TIED TO YOU ALONE

Sharon’s World Sharon Lights liked mornings that smelled of rain—the kind that softened the sharp edges of the world and made the air feel clean enough to breathe in hope. Ravensfield University pulsed with its usual rhythm: students rushing across the quadrangle, laughter spilling from clustered groups, a few loners buried in books as if the universe hid between the pages. Sharon moved through it all with the quiet grace of someone who never seemed in a hurry, though she always had a destination. At twenty-four and in her third year of Human Nutrition and Dietetics, she’d earned a steady reputation: brilliant yet humble, the girl who could ace a metabolism exam and still lend her notes to anyone struggling. Her father once told her wealth was like fire—it could warm a room or burn it down. The Lights family had money, yes, but Sharon preferred that people know her heart before they noticed her shoes. Her sneakers were plain, her tote bag frayed, and she wore her beauty without the armor of designer brands. “Sharon!” She turned to see Vera waving dramatically from the Nutrition Sciences steps. Vera was everything Sharon wasn’t—flamboyant, talkative, a neon sign of confidence. Where Sharon blended into quiet spaces, Vera owned them. “You’re late,” Vera accused, linking arms the second Sharon reached her. “You’re early. Suspicious,” Sharon countered. “I have motivation today.” Vera’s grin was wicked. “Dr. Hamid’s giving a surprise quiz. I need your brain beside me like a lucky charm.” “You mean you want to copy my answers.” “Borrow,” Vera said, feigning innocence. “Destiny wants us to succeed together.” Sharon rolled her eyes but smiled. Vera’s friendship was a constant, as reliable as sunrise. Inside, the lecture hall buzzed until the professor entered. Sharon settled in, notebook open, heart quickening for Nutritional Biochemistry—a topic she secretly loved. When the quiz came, she breezed through it. Vera… less so. “I’m doomed,” Vera groaned afterward, crumpling her paper. “Sharon Lights, patron saint of nutrition, pray for me.” “You always panic, then pass.” “That’s called strategy.” Vera’s eyes sparkled, then she leaned closer. “Speaking of strategy—your boyfriend’s waiting.” Sharon followed her nod to the parking lot, where Zack leaned casually against a car. Tall, boyishly handsome, Zack had been in her life for two years. At twenty-six, he carried the easy charm of someone used to attention. Not perfect—impulsive, sometimes careless—but he made Sharon feel seen in a world that often skipped the quiet ones. “Surprise,” Zack said, opening his arms. She stepped into them, warmth blooming in her chest despite Vera’s teasing smirk. “You didn’t tell me you were coming,” she murmured. “Thought you’d need lunch after class. Let me steal you for an hour.” “Fine—but I’m choosing where we eat.” “As long as it’s not rabbit food again,” he teased, earning a playful swat. Vera excused herself with a knowing wink. Sharon climbed into the car, listening as Zack filled the drive with stories and laughter loud enough to drown the city. Yet beneath the comfort, a quiet restlessness stirred. It wasn’t about Zack—not really. It was the weight of responsibility: her family, her younger brother Ken, twenty and reckless, who never worried half as much as she did. As they merged onto Ravensport’s main street, Sharon stared at the skyline—glittering towers scraping clouds while narrow alleys whispered of those left behind. She didn’t know it yet, but somewhere in one of those towers, another life was turning toward hers, pulled by a force neither of them could escape. --- Leo’s World Smith Global Tower cut the Ravensport sky like a blade. Inside the top floor, sunlight glared off polished mahogany and cold steel. It was an office that spoke in silence: money, power, control. Leo Smith sat at its heart, sleeves rolled, three monitors casting a blue glow across storm-gray eyes. He read contracts the way others read battle plans. Numbers bent for him, logic bowed—yet his posture held the weight of legacy. His father’s death three years ago had left him a throne he never asked for but could never refuse. The board expected iron. He delivered. The intercom buzzed. “Sir, your mother is here.” Leo’s jaw tightened. “Send her in.” Evelyn Smith entered without knocking—cream silk, pearls, and the quiet authority of someone who’d built empires with a single glance. “You’ve buried yourself in work again,” she said. “I run a company. It requires attention.” “You run yourself into the ground,” she countered, settling opposite him. “You forget the other half of your responsibilities.” “The board is stable. Profits climb. Nothing’s forgotten.” “I’m talking about family.” Her gaze pierced him. “Do you intend to carry this name alone until you turn to stone? Or will you settle down before the whispers grow louder?” “Marriage isn’t a strategy. Not a priority.” “For a strategist, that’s short-sighted. Marriage is power, stability, image.” Her voice dropped. “Do you know how many vultures wait to see you fail? A wife silences them.” He hated how she treated love like leverage. He didn’t believe in love anyway—it weakened men, gave others strings to pull. “Not now,” he said, voice like glass. “I have bigger concerns than gossip.” Evelyn studied him, unreadable. “A man without warmth becomes a man without allies.” She rose, smoothing her blouse. “Think about it. Legacy isn’t built in boardrooms alone.” The door opened again. Nana Smith entered, silver hair pinned neat, cane tapping softly. “Evelyn, stop lecturing the boy,” she said with a smile that cracked Leo’s armor. “Your father worked himself to death. Don’t watch Leo do the same.” “Good morning, Nana,” Leo said, his voice softening. “You hide behind these walls,” she told him, resting a hand on his. “That’s not living, Leo. That’s waiting to die slowly.” Evelyn rolled her eyes. “Mother, please—” “Duties won’t hold your hand when the house is quiet,” Nana cut in. “Don’t follow your father’s path.” Silence stretched. For a breath, the storm in Leo’s eyes flickered—then hardened. “I won’t forget who I am,” he said at last. “But don’t expect me to believe in fairy tales.” “Fairy tales, no,” Nana murmured. “But fate has its own clock.” Her words lingered long after they left, a pulse Leo couldn’t shake. Acr oss the city, rain clouds gathered—an omen or nothing at all. Either way, something unseen had already shifted.