The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the estate nearby as June sat on the patio, sipping her coffee with books splayed open textbooks, of course, a predictable sight for the model student.
The rich aroma of the brew mingled with the faint scent of blooming jasmine nearby. A stern voice cut through her focus from behind. "June!"
She flinched, the coffee spilling slightly onto the pages, staining the margins of her calculus notes. "Yes, father," she replied, her tone measured. Father the term of perfection a girl like her was expected to use; dad was deemed too casual, too human for his standards.
The permanent look of disappointment etched on his face greeted her, even though June did everything to satisfy him—perfect grades, impeccable behavior. "I've told you many times not to hang out with that brat heir of Roosevelt and especially that social media nonsense," he snapped, his voice a low growl.
June gripped the cup tightly, barely controlling her defense. She hated how he trashed her friends. "They have names, father. Sofia and Elisa," she said, her voice steady but edged with defiance.
Her father hissed in annoyance, his fingers tapping the table. "I don't care for their names. I hated them both from the start I told you not to talk to them since elementary school. But you never listen, do you?"
June wanted to roll her eyes, but she knew that would ignite a storm, so she lowered her head, feigning remorse she didn't feel , not even 1% regretted her friendship with Sofia and Elisa. "Father… I know you're still mad about that prank thing, but that doesn't determine or obstacle my studies. I'm still scoring—"
He cut her off, his voice rising. "The hell you are scoring! Jack led you by 10 marks in Maths—he got 100, and you? Still stuck at 90. You think I don't check the marks? I'm the principal of Austin High , my daughter should be the model student, but because of you and your stupid friends, everyone in the staff room looks at me like a joker!"
The sting of his comparison to Jack hit hard; she always despised being measured against him. "Father, we have different abili—"
"Don't talk back!" he barked, cutting her off again. "Go study for the next exam at least we'll see you cross 90 next time." He left with a sharp tsk, the sound echoing as the patio door slammed shut. June stood frozen, the hate toward Jack simmering anew, fueled by her father's influence, her coffee cup trembling in her hand.
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Jack's bag hung low on his shoulder as Sam waved goodbye, disappearing down the street toward his apartment. Not a second passed before a sleek black car pulled up, its polished surface gleaming under the streetlights. The chauffeur stepped out, opening the passenger door with practiced precision. "Get in the car, young master," he said, his tone firm.
Jack grimaced, annoyance flickering across his face. "How many times do I have to tell you? I have my bicycle to ride home."
The chauffeur didn't flinch, his expression unyielding. "But riding exhausts you, and it's dangerous if our enemies spot you, young master. Understand and get in it's the order of the Master." A bead of sweat glistened on the man's brow, hinting at the pressure behind the command.
Jack groaned, the weight of his life pressing down, and slid into the car. He hated this existence where people respected power over knowledge, money over discipline. He never suited it, never wanted to fit. The car ride was slow, steady, the hum of the engine a constant drone as the chauffeur spoke, his words rehearsed. "Madame Rose said to meet her at 6:30 PM."
Jack gritted his teeth at the name 'Rose', his step-niece, eyeing his father's property like a vulture, much like his stepmother had. "Tell her I don't want to meet her," he muttered, his voice tight.
The chauffeur nodded silently, lacking the right to argue. The gates of the grand mansion swung open, the car gliding down a shadowed pathway.
Unlike Sofia and Louis's identical mansions screaming wealth, this one radiated power and darkness tall spires piercing the dusk, windows like unblinking eyes.
Though it was his home, Jack loathed calling it that.
A faint whiff of damp earth and something sharper chemicals, perhaps wafted through the cracked window, hinting at the drug plants Jack loathed.
Since his mother's death, the rose gardens had withered, replaced by hidden drug plants thriving in the shadows a secret he couldn't uproot.
As the car parked, maids lined up, their faces expressionless, waiting to serve. Jack waved them off politely, hating to treat anyone like a slave for his wealth a kindness inherited from his mother that always irked his father.One maid lingered, her eyes soft with understanding, before retreating with a quiet sigh.
His father stood at the entrance, arms open as if for a warm hug, though both knew it was a power play for the heir. "Good evening, my dear son, Jackson Moretti," he boomed, his voice dripping with false warmth.
Jack's fist clenched; he despised that name, a reminder of the power thrust upon him. "Call me Jack, Dad. I prefer it that way," he said, his tone clipped.
A sweet voice drifted from the grand staircase his stepmother, the architect of this changed life. "Why ignore when you have a powerful Moretti in your name, mio figlio?" Her words were honeyed, but they stung. He know more not to fall for her honeyed manipulation.
Jack couldn't stand her presence more than five seconds. Without a word, he stormed to his room, slamming the door shut, the echo reverberating through the cold halls.
Outside, the wind carried a faint rustle, as if the mansion itself sighed with his frustration.