The Silent Half

Chapter 3- Jeremiah's POV

Jeremiah Smith leaned back in his chair, the cigarette smoldering between his fingers, but his mind wasn’t in the room. The low murmur of Mark’s rambling and the clicking of James’s phone faded into the background as memories crept in.

The Parker twins.

For twelve years, their names had been shadows in his mind, whispers he could never chase down. After Emily’s death, all communication had been cut off without warning. No letters. No visits. Not even a glimpse from afar. Their father still appeared occasionally at high-end gatherings, always distant, always polished, but the twins were never with him.

And yet, one name refused to leave Jeremiah.

Conrad.

Even now, thinking it made his chest tighten. What would happen when they finally saw him again? Would they remember the boy he used to be—the one who laughed with them under summer skies—or only the silence of twelve lost years?

Jeremiah dragged on his cigarette, trying to shake off the nervous weight pressing on his chest. For someone who wore apathy like a crown, the thought of facing them unsettled him in a way nothing else did.

“Yo, Jeremiah,” Mark’s voice broke through his haze.

Jeremiah blinked, realizing both Mark and James were staring at him. “What?”

Mark smirked, flicking ash into the tray. “Man, you’re zoning out again. I said we should hit the canteen. The freshers are out, and I need to find myself a girl for tonight. You in?”

James slipped his phone into his pocket, standing with his usual languid grace. “Might as well. Better than sitting here choking on your smoke.”

Jeremiah sighed, stubbed out his cigarette, and rose to his feet. “Fine.”

The three of them left the lodge, stepping into the bright sunlit path that led toward the main campus. Students scattered instinctively, parting like the sea as they passed. The trio carried a presence that demanded space—wealth, status, and power wrapped into three youthful figures. Whispers followed them everywhere, some in awe, others in fear.

Jeremiah kept his gaze ahead, letting Mark soak up the attention. He wasn’t interested in their stares—until a body collided with his shoulder.

A boy stumbled back, crashing to the ground. His books spilled across the pavement, and he scrambled to gather them, panic in his eyes. “I—I’m so sorry!” he stammered, bowing his head.

The air grew taut. Conversations halted as students froze, watching. Whispers rose immediately.

“He bumped into Jeremiah…”

“Does he want to die?”

“Last guy who crossed him had to transfer out of fear.”

Jeremiah looked down at the boy, his gaze sharp and cold, as if he were staring at something insignificant. An ant. The boy trembled under the weight of it.

Mark whistled low, amused. “Hey, isn’t he from the art department? Heard he’s good with the piano.” His grin widened, cruel. “Hope he won’t be needing those fingers too much.”

Jeremiah tilted his head slightly, then slowly lifted his foot. With deliberate pressure, he pressed it down on the boy’s hand, grinding his fingers into the pavement.

The boy cried out in pain. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some turned away; others leaned in, hungry for spectacle.

“Jeremiah…” James said quietly, his tone unreadable.

But Jeremiah wasn’t listening to them. He was listening to the silence that followed the boy’s scream. The silence that reminded him who he was supposed to be here—the untouchable, untamed heir of the Smith legacy.

Still, a faint c***k formed in that mask the moment he lifted his gaze.