CHAPTER 3 — Cracks in the Crown
1075 Words
Even kings have moments when the crown feels too heavy.
Aiden sits at the dining table, elbows on the polished marble surface, his fingers lazily circling the rim of a water glass he hasn’t touched in ten minutes.
The house is quiet.
Too quiet.
Silence always feels louder in rich homes.
The chandelier glows softly. The air-conditioner hums gently. Everything looks perfect.
Except the boy in the middle of it.
His father sits across from him. Sharp suit. Calm posture. Face unreadable the way businessmen master expressionlessness. He is a powerful man—one who is used to being in control.
Yet right now... he looks tired.
Not angry. Not disappointed. Just deeply worried.
“Aiden,” his father finally says, voice low but steady. “We need to talk about your results.”
There it is.
Aiden exhales slowly, leaning back. “I know.”
His father places the tablet on the table, the screen glowing with numbers and red marks that look like wounds.
“You failed three subjects. Barely scraped through the others. Your professors say you don’t submit assignments. You leave early. You skip classes.”
Aiden stares at the table.
Silence again.
Not because he has nothing to say… But because everything inside him feels tangled… and speaking might unravel something he isn’t ready to face.
“You are brilliant, Aiden,” his father continues softly. “You always have been. When you were younger, you excelled in everything. Academics, sports, leadership. You were unstoppable.”
His voice tightens slightly.
“What happened?”
Aiden’s jaw flexes.
He wants to say: “I feel empty.” “I forget why I’m doing anything.” “Everyone expects me to be perfect, and I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
But he doesn’t.
Instead, sarcasm slips out.
“Maybe I just… got bored.”
His father stares at him quietly.
That’s the problem with calm fathers — their disappointment isn’t loud. It sits quietly, like a blade under silk.
“Aiden,” he says, more firmly now. “This isn’t boredom. This is you pushing yourself toward destruction.”
Aiden smiles faintly but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“I’m fine.”
“No,” his father replies gently. “You’re pretending.”
Those words land too close.
Too accurate.
He looks down.
“You think football will save you,” his father continues. “You think popularity, trophies, girls whispering your name, boys wanting to be you… will fill whatever is wrong. But none of that fixes grades. None of that builds a future.”
Aiden says nothing.
“You play flawlessly,” his father sighs. “You move like you own the field. Like nothing can touch you. But off the field… you’re drowning.”
The words hit harder than expected.
His fingers tighten around the glass — not enough to break it… just enough to anchor himself.
“I don’t need help,” Aiden mutters.
His father leans forward slightly.
“Yes. You do.”
Aiden finally lifts his eyes.
For a moment, the confident, arrogant campus king disappears. And just a boy remains.
A scared one.
His father softens instantly.
“Aiden… I’m your father. I’m not your enemy.” His voice breaks slightly — the first crack. “I’m scared for you. I don’t want to wake up one day and realize I couldn’t reach you.”
Silence.
Then quietly—
“I don’t want to lose you.”
Aiden swallows, throat tight. His chest aches, a feeling he hates. Vulnerability feels like weakness.
But it isn’t.
“I’m… trying,” he finally whispers, voice barely audible.
“I know,” his father replies softly. “But you don’t have to try alone.”
He stands and walks behind Aiden, placing a hand on his shoulder. Warm. Firm. Supportive.
“We’ll get you a tutor. Someone good. Someone patient. Someone who won’t just teach you… but understand you.”
Aiden tenses slightly.
A tutor.
Great. Another person to judge him.
His father squeezes his shoulder gently.
“You’re not a failure, Aiden. But I refuse to watch you destroy yourself pretending you’re okay.”
Aiden nods once.
Conversation over. But the emotions remain.
When his father leaves, the house returns to silence.
But this silence doesn’t feel empty.
It feels… heavy.
Aiden sits alone at the table a few seconds longer. His hand drifts to his chest unconsciously.
And just like that…
a face appears in his mind.
Soft eyes. Quiet voice. Calm presence.
Noah.
Why him? Why now? Why does thinking of him make the air feel less suffocating?
Aiden exhales through his nose.
“Stupid boy,” he mutters.
But his lips curve slightly.
Not annoyed. Not irritated.
Something warmer.
Something dangerous.
---
Meanwhile… Across town.
Noah sits on his bed, knees drawn slightly up, notebook open, pen resting on untouched pages.
The house is peaceful. His mother is still at work. The soft evening breeze drifts through the window.
Everything should feel calm.
But inside his head?
Chaos.
He presses his lips together.
He didn’t mean to think about him. He didn’t choose to.
But his mind replays the corridor. The hand gripping his collar. The shove. The tension.
Then—
Aiden stepping in. Shielding him. Threatening calmly. Powerfully. Standing in front of him like a wall the world couldn’t break.
Noah sighs.
“Aiden Valerio…” he whispers to himself.
He remembers the library too.
“I don’t like people touching what’s not theirs.”
Possessive words. Selfish words. Dangerously warm words.
Noah presses his palm gently against his chest.
Why… does that feel so heavy?
He has met boys before. Loud ones. Annoying ones. Pretentious ones.
Aiden is different.
He is loud but deep. Annoying but disarmingly honest. Reckless but protective. Dangerous but gentle when he chooses to be.
That’s what scares Noah.
People like Aiden? They do not walk into your life. They crash into it. Change it. Burn it.
And boys like Noah?
They break when burned.
He shakes his head.
“No,” he whispers to himself firmly. “Don’t start something you can’t survive.”
He forces himself to focus on his book. On notes. On school. On safety.
But his heart refuses.
And somewhere far away… even though they are in two different houses… at the same moment…
two boys breathe each other’s names in silence.
Without realizing it… they have already started falling.
- Writer
