The Last Holiday

The Last Holiday

Episode One: Morning Routines

Amara Kingsley stood in front of the mirror, her school bag resting neatly on her back. Her uniform was perfectly ironed, every crease sharp and intentional. Her short skirt fit just the way she liked it, and her hair was carefully styled, smooth and flawless. She looked like someone who had everything—a girl who lacked nothing money could buy.

Satisfied, she turned and walked out of her room.

As she made her way downstairs, raised voices echoed through the wide hallway. Her parents were arguing again. Plates clinked, sharp words followed, and anger filled the air like it always did. Amara slowed her steps for just a second, then released a heavy sigh. She had heard it all before. Without looking toward the living room, she continued toward the door.

Her hand was already on the handle when a gentle voice stopped her.

“Amara, dear,” Emily, her nanny, called out. “You haven’t had breakfast. At least eat something before you leave.”

Amara turned slightly, her face showing clear annoyance. She rolled her eyes, said nothing, and pulled the door open. Within seconds, she was outside, leaving the noise—and the house—behind.

Across town, Dylan Royce was still fast asleep, sprawled across his bed with a game controller lying loosely in his hand. The glow of the television, still on from the night before, filled the room. He had been awake all night playing video games, and now the morning felt like an enemy.

A firm knock came at his door.

“Master Dylan,” Melvin, the house’s senior assistant, called out, “you’re already late for school.”

Dylan groaned, turning his face into the pillow. His body felt heavy, his eyes refused to open, and laziness pinned him to the bed.

“I’m up,” he muttered, though he didn’t move.

Just then, his phone buzzed on the bedside table. He glanced at the screen.

Amara calling.

That was all it took.

Dylan shot upright instantly, all sleep forgotten. He jumped out of bed and rushed into the bathroom. In a matter of minutes, he was out—fresh, alert, and neatly dressed. His shoes shone, his uniform sat perfectly on his frame, and his appearance carried the effortless charm that always drew attention. The kind of look that made girls at school pause, stare, and whisper.

He ran downstairs, grabbed his car keys from the counter, and headed straight for the door.

“Good morning, sir,” Melvin said, surprised at the sudden burst of energy.

Dylan barely nodded. He was already outside.

Moments later, his car sped down the driveway, heading toward Amara’s house. Another school day had begun—ordinary on the surface, unaware that it was quietly shaping the beginning of a story far more complicated than either of them imagined.