In the small, bright room of the hospital, Jeff opened his eyes to fluorescent light and a ceiling that spun slowly into focus. The pain at the back of his head was sharp and foreign. He reached up and his fingers brushed a bandage. Memory leaked back in ragged fragments: screaming, the flash of broken glass, a heavy tilt and then nothing.
He blinked and saw the nurse slipping out of the room. Hospital. The word made his chest constrict with a new fear: his parents. He was too rational to believe they would panic, but the instinct to protect the quiet stability they'd created for him and Carlos tugged hard.
Carlos appeared at the doorway as if summoned. His face was pale and worried, relief and reproach warring in his eyes. "You're awake," he said, voice thick.
Jeff tried a smile and failed. "Yeah."
Carlos moved closer and sat in the chair beside the bed. He hesitated, then asked, "You fought with him, right? Do you know you could have died? The principal said—"
"It's not like that," Jeff said, each word measured.
Carlos pressed, frustration giving way to fear. "Then tell me."
A single tear slipped down Jeff's cheek, the weight of the last hours finally settling. "I'll tell you everything," he whispered. He told Carlos about the parking lot, about the flat tire he had discovered, about the way Alden had looked at him like he was to blame. He said how the accusation had turned into a shove, how violence had followed, and how a bottle had become the instrument of everything that spilled out afterward.
Carlos listened, anger and confusion crossing his features. "You should have called the police," he said softly. "I thought you were dead when you didn't wake up. I called—Mom. She's coming."
Jeff flinched. Any moment now his parents would arrive, and the house would fill with questions. He asked quietly, "Did you call Dad?"
"I called Mom," Carlos admitted. "They're on their way. They'll be here soon."
Jeff let out a breath he had not known he was holding. "Why—"
"Because they're your parents," Carlos interrupted gently. "What else was I supposed to do? You were unconscious."
Jeff's guilt was a small, fierce thing. "You were right," he said. "But please—tell them I didn't do this. Promise me you'll say it wasn't my fault. Their families are close; if they think I started this… it will split things apart."
Carlos regarded him for a long, silent moment. Finally he reached out and squeezed Jeff's hand. "Okay. I'll tell them," he promised.
The door swung open then, and Jeff's mother hurried in, face already wet with tears. She pressed her lips to his forehead and murmured his name like a prayer. His father followed, strong and stunned, asking in a rush about his head, about pain. Nurses moved quickly; the doctor arrived with a clipboard, and in calm clinical tones delivered the news that Jeff was stable and could be discharged soon.
Jeff watched his parents react — the frantic worry, the way they clung to him — and when they asked what had happened, he lied. "I fell down the stairs," he said, voice small and practiced. His mother's gasp filled the room; his father's hand was steady on his shoulder. "It just… happened."
The lie slipped easily enough between them, soft and plausible. Outside the hospital windows, life crawled on. Somewhere not far from where Jeff lay, Alden sat behind glass and bars, convinced his mother would get him out before dawn. Consequences had been set in motion, truths tangled with falsehoods, and the fragile threads that had once bound the two families together were now taut, ready to snap.
Alden knew his mother would get him released. She always did.
So when the officers finally let him go, he walked out of the station without a trace of remorse — only the dull weight of exhaustion pressing behind his eyes.
By the time he reached the mansion, the place was quiet. The evening lights glowed faintly along the long marble hallway, but no one came to greet him. He moved up the staircase with slow, heavy steps, half wishing the house would stay silent forever.
Then a sharp voice broke the stillness.
"Who do you think you are?"
He froze. The sound was unmistakable — his mother's.
Turning slowly, Alden saw Mrs. Gates standing at the foot of the stairs, her face pale with fury.
"Mom," he said, pretending not to have noticed her before. "I didn't know you were around. When did you come back?"
Her eyes blazed. "What kind of question is that? Why did you have to kill someone? Are you the only one living in this world?" She took a step forward, her heels striking the marble. "Do you know how humiliating it was getting that call — that my son was in jail? I had to leave everything, everything, to come bail you out!"
"Mom, I—"
"Enough!" she snapped, her voice echoing against the high ceiling. "I don't want to hear anything right now!"
The commotion drew Jovi and Jovan from upstairs. They appeared at the railing, worry written across their faces.
"What's going on, Mom?" Jovan asked.
"Ask your brother," she shot back, glaring at Alden. "He's turned into a complete disappointment. I'm so tired of this."
Alden didn't meet their eyes. His chest rose and fell slowly, guilt and defiance wrestling inside him. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed two girls standing quietly by the doorway. One of them he recognized — Rosario, his mother's long-time maid. The other was a stranger.
He turned back to his mother. "Mom—" he began softly, taking a step toward her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stress you out."
Her expression softened just slightly. "It's fine," she murmured, her voice cooling.
Alden leaned forward, resting his head briefly on her shoulder. He could feel her hand patting his back gently. The tears that touched his lashes were fake — a trick he'd learned long ago — but it worked. When he pulled away, she smiled faintly, believing him.
"I'll never do that again, Mom," he promised.
"It's better you change," she said simply. Then she turned toward the two girls waiting nearby.
"Mom, who are they?" Jovi asked.
Mrs. Gates smiled. "You already know Rosario," she said, nodding toward the first girl. "And this—" She placed a hand on the other girl's shoulder. "This is Jenn."
"Jenn?" Jovan asked, curiosity glinting in his eyes. "Your new maid?"
"No," Mrs. Gates corrected, a touch of satisfaction in her tone. "She's here for you. Especially you, Alden. Your new nanny."
Alden's eyes widened. "My what?"
"To change your bad ways," his mother said firmly.
The words hit harder than any slap. A nanny? For him? A twenty-two-year-old man who could buy out half the street if he wanted? His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He just turned and walked away, rage simmering beneath his calm facade.
Mrs. Gates watched him go and sighed. "Anyway," she said, turning back to the girls, "Jenn, Rosario will show you around the house — and your room as well. I'll be leaving now; I can't miss my flight."
With that, she grabbed her bag, kissed Jovi and Jovan goodbye, and swept out of the mansion, heels clicking sharply against the floor.
The great doors closed behind her, leaving Jenn standing in the middle of the grand hallway — the girl who was supposed to tame Alden Gates.