A month. A full, dizzying month had passed since Ophelia's first day of class. The routine was now a painful familiarity — freedom by day, captivity by night. The brief, stolen moments with Chris and Marisol were her only taste of normalcy. She clung to her studies like a lifeline; the library had become her sanctuary, the only place Darren's name held no power.
Tonight was no different. The clock on her laptop read 1:17 a.m., the quiet of the mansion broken only by the soft click of her keyboard. She was deep in a history paper, her world reduced to words, footnotes, and the Roman Empire — a place far more predictable than her own.
Her stomach growled, loud in the silence. She sighed, giving up the battle with focus. Instant noodles, she decided. A pathetic, yet perfect, solution to a college student's late-night hunger.
