Sparks
728 Words
Alara – POV
The apartment was small. Too small for dreams, but just big enough to keep breathing.
Peeling paint. Flickering hallway light. A door that creaked on its hinges like an old man with secrets. This was home. For now.
I slipped off my heels as soon as I stepped inside, exhaling the weight of the city behind me. The scent of burnt onions and tomato sauce greeted me before the sound of my little sister’s off-key humming did.
“Smells like an experiment,” I teased, setting my keys down.
“Rude,” Maya replied from the tiny stove, brandishing a wooden spoon like a weapon. “I made jollof. And I didn’t burn the pot—this time.”
I grinned. “Progress.”
She grinned back, her teenage face lit up by pride and a grease-slicked forehead. Sixteen going on twenty. She had too much responsibility in her eyes already, and I hated that I couldn’t shield her from all of it.
“You’re late,” she said, plating our dinner. “Everything okay at the coffee shop?”
“Long shift. And I stopped by Clarke’s place on the way home,” I lied smoothly, sliding into our rickety dining chair.
Maya joined me, nudging a chipped plate toward me. “I’ve been thinking.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Always dangerous.”
She ignored me. “Maybe I should get a job. Part-time. Nothing crazy. Just something to help.”
My stomach clenched. “Absolutely not.”
“Alara—”
“No,” I cut in gently but firmly. “You focus on school. I’ve got everything under control.”
Maya stared at me, lips pressed into a thin line, unconvinced. She was too smart for her age. Too observant.
After a pause, she said, “Oh. A package came for you.”
My brows furrowed. “From who?”
“I don’t know. It didn’t say. The box looked expensive, though.” She got up and crossed the room, returning with a flat black box topped with a satin ribbon and a tiny envelope.
My heart dropped.
Carefully, I peeled it open. Inside was something I’d only ever seen through thick glass or on Clarke’s vanity tray—Van Cleef & Arpels.
Delicate gold. Ivory enamel. Tiny clover motifs that shimmered under our flickering kitchen light.
Maya gasped. “Is that real?”
I said nothing.
“Alara, that’s like… ten thousand dollars. Or more. What—who—?”
I was already rising to my feet, grabbing my phone.
“Ace Wolfe,” I muttered, walking toward the hallway where Maya couldn’t hear.
I hit his number. He answered on the second ring.
“Grey,” he said, cool and indifferent like my name meant nothing. “I was expecting your call.”
“What is this?” I hissed, voice low.
“A gift.”
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“There are no strings?” I challenged.
“None,” he said flatly. “Take it. Don’t take it. Throw it in the ocean. Doesn’t matter to me.”
“You don’t just send people jewelry worth a car without wanting something.”
“I want you to rethink my offer.”
I said nothing.
“Don’t confuse courtesy for seduction,” he continued. “I don’t play games, Alara. I get what I want, and I give generously.”
“Why me?”
“You’ll figure it out,” he replied, voice colder now. “Or maybe you won’t. Doesn’t matter. Either way, the offer stands.”
I exhaled sharply and hung up without another word.
When I returned to the kitchen, Maya was still holding the bracelet with the wide-eyed reverence of someone touching magic.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“No one,” I lied. “I’m going to the hospital tomorrow. To see Mom.”
Maya nodded, her expression softening. “Tell her I’m doing okay. That I didn’t burn the pot this time.”
“I will,” I whispered, kissing her forehead.
But as I lay in bed that night, the bracelet still sitting in its box like a quiet threat on my dresser…
I knew things were changing.
And the name Ace Wolfe was quickly becoming impossible to ignore.
- Writer
