chapter three
1273 Words
(Alexander POV)
In the six years she had lived with us, we barely spoke, probably because I've always been indifferent towards.our different schools, and the fact that I moved out immediately after graduation made it easy to avoid each other. We only crossed paths occasionally, usually when my mother insisted I spend a few days at home. Even then, Alice did everything she could to stay out of my way—except during meals, when Mom and Dad made it impossible.
During those brief moments we shared under the same roof, I came to understand her a little better. That understanding slitly dulled my resentment over time—but I never allowed it to show. I never let it change my attitude toward her.
probably because I hate it,i hate the fact that my I'm able to understand her hidden emotions, even if I always try to avoid showing making obvious.
Mom had asked me to come home for the weekend. Today was Monday, and instead of returning with them, I planned to head back to my place after work. After breakfast, Mom—like always—suddenly asked me to drop Alice off at her university. She and Dad were constantly trying to force some kind of sibling bond between us, one that simply didn’t exist.
No matter what they tried, we never got along.
When we reached the university gate, I brought the car to a stop. Alice opened the door and stepped out, murmuring a soft thank you. The morning breeze lifted her long brown hair, and she tucked it behind her ear so she could see clearly. For a brief moment, she turned back and glanced at me—those brown eyes of hers meeting mine only fleetingly.
Then she closed the door.
“Thank you,” she said again before walking through the gates, disappearing into the crowd.
Our conversations never went beyond
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I returned to my penthouse in the evening after finishing my work for the day at the office. I drove into the private garage, stepped out of the car, and headed straight for the elevator.
The entrance to the penthouse was quiet and deliberately unimpressive at first glance—the kind that didn’t beg for attention. The private elevator opened directly into the space, its doors sliding apart with a soft chime. Warm, indirect lighting greeted me, casting a gentle glow across the polished stone floors.
The doors opened to a two-story penthouse designed with a minimalist yet intentional aesthetic. The ground floor featured an open-plan living space that flowed seamlessly into a sleek, modern kitchen, a compact dining area, and plush seating arranged for comfort rather than display. Upstairs lay the more private quarters—a calm master bedroom, a spacious en-suite bathroom, and a small office. Everything about the space spoke of understated luxury, quality over excess, and a quiet sense of control and privacy.
It was silent at first as I stepped inside. But as I moved closer to the kitchen, the soft clatter of pans and the rhythmic sound of a knife against a cutting board reached my ears. A knowing smile appeared on my face as I realized who it was.
My girlfriend—Isabella Robinson.
My high school sweetheart.
We had started out as friends. Somewhere along the way, Isabella confessed her feelings for me. At first, I had been adamant about not giving in. I wasn’t sure I was ready. But I agreed eventually, and with time, I found myself growing feelings for her too.
We went to university together, though I was always focused on my studies and work. That imbalance often affected us, leading to arguments and misunderstandings. Still, we endured. Despite everything, we made it through the years—almost eight of them now.
She didn’t realize I was home at first. Not until I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around her from behind.
She startled briefly before relaxing when she recognized me. The surprise on her face turned into astonishment, and I wasn’t surprised by her reaction. Even after all this time, I wasn’t the type to show affection so openly.
She quickly recovered and turned around, hugging me tightly.
“You’re back,” she said, her head resting against my chest. “I missed you.”
I didn’t say a word. I simply held her.
She had been away on a business trip for a week and had only just returned. Coming to my penthouse must have been her way of surprising me—only this time, I had surprised her instead
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(Alice’s POV)
The sun was beaming brightly, as it always did—like a giant ball of fire suspended in the sky. There was no sign of rain, and the sky was clear and endless.
Its warmth brushed against my face, and despite the hot afternoon, I found myself appreciating the beauty around me. This place—hidden away within the university grounds—was my favorite spot. It was serene and solemn, a space where I could relax and unwind. The massive tree above me spread its lush leaves wide, shielding me from the sun’s scorching rays. It was noon, and the heat was blistering.
I lay sprawled on the cool green grass, half-asleep. The chirping of birds—creatures that made the university forest feel like a sanctuary—soothed my restless mind like soft music. The fresh air and tranquil surroundings carried me away, as if transporting me to another world. A place free from noise, crowds, and chaos.
Here, I didn’t have to worry about who was watching or what anyone thought of me. Was this my safe haven, or simply a place where I felt at ease? Either way, this was my oasis—my place of safety.
I was at the back entrance of the university, a forgotten corner where no students ever came. Most preferred the cafeteria or bustling areas outside campus, but not me. This was where I went whenever I felt stifled, overwhelmed, or exhausted.
I loved the sunny weather in June. Maybe because it felt refreshing. Other seasons—especially the rainy one—only dragged me back to memories I wished I could forget.
It had been a weekend. My parents and I had decided to eat out at one of our restaurants. Rain caught us on our way back home, but we were happy, laughing—
Then it happened.
A truck lost control. Its brakes failed. It slammed into our car head-on.
My parents didn’t survive.
I was seated in the back. Help arrived quickly enough to save me—but not them.
Even after six years, I still couldn’t forget. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them—blood everywhere, my hands useless, unable to help. Uncle Shedrak and Aunt Rose had tried their best to help me heal, but the trauma only seemed to grow heavier with time. Panic attacks crept in whenever I felt helpless. Nightmares haunted my sleep.
Therapy helped. The prescriptions helped—at least when something triggered the memories.
“Here you are.”
An irritated voice broke through my thoughts.
“I just knew I’d find you here.”
I turned to see Amanda standing behind me, glaring. She was my best—and only—friend. We’d known each other since high school. Kind-hearted, loving, and fiercely protective, we had become each other’s pillars.
- Writer
