After dinner, I returned straight to my tasks without delay. I had deliberately avoided joining Nathan and the others at the table, choosing instead to focus on the remaining work that needed to be completed.
Earlier, I had quietly instructed Joy to personally attend to our bosses' dinner, ensuring everything was handled with care in my absence.
A few moments later, I finally set down my pen and closed the ledger. The weight of the day began to lift from my shoulders as I prepared to retire for the night. The modest house we shared at the rear of the mansion awaited—quiet, familiar, and a welcome refuge after the long evening.
As I crossed the dimly lit corridor toward the back entrance, I encountered Mrs. Amalia. The elderly housekeeper was struggling slightly with a large cardboard box, her steps slow and careful. Without hesitation, I moved forward to assist her.
"Allow me, Mrs. Amalia," I said gently, reaching out with both hands. "Please, let me take that for you. You shouldn't have to carry such a heavy load. Next time, just call for me—I'll come right away."
Before she could protest, I carefully lifted the box from her arms. It was heavier than it looked, its contents shifting faintly inside.
"Where would you like me to put it?" I asked, adjusting my grip.
She straightened slowly, one hand pressing lightly against her hip.
"It's alright, dear. I can still manage," she replied with quiet dignity. "Just take it down to the basement, if you would."
I frowned with concern as I noticed the subtle wince she tried to hide.
"Your hip… it must be bothering you again."
Mrs. Amalia gave a soft, knowing chuckle, her eyes crinkling with warmth.
"Ah, it's nothing serious. Just a gentle reminder that I'm not as young as I used to be."
I smiled at her honest admission, touched by the graceful way she accepted the passage of time. For a moment, the weight of the box in my arms felt lighter.
"Oh, by the way," I added as we began walking together, "have you seen Joy?"
"She's upstairs," Mrs. Amalia answered promptly. "Madam Lucia requested something from her just a short while ago."
"Take that down to the basement and then head straight home to rest," Mrs. Amalia instructed gently but firmly. "You'll need to wake up early tomorrow."
I nodded obediently.
"Yes, Mrs. Amalia."
Eager to end the long day, I quickened my pace through the dimly lit corridor leading to the basement stairs. My mind was already drifting ahead to the quiet comfort of the small house behind the mansion.
I looked forward to unwinding with the worn storybook my father had given me years ago—one of my most treasured possessions. Of all the volumes in my modest collection, The Journey remained my favorite. Its pages held a quiet wisdom that always seemed to mirror my own life.
Sometimes, when no one was around, I would even hum or sing its accompanying melody, the lyrics resonating deeply with every chapter of my personal story.
Lost in thought, I began singing softly under my breath as I descended the stairs, my voice echoing gently against the cool stone walls. The familiar tune brought a small measure of peace after the evening's demands.
I had just reached the bottom step when a warm, familiar voice spoke from behind me.
"What a nice voice."
Startled, I nearly jumped. The heavy cardboard box slipped from my hands and landed with a dull thud on the basement floor. Heart pounding, I spun around.
There he stood—Nathan—leaning casually against the stone archway, a soft smile playing on his lips. He had followed me down here without a sound.
"Why are you here?" I asked, my voice tight with nervousness.
"I noticed you were avoiding me all evening," he replied calmly, stepping a little closer. "So I decided to follow you."
A flush of irritation rose in my chest.
"What do you want from me? To flirt with you?" I snapped, unable to hide my disgust.
Nathan's smile only deepened, warm and unwavering. "I don't need you to flirt with me," he said softly.
"I just want to be your friend… though I should confess—I've already fallen for you."
There he was again, teasing me with those smooth words. I couldn't tell whether he was being sincere or simply playing his usual game.
I took a small step back, my tone sharp with frustration.
"Didn't I already tell you? We can't be close like this. If you're only here to tease me, then please—just let me go."
She fixed him with a sharp, warning glare, her jaw tight. His persistent pursuit no longer stirred butterflies—it only exhausted her. Every encounter dragged her deeper into a web of complications she could no longer afford.
"Please…" His voice cracked with desperation as he stepped closer. "Please don't avoid me."
"No." Her refusal was immediate and ironclad. "You can't have what you want."
The thought of Crissy finding out sent a chill down her spine. That girl already despised her. If she discovered this latest development, the bullying would escalate into something far worse. Even now, the subtle jabs and icy stares in the hallways had grown bolder, more venomous.
Nathan's brows drew together.
"Why?"
"I don't need to explain myself to you, Sir Nathan," she replied, her tone calm but final.
"I won't stop until you tell me." He moved swiftly, planting himself directly in her path. His tall frame blocked the narrow corridor like an immovable wall. His gaze bore into her—intense, unrelenting, almost possessive—stripping away every layer of her carefully built defenses.
She lifted her chin, refusing to shrink.
"Don't insist on something that can never be. You are heaven, and I am earth. We can never be friends… let alone anything more. Our worlds are too far apart. Someone like you—wealthy, powerful, untouchable—shouldn't mix with the likes of me. How many times must I say it?"
"Is that truly your reason?" he asked, his voice low and edged with disbelief. "Because you're poor? That's it?"
"Stop." She exhaled slowly, trying to keep her voice steady. "Excuse me, Sir Nathan. Goodnight."
She turned on her heel, desperate to end the conversation before her resolve cracked. But the moment her back faced him, his hand shot out and closed firmly around her arm—not painful, but impossible to ignore.
"Wait," he said, the single word heavy with urgency.
"Can you let me go!" she growled, her voice low and edged with warning.
Her chest throbbed violently, each heartbeat echoing like a drum in her ears. She wanted to be kind to him—she truly did—but kindness had become a luxury she could no longer afford. Peace was more important now. Survival was more important.
Then, without warning, Nathan closed the distance and captured her lips with his.
The kiss was sudden, warm, and devastatingly gentle. Her eyes flew wide open in shock, a sharp gasp dying against his mouth. For a breathless moment, she stood frozen, stunned into stillness.
Their bodies pressed closer—too close. She could feel the solid heat of his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart against hers. His right hand remained firm around her left arm, while his left palm cradled her cheek with surprising tenderness. His fresh, minty breath mingled with hers, intoxicating and far too intimate.
Her heart hammered wildly, threatening to burst from her ribcage. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Slowly, almost reverently, he brushed his lips against hers again, deepening the kiss with a quiet hunger that made her knees weaken.
Against her will, her eyes fluttered shut. A rush of warmth flooded through her, stirring feelings she had long buried. I'm no longer a naïve girl, she reminded herself bitterly. I know exactly what this heat means.
Is this a sin? The thought pierced through the haze. To feel this way… to want this when I know it can only destroy me?
Reality crashed back in an instant. The image of Crissy's cold, hateful eyes flashed in her mind—along with every cruel word and veiled threat. This could never happen. Not with him.
She tore herself away with a forceful push, palms flat against his chest. "No—" The word came out broken.
Without another glance, she spun on her heel and fled down the corridor, her footsteps quickening into a near-run. One hand clutched her chest as if trying to calm her racing heart, the other pressed against her still-tingling lips. Heat burned her cheeks, a mixture of shame, fear, and something dangerously close to longing.
She burst into the kitchen, breathless and disheveled. Joy looked up from the counter, eyes widening in alarm.
"What happened to you?" Joy asked, stepping forward. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Why are you running?"
She gasped for air, facing her friend but unable to meet her eyes. The words burned on her tongue—she wanted to tell her everything, to spill the terrifying warmth of Nathan's kiss and the chaos it had unleashed inside her. But the confession wouldn't come. Her mind felt trapped in a feverish dream.
"A-Ah… nothing," she stammered, forcing a weak smile. She reached out and squeezed Joy's shoulder.
"I'm just… tired. I'll head home now."
Joy studied her for a long second, unconvinced but gentle.
"Okay. You just tell me the story tomorrow, alright? Get some rest!"
She nodded quickly and slipped out before Joy could ask anything more. The cool night air hit her flushed face as she hurried home, Nathan's kiss still lingering like a forbidden brand on her lips.
The next morning, she woke with a dull, pounding headache. Sleep had been a restless stranger; every time she closed her eyes, the memory of Nathan's kiss replayed like a forbidden film—warm, insistent, and completely unexpected.
He had stolen her first kiss. The one she had quietly reserved for the man she would someday love. The one she had protected through years of hardship and solitude.
Now it was gone, taken by someone who existed in an entirely different world.
She sat on the edge of her bed, fingers pressed to her temples, trying to make sense of it all. Why is he doing this to me? The question circled endlessly. What does someone like Nathan see in someone like me?
Fear coiled tightly in her stomach. She was certain he wouldn't stop. His determination had been clear in his eyes, in the way he had held her, in the urgency of that kiss. What would happen if Crissy found out? The bullying she already endured would become unbearable.
She buried her face in her hands. I never asked for any of this. All she had ever wanted was a quiet, simple life—one free from drama and heartache.
Yet the moment Nathan and his sister Crissy entered her world, everything had begun to unravel. Peace slipped further away with every passing day, replaced by confusion, fear, and a dangerous flicker of something she refused to name.
A soft knock pulled her from her spiraling thoughts.
There he stood, framed in the faint light spilling from the living room: my father, already dressed in his exercise outfit—a faded gray T-shirt that clung to his still-strong shoulders and black track pants with a white stripe down the side.
His sneakers were laced tight, as if he intended to outrun whatever burdens the day might bring. At this hour, the sight of him should have been ordinary. Instead, it sent a jolt through me. He rarely woke before five-thirty, and never without reason.
He tilted his head, studying me with those kind, tired eyes that always seemed to see more than I wanted them to.
"You're up early," he said, his voice gentle but laced with quiet concern. "Everything alright?"
I swallowed hard, forcing a casual shrug. The lie came out smoother than it should have.
"Nothing, Dad. I'm just working on a school project. It's due soon, so I thought I'd get a head start."
The words tasted bitter on my tongue. A project. As if the weight pressing on my chest could be explained away so easily. How could I tell him the truth? That sleep had abandoned me because of the nightmares—the ones where everyone I loved vanished like smoke.
That I woke up terrified, checking to make sure he was still breathing in the next room. He was all I had left. My anchor. My strength. The only family that remained after Mom...