CHAPTER FOUR
Same day
Mrs. Riley didn't knock.
She never did when it came to Noel.
The door opened slowly, the hinges whispering instead of creaking, and the soft glow of the hallway light slipped into his darkened room.
Noel lay on his side, eyes half-closed, breathing steady but shallow, his body still wrapped in the dull ache of the previous day.
She stepped inside quietly, carrying a small tray.
A bowl of warm water.
Clean cloths.
Antiseptic.
Bandages folded with care.
She set the tray down on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed without a word.
For a long moment, she just watched him.
The rise and fall of his chest.
The faint tension even in sleep.
The way his brows knitted together as if his mind was fighting battles his body could no longer keep up with.
She reached out and gently brushed a curl of dark hair away from his forehead.
"No questions," she murmured softly. "Not tonight."
Noel stirred slightly but didn't open his eyes.
Mrs. Riley carefully lifted the edge of the blanket and began tending to his wounds—methodical, gentle, precise.
Every touch was measured, as if she feared too much pressure might break something deeper than bone.
She cleaned the bruises in silence.
No accusations.
No demands.
No who did this to you.
Just care.
And love.
When she finished, she tucked the blanket back around him and stood slowly.
"Sleep," she whispered. "We'll talk when you're ready."
She turned off the light and closed the door behind her.
The Next Morning
The scream came again.
"Mummmm—no—!"
Noel jolted upright in bed, breath ragged, heart racing.
For a split second, the dream clung to him—the echo of chaos, the feeling of falling, the sense of something being taken from him before he ever understood what it was.
Then he blinked.
Morning.
Gray light filtered in through the curtains.
He exhaled slowly, pressing his palm to his chest.
Same dream.
Different ending.
He swung his legs over the bed and stood, stretching carefully. His body protested, but the pain was manageable.
Familiar now. Controlled.
He glanced at the clock.
6:54 A.M.
Early."
Earlier than usual.
He nodded to himself.
"Good.
Discipline
The gym room was quiet.
Weights clinked softly as Noel moved through his routine—controlled reps, steady breathing, focus sharpened with every motion.
Sweat beaded on his skin as his muscles burned, grounding him in the present.
Pain was honest.
Pain made sense.
When he finished, he showered quickly, dressed neatly, and headed downstairs.
The kitchen was empty.
The servants had already prepared to start breakfast when Noel stopped them gently.
"I've got it today," he said. "You can head out."
They hesitated.
Then nodded.
Noel moved through the kitchen with practiced ease—cracking eggs, flipping pancakes, slicing fruit.
The smell of food filled the house, warm and comforting.
Normal.
He plated everything carefully.
Too carefully.
The Table
Mrs. Riley arrived first, freshly dressed, composed as ever—though her eyes lingered on Noel just a second longer than usual.
Tiffany followed shortly after, heels clicking softly against the floor, coffee already in hand.
Queensley came last, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair tied back neatly.
Mr. Madison Moore wasn't there.
Business trip.
The table felt… incomplete.
They sat.
They ate.
Silence settled between them—not awkward, not tense, just heavy.
Everyone had something to say.
No one knew how to start.
Mrs. Riley's thoughts:
He cooked. He woke up early. He's pretending everything is fine.
Tiffany's thoughts:
He looks okay. Too okay. That scares me more than if he looked broken.
Queensley's thoughts:
Everyone's acting weird. Something happened. I hate not knowing.
Noel focused on his plate.
He could feel their eyes on him even when they pretended not to look.
He hated this part.
The part where love felt like scrutiny.
When breakfast ended, Queensley stood and grabbed her keys.
"I'll take Noel to school," she said casually.
Noel looked up immediately. "I'm good. I'll use the train. Or call a cab."
Mrs. Riley's head snapped up.
"Why?" she asked sharply.
Noel froze.
She stood. "Take any of my cars. Or your dad's. I don't mind. It's yours."
He hesitated, then nodded. "Thank you."
She tossed him a set of keys.
He caught them and turned to Queensley, lifting them slightly in a silent signal.
She rolled her eyes.
"Relax," she said. "I'm not taking Mum's car. My car wasn't stolen."
The room went cold.
Silence fell like a dropped glass.
Noel swallowed.
Then—
"Wanna race to school?" he said suddenly.
They all looked at him.
"Winner chooses the next place we travel to for vacation."
Queensley's eyes lit up.
"You're on."
She bolted for the door.
Noel followed, laughing despite himself.
"Wait!" Mrs. Riley called.
They both stopped and turned.
She crossed her arms. "Are you both not forgetting something?"
They exchanged a look.
Then rushed back and hugged her at the same time.
Tiffany laughed. "No one should fall my mum!"
Mrs. Riley shook her head, smiling through it.
"Drive safe," she said softly.
They ran.
Engines roared to life.
The race was on.
Noel drove like instinct guided him—smooth, precise, controlled.
He arrived at Evalon High seventeen minutes before Queensley.
He parked, stepped out, and looked at the school gates.
The calm before something shifted.
To be continued.