WATER SPLASH : MERMAID ADVENTURE

QUEEN MARABELLA ISLAND(3)

CHAPTER THREE

“This evening is one to remember,” Mr. Stefan Leclair said, his glass lifted steadily, eyes sweeping the table. “We celebrate the future entrusted to our families, the contract for the Port of Oceania.”

Mr. Kaeo Winterson raised his glass in agreement, his tone firm and deliberate.

“The government has placed its faith in us. For the next five years, we stand as the gatekeepers of this nation’s trade. Our fathers and their fathers before them built this foundation. Tonight, we acknowledge the weight of carrying it forward.”

Both men turned their gaze to Zayan and Annalise.

Mr. Winterson raised his glass in firm agreement. “Tonight is not only about the legacy entrusted to us. It is about what comes next. Zayan and Annalise, your admission to the University of Antares marks the beginning of a new chapter. Prestige follows Antares, yes, but so does responsibility. You carry both your family’s name and this nation’s expectations.”

The men clinked their glasses, then turned to the younger pair.

“To Zayan and Annalise,” Mr. Leclair said warmly.

“To the next generation,” Mr. Winterson echoed.

All eyes shifted toward them.

Zayan stood a little taller, raising his glass with composure. “Thank you for your trust and for your belief in us. Admission to Antares is an honor, but more than that, it is a challenge we intend to meet. We will not take this path lightly.”

Annalise, however, lifted her glass only briefly, her smile polite but distant. She let the cheers wash over her, eyes flicking toward her uncle and cousin without lingering. Her thoughts remained elsewhere, untouched by the warmth of the moment.

The table erupted in applause, glasses raised high, the air thick with pride and expectation. The celebration carried the warmth of family, but beneath it ran the strong current of history, duty, and the unspoken burden of what lay ahead.

Annalise sat stiffly at the table, her hands clenched into fists beneath the cloth. Unlike the others, she felt no joy. Her appetite was gone, replaced by a storm of resentment swirling in her chest.

Why would her family choose to dine with these people?

Her piercing blue eyes flicked toward her uncle, Mr. Winterson. To her, he was the very picture of arrogance, controlling, calculating, manipulative. His currency was power, not love. He measured worth in status and wealth, and anyone without them was invisible to him.

And then there was Zayan.

Across the table, he sat laughing at something his father whispered, all charm and ease. Too carefree. Too perfect. His good looks and effortless charisma only sharpened Annalise’s irritation. Their resemblance was uncanny, almost close enough that they could pass for twins, which was an unending reminder of the bloodline she wished she didn’t share.

Zayan was unbearable. Brilliant, athletic, constantly in the spotlight, he carried himself as though the world existed for his benefit. Yet Annalise had always sensed something beneath the polished surface. A flicker of insecurity, shaped by his father’s impossible expectations. That hidden weakness, cloaked beneath arrogance, only made him more infuriating.

That same Winterson lineage ran deep. The piercing blue eyes, the sunlit blond hair, traits so consistent across generations, they felt like a brand stamped on their bloodline. Meredith Leclair, the second daughter, had inherited it fully: her long curly blond hair framed thoughtful blue eyes that missed nothing, though she rarely spoke. Erica, the youngest, wore it differently, her blue eyes held a mischievous spark as she crossed her arms, bold and defiant even now.

Even their mother was a reflection of it. Many people often wondered if Kaeo and Khione were truly siblings, their differences so stark. Where Kaeo was brash and selfish, Khione was graceful and kind, her blond hair and blue eyes softened by warmth instead of sharpened by pride. Despite her high-class background, she never let wealth or status define her. To Annalise, she was not only the truest expression of the Winterson lineage, but also its only redemption, a woman of quiet strength, and above all, a devoted mother.

Her mind drifted toward her bedroom, to the sanctuary of quiet where she could be herself without this charade. She longed for the solitude of her books, the hush of her blankets wrapped around her. Anything but being trapped here, forced to smile while rage simmered in her chest.

And what made her blood boil most of all?

Zayan is now at the University of Antares.

Of all the universities, of all the places in the world, fate had tethered him to hers. She could already see it, how he would seize every opportunity to make her life miserable. He had always been skilled at needling her, turning her irritation into his personal sport. Now, on the same campus, there would be no escape. He would taunt, challenge, and push her buttons with the same relentless persistence he had since childhood.

Annalise lifted her glass mechanically, hiding the storm within. Outwardly, she was composed. Inwardly, she was already bracing for war.

Talks shifted to the upcoming Festival, the city’s yearly tradition.

Mr. Leclair spoke with quiet pride about how the festival brought the community together, while Mrs. Leclair reminded her daughters to be up early to help with preparations.

Meredith nodded dutifully, though her attention was already drifting. Erica groaned openly, folding her arms across her chest. “Every single year,” she muttered, her voice sharp enough to cut through the table’s warmth. “It’s just long speeches, crowded streets, and traditions nobody actually cares about anymore.”

Zayan chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Finally, someone says it. That festival is exhausting. Pointless, really.” He swirled his glass lazily, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

Annalise barely reacted. Festivals, contracts, prestige, it all blended together into one heavy chain she wanted nothing to do with. She caught her uncle’s eye across the table, then Zayan’s smug grin, and felt the familiar weight pressing in.

Abruptly, she pushed back her chair. The scrape of wood against the tile cut across the chatter as she rose, mumbling something about needing a moment, before slipping toward the kitchen, chest tight, thoughts of a tangled mess.

Then came the voice. Smug. Familiar. Infuriating.

“Careful, cousin. Keep frowning like that and your face might stick.”

Her whole body tensed.

She turned slowly and, of course, it was him. Zayan. Leaning lazily against the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching her like she was a joke only he understood. That smirk. That arrogance.

Her expression hardened. “What do you want?” she snapped.

Zayan crossed his arms, tilting his head in mock innocence. “Relax. I just wanted to see if you’d bite.”

“I think it would be best if you left me alone,” Annalise shot back.

“‘Leave you alone,’” he repeated with a smirk, savoring her irritation. “What’s got you so wound up, cousin? I Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other now,” he added smoothly. “University of Antares. Same campus. Same halls. Maybe it’s time we start getting along, don’t you think Marcrystal?”

The moment the name left his lips, Annalise’s entire body stiffened.

She knew exactly what he was doing. He was playing dirty, poking at an old wound he had no business touching.

No one called her by her middle name.

No one except Skye.

Zayan’s smirk widened when he saw her reaction. He had struck a nerve.

Annalise clenched her fists, nails digging into her palm. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do,” she said through gritted teeth. “But keep pushing, and you’ll regret it.”

They locked eyes, neither backing down.

Zayan leaned in slightly, his voice low and taunting. “I’ve been wondering… what really happened between you and Skye? You two were inseparable, weren’t you?” He tilted his head as if recalling something. “Your first kiss was with him, wasn’t it?”

Annalise’s breath caught, but she stayed silent.

Zayan chuckled. “Don’t look so shocked. Everyone knew about it. At school, people followed your little love story like it was a soap opera. My favorite part? The breakup. Though I have to admit, the rumors about you giving yourself to him…”

That was it.

Before he could finish, before he could twist the knife any deeper, Annalise’s hand moved on instinct.

The slap cracked through the air like a whip. Then another.

Zayan stumbled back, his cheek burning, vision spinning for a moment.

Annalise stood firm, chest heaving. She didn’t regret it, not for a second.

When Zayan straightened, his hand went to his face. For the first time, the smirk was gone. His eyes hardened. He had underestimated her.

But now?

Now he knew.

Annalise Marcrystal Leclair was not to be messed with.

From the dining room, chairs scraped against the floor. Footsteps rushed closer. They had clearly heard.

Meredith’s eyes widened, her hands frozen halfway to her mouth as she stared in disbelief. Erica, by contrast, gasped and shot to her feet, glaring at Annalise with wide, indignant eyes. Her jaw tightened, torn between outrage on Zayan’s behalf and the silent unease of watching her sister lose control.

Before anyone could speak, Annalise bolted for her room. She slammed the door, pressing her back against it, her breath ragged. Her hands trembled as she stared at them. Had she really just slapped Zayan?

Moving to the window, she watched as dark clouds gathered, rain pounding against the glass. Relief washed over her, sharp and fleeting.

“He deserved it,” she whispered.

Annalise sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her trembling hands. The echoes of Zayan’s words still rang in her ears, burning her with rage and humiliation. She clenched her fists, trying to suppress the mixture of anger and hurt boiling inside her. The heavy rain outside drummed against her window, mirroring the storm within her.

She shut her eyes tightly, running her fingers through her hair. Why did he have to bring up Skye? Why now? She had worked so hard to bury the memories, to move past them. But Zayan, in his usual arrogant, taunting manner, had decided to rip open a wound she had barely managed to close.

Back in the dining room, silence hung heavy in the air. Zayan still rubbed his cheek, the sting of Annalise’s slap lingering.

“Zayan, are you hurt?” Mrs. Leclair asked carefully, her voice taut with concern.

“I’m fine, Aunt Khione,” he replied, masking his embarrassment with a weak smile.

“We’re deeply sorry, Zayan,” Mr. Leclair said, his tone measured. “My daughter’s behavior was unacceptable.”

But Mr. Winterson’s patience snapped. “Unacceptable? Stefan, She should be apologizing herself! She struck my son in front of everyone. That cannot be overlooked.”

Mr. Leclair frowned, disappointment in his voice but not directed at his daughter. “Kaeo, I am as shocked as you are. Annalise has never acted like this before. But I ask your understanding please.”

Mrs. Leclair’s eyes sharpened. “What happened, Zayan? What did you say to her?”

Zayan smirked faintly, even through the ache. “Only the truth she’s been running from.”

“And what truth is that?” she pressed.

He shrugged, deliberately vague. “Perhaps that’s for Annalise to answer. But do tell her she’s forgiven.”

The smugness in his tone made Mrs. Leclair's lips tighten, but before she could respond, Mr. Winterson interrupted. “Enough. This evening has been ruined. Stefan, Khione, you need to speak to your daughter. I will not forget this insult.”

With that, he strode out, his son trailing close behind.

As the door shut, Mr. and Mrs. Leclair exchanged a weary look. Mr. Leclair's jaw was tight, his hands curled into fists. He hated conflict, hated being forced to take sides, but deep down, he knew Zayan had provoked this. Just as he always did.

Mrs. Leclair rubbed her temples. “Of all nights, why tonight?”

Mr. Leclair sighed, “Because Zayan is his father’s son. He thrives on stirring trouble.”

Mrs. Leclair’s lips pressed into a thin line. She had always disliked the way her brother raised his son, spoiling him, encouraging his entitled behavior, and turning him into a mirror image of himself. It saddened her that Zayan had never been given the chance to be different.

“I think she taught him a lesson,” she finally admitted. “Zayan is used to saying and doing whatever he wants without consequences. Maybe Annalise’s slap will remind him he is not invincible.”

Mr. Leclair sighed, shaking his head. “Regardless, she shouldn’t have let her anger control her. Kaeo will make a big deal out of this.”

Though she didn’t voice it aloud, a part of Mrs. Leclair felt satisfied.

“Well, I know our daughter too well. This is not the first time Annalise and Zayan have been at each other’s throats,” Mr. Leclair said, frustration etched into his features. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Kaeo indirectly told us we didn’t raise our daughter well. Who does he think he is? He should focus on that ill-mannered son of his. Zayan has no idea when to speak or how to control his tongue.” His voice was laced with irritation, his fists clenching at the thought of Mr. Winterson's arrogance.

Mrs. Leclair folded her arms, her tone firm yet weary. “Annalise needs to avoid Zayan’s trouble; that boy brings conflict wherever he goes. He thrives on it and I don’t want our daughter caught in his mess.”

“She did that to Zayan for a very good reason,” Meredith said quietly, her voice calm but firm. “Zayan says terrible things. The law says to ask, and you shall receive. He deserves it and more.”

Erica huffed, crossing her arms with a defiant little smirk. “I still think Zayan’s the coolest,” she muttered, her blue eyes glinting with mischief. But as her gaze flicked toward the door Annalise had disappeared through, the smirk faltered just for a moment betraying a flicker of concern.

“I hope Annalise is okay. Should we talk to her?” Mr. Leclair asked, his concern breaking the silence.

Mrs. Leclair sighed. “We should let her be for tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll talk to her.”

Annalise couldn’t sleep. Her mind kept circling back to what had happened. Frustrated, she got out of bed and pulled her diary from the drawer, unclasping the tiny key that hung around her neck.

She flipped through the worn pages, smiling faintly at old entries, until her fingers stilled. Tucked inside was a picture of Skye at his high school graduation.

Two years. That was how long it had been since she last heard from him. She missed him every day, though she still couldn’t accept his reason for leaving—you’re a distraction. The words had cut deeper than any truth.

Her throat tightened. A tear slid onto the photo, and she wiped it away gently, her heart aching with both love and resentment.

“You’ll come back to me, won’t you?” she whispered. “I miss you. I love you. And I hate you for what you did. I just… want to believe you had a reason.”

Carefully, she returned the picture to the diary, locked it, and set it aside before curling beneath her blanket. Exhaustion finally dragged her under.

Meanwhile, rain battered the streets as Mr. Winterson drove, his grip white-knuckled on the wheel.

“You disgraced yourself tonight,” he muttered coldly.

Zayan, still staring at the blur of streetlights through the rain, turned his head slowly.

“You let a girl humiliate you. Weakling. That’s what you are,” his father spat.

Zayan’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t weak. He hadn’t expected Annalise’s fury, hadn’t expected her to strike with such fire. That fire unsettled him. It fascinated him.

He looked back at the raindrops racing down the window, a shadow of a smile flickering. His cheek still burned, his father’s words cutting deeper than the slap. Weakling. The shame was unbearable.

He clenched his fists. Annalise would pay for humiliating him.

But as his fury simmered, another ache crept in, one he never voiced. He missed his mother. Hated her for leaving him, but missed her all the same. His father’s shadow was all he had left, and it was molding him into something ruthless. Something unbreakable.

And he had no choice but to become exactly that.