Chapter 16
1617 Words
LUCA
Darrel closed the front door behind us with a quiet click, tossing his glasses onto the couch. I leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to steady my breathing. My body was in Aveline, safe in the comfort of my home, but my mind refused to settle. Every conversation we’d had in Morca played on repeat. Every glance, every comment from Savon, and every subtle challenge, were all still lodged in my thoughts.
“You need to calm down,” Darrel said, his voice gentle but firm, as he placed his bag on the table. “You haven’t rested since yesterday. The gala is tonight. You should lie down for a while before we go.”
I shook my head, my frustration bubbling over. “I am not going.”
Darrel froze mid-movement, one hand still on his bag. He turned slowly and studied me. “You are not going? Luca, that gala… it’s built around you. The entire program has your name on it.”
“I said I am not going,” I repeated, my voice firmer this time. “Call in sick. Tell them something came up.”
Darrel rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. “You’re not sick. And you know they won’t accept that excuse. Tonight matters.”
I crossed my arms, staring him down. “I do not care about tonight. I need to train.”
He let out a long, drawn-out breath. “You will still have time to train tomorrow.”
I shook my head again, sharper this time. “I am not waiting until tomorrow. Savon is already training. I cannot afford to waste time.”
Darrel leaned against the counter, running a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he said slowly, though I could hear the tension in his voice. “Then at least listen to what the news says about him.”
I froze.
“What news?” I asked cautiously, my heart starting to pick up pace.
Darrel picked up his tablet and scrolled with practiced ease. “Reporters believe Savon has been training in a private facility outside Aveline. They say it belongs to his old coach. The same man who trained him during the years he made all those records.”
A tight knot formed in my stomach.
“Has anyone seen him train?” I asked, my voice lower, almost a growl.
“Not directly,” Darrel said. “But a few reporters spotted him entering the facility two days ago. He stayed the entire day. They also claim he hired two new strength coaches. One from Sylvera, the other from Maricosta. Both specialize in speed and explosive control.”
I swallowed hard. My throat felt dry. “So… he is serious.”
“Yes,” Darrel confirmed. “Very serious.”
Silence fell over the room. My mind raced, imagining Savon, cutting through the water with perfect strokes, each movement sharper, faster, stronger. I felt a pang of envy, anger, and an undeniable need to surpass him.
“I need to train now,” I said finally, my voice tight but unwavering.
Darrel raised both hands slightly, surrendering. “If you insist, then change quickly. I’ll set the timer.”
I didn’t argue. I simply went upstairs, stripped off my travel-worn clothes, and slipped into my swimwear. The familiar chill of the fabric against my skin sent a thrill through me. By the time I returned downstairs, Darrel was already at the backyard, stopwatch in hand, eyes scanning the pool like a hawk.
The pool glimmered under the early evening moon, stretching across the yard, serene and inviting. Lanes were marked clearly, each one a path to redemption, to victory. I felt the cool tiles under my feet as I approached the edge, my heart thumping.
Darrel clicked his stopwatch, his voice crisp. “Alright. First swim.”
I adjusted my goggles, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline as I leaned forward.
“Three… two… one… Go!”
I pushed off the edge, slicing through the water. My muscles burned, my lungs screamed, but I refused to ease up. Every stroke was a declaration. Every turn, a challenge. When I reached the end, I lifted my head, gasping.
Darrel’s eyes were on the stopwatch. “Forty-eight point twenty.”
I nodded once, wiping water from my goggles. “Again.”
He gave a small nod. “Ready when you are.”
I pushed off again. This time, my strokes were heavier, more forceful. My chest burned as if fire had taken root, but I forced myself forward. At the end, I gripped the edge, swallowing air, trying to quiet the scream in my lungs.
Darrel’s voice was calm but precise. “Forty-eight point zero three.”
I lifted my head, forcing control over the quiver in my chest. “And Savon?” I asked, the name tasting bitter on my tongue.
“Forty-seven point eighty-two,” he replied, the words like ice in my veins. “You still need twenty-one seconds.”
I rested my forehead against my arm, the water dripping down my shoulders. “I will get it,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, but firm.
Darrel opened his mouth, maybe to argue, but closed it again. He knew better than to try and stop me.
Before I could even prepare for a third swim, a soft, deliberate sound reached my ears. It was faint but distinct—a tap, a rustle, a presence. I froze, every nerve on alert.
Darrel’s head snapped toward the sound. “Did you hear that?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice low and tense.
Another soft tap followed.
A moment later, Aria appeared at the side of the house, holding a small bag. Her steps were cautious, measured, but her eyes were alert, scanning the backyard. When she saw us, she froze slightly.
“I heard something behind the house,” she said softly. “I came to check if someone was trying to break in.”
Her calm voice carried an edge of fatigue. She looked from Darrel to me, her gaze sharp but not accusatory.
“You’re back,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know you returned.”
“Yes,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral. “We came back earlier.”
“Welcome back,” she said politely, taking a small step back. Her posture was formal and almost defensive, as if unsure how to navigate the tension she suddenly walked into.
“Aria,” I said, stopping her. “Please wait.”
She paused, her grip tightening on the bag.
Darrel muttered under his breath, “I’ll go inside,” and retreated quickly. I could feel his eyes still on us, probably watching from the window, keeping his distance while making sure nothing went wrong.
Aria shifted her weight, holding the bag tightly on her lap. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t interrupt anything,” I said quickly, gesturing to the poolside bench. “Were you out today?”
“Yes,” she replied simply. “I needed to clear my head.”
A small, heavy silence settled over us.
“Maybe we can sit?” I suggested, pointing to the bench.
She nodded gently and followed, setting herself down carefully. Her hands were folded over the bag, and she avoided meeting my eyes directly. I laid the towel across my legs, trying to create some space between us while still keeping the conversation going.
“I wanted to talk about something,” I began, my throat tightening. “About Karen…”
She cut me off immediately. “You don’t need to explain,” she said, her voice soft but precise, almost sharp. “I saw the news. I’m happy for you.”
My chest tightened at her words. Heartbreak and a strange sting mixed together.
“Aria, I was trying to…”
“It’s fine,” she interrupted gently. “Whatever you have with her is your business. You both looked good together. She suits your world.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
She offered a small, polite smile. “I hope the trip went well.”
“It was work,” I said quietly. “Just meetings.”
“And everything is resolved?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good,” she said, standing. “I need to go inside. I have some things to do.”
“Aria…”
Before I could finish, the back door flew open, and Darrel emerged, holding his tablet like it was a lifeline. His face was tight, urgency painted in every line.
“Luca, you need to see this,” he said, his voice tense.
I frowned, irritated. “We are talking. Can it not wait?”
“No,” Darrel said, his tone brooking no argument. “It cannot.”
I stood, the tension in the air snapping like a wire. Aria stepped back instinctively, giving us space.
Darrel lowered his voice, lifting the tablet closer to my face. “He will be at the gala tonight.”
A cold, hollow feeling spread through me, like ice winding through my veins.
“Who?” I demanded, my voice barely controlled.
Darrel raised the tablet, the screen glowing with the headline and the photos.
“Savon.”
The word hit me like a punch. My jaw tightened and my fists clenched without thought.
We both lifted our heads, eyes locking in disbelief, shock, and an unspoken challenge.
The gala tonight, a simple night of celebration, suddenly transformed into a battlefield I couldn’t avoid.
"Get ready. We're going to the gala."
- Writer
