaller door within the gate swings inward, and a man steps out. He's in a guard's uniform, neat and pressed, a phone pressed firmly to his ear.
"Oh, sir, he just arrived, here he is," the man says quickly into the receiver, his eyes flicking to Riley. He listens for a beat, nodding slightly, then murmurs, "Yes, sir." The call ends and the guard slips the phone into his pocket.
Now his full attention settles on Riley. A faint smile tugs at his lips, polite but unreadable. "Come in, please."
Riley stiffens. His eyes flick toward the taxi waiting patiently a short distance behind him, the driver still watching. "I'm not going in," he says flatly. His voice is low but firm, as if the decision is final.
He knows if he doesn't make it back before his parents realize he's been gone all night, there'll be hell to pay.
They'd accuse him of following Zane, and that, Riley knows, might be enough for them to throw him out, to cut him loose the way they did Zane's whole family.
Sometimes he wishes he could just move out, find some job, live alone where no one can corner him with blame and disappointment.
But who's he kidding?
Jobs aren't waiting around the corner, not for someone without a college degree. He's tried. He's spent months searching, coming up empty-handed every time.
He never wanted to leave his family... not until Zane's scandal shattered everything.
And It's clear now that he won't be joining college anytime soon because of finances. It has already been a year since he graduated from high school ..though he graduated late.
The guard's voice interrupts the storm in his head. "Are you just going to stand there? Come in. Boss is on his way here. He told me to let you in." His tone is still polite.
"I just told you, I'm not going in," Riley mutters. His throat burns with the weight of it, the rough edge of fatigue scraping every word.
The guard arches a brow. "So are you just going to let him sleep out here?" He gestures toward Skye, tucked against Riley's chest like a shadow.
Riley tightens his grip on the boy instinctively. His lips press into a line. "Call his nanny or something," he snaps, irritated. Why can't this man use his brain? It's the simplest solution.
But the guard doesn't call. Instead, he steps closer. His voice drops low, almost conspiratorial, a whisper sliding between them. "Tell you what... there is no nanny nor any other worker. The madam of this house doesn't allow anyone to work here. No maids, no cooks, no helpers. She sent them all away. Says they look at her husband too long, that they want him. So she threw them out."
Riley blinks, thrown by the sudden rush of gossip. His brows lift, his exhaustion colliding with disbelief. What the hell?
This family clearly has its own brand of insanity. The last thing Riley needs is to be tangled in someone else's mess. His own life is already a wreck, already too heavy for him to carry.
Still, he glances down at Skye, limp and vulnerable against him. The boy's small hand curls loosely around his hoodie, even in sleep. Riley exhales sharply, decision pressing down on him.
Fine. He'll go in. Just for a moment. Get Skye inside where he can rest, then walk right back out. No lingering, no listening to any more madness, no tying himself to these people's twisted problems.
Just in. And out.
He adjusts Skye in his arms, squares his shoulders, and steps forward.