I met a few of Dylan's friends who occasionally visited him. Sometimes, they gathered at his apartment for dinner and to catch up, though Dylan rarely hosted guests. Most of the time, it was just the two of us—except for the occasional appearance of someone named Richard.
Whenever Richard was around, I would leave them alone, retreating to my room to give them space. I never spent much time with him. Our conversations were brief, limited to discussions about college or movies we had watched with Dylan. Nothing significant. We exchanged glances occasionally, but it never went beyond that.
Richard was undeniably attractive—jet-black hair, piercing blue eyes, a well-built physique. He was exactly my type. Yet, for some reason, I never allowed myself to dwell on those thoughts.
One evening, after dinner at Dylan's apartment, the three of us sat around casually chatting. Dylan, always enthusiastic, turned to me with a grin.
_"Stacy, I don't think you two have had a proper conversation yet."_ He gestured between Richard and me. _"You're always running off to your room before we get a chance to talk."_
I shrugged, playing it off casually. _"I figured you two would rather catch up without me hovering around."_
Richard chuckled, his deep voice effortlessly commanding attention. _"Well, now that we have you here, let's fix that."_ He leaned forward slightly, his eyes meeting mine with a mix of intrigue and amusement.
Dylan clapped his hands together. _"Richard, Stacy's got great taste in movies—you two should compare notes."_
I smirked, crossing my arms. _"Alright, Richard, what's your go-to comfort movie?"_
Richard tilted his head in thought, then flashed a knowing smile. _"The Matrix—brilliant world-building, action, and deeper themes."_
I raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. _"Really? You don't strike me as the philosophical type."_
He chuckled. _"You'd be surprised. What about you?"_
_"Star Trek,"_ I said confidently. _"It's bold, imaginative, and explores big ideas about humanity."_
Richard nodded in approval. _"Good choice. I respect that."_
As the night wore on, our conversation drifted from films to music, then to personal stories. To my surprise, we shared quite a few interests—our love for thought-provoking movies, quiet places away from the chaos, and a preference for deep conversations over mindless chatter.
By the time Dylan stood up to grab another drink, Richard and I had fallen into an effortless rhythm, our exchange shifting from playful teasing to genuine discussion. For the first time, I saw beyond his polished exterior and realized he was more than just Dylan's well-connected friend.
Later that week, we ran into each other on campus. Richard greeted me with a casual smile, his presence oddly familiar now.
_"Hey, Stacy. You free later? Dylan's cooking tonight—it'll be entertaining, at the very least."_
I laughed. _"That's a bold assumption, Bellotto. Dylan in the kitchen? Sounds like a disaster waiting to happen."_
_"Exactly why you should be there."_ His grin widened. _"I'll make sure there's actually something edible by the end of it."_
Against my better judgment, I agreed. That evening at Dylan's apartment, the three of us spent hours talking, laughing, and—much to my surprise—bonding.
Maybe Richard wasn't just some passing acquaintance after all.
---
A few weeks later, Dylan's birthday was approaching, and his parents decided to throw a celebration. Excited, he invited me.
I wasn't sure if I should go. I tried explaining my hesitation to Dylan, but he refused to accept no as an answer. I told him I didn't know anyone at the party and would feel out of place since he would need to entertain his other guests. Without missing a beat, he solved my problem by assigning Richard to keep me company the entire night. Giving in to his persistence, I agreed to go.
That evening, Dylan introduced me to countless people, most of whom I barely remember. I was overwhelmed by the number of socialites, celebrities, and reporters present. At the time, I had no idea what kind of crazy world I was stepping into. What Dylan had described as a small gathering had somehow turned into a star-studded event with high-profile guests.
After taking a quick tour of the party with Dylan, I decided to retreat to the balcony, leaving him free to enjoy his night without having to worry about me. Back then, I hadn't even realized that Richard was a **Bellotto** I was too caught up in the thrill of attending a grand party and meeting new people.
To me, Dylan was just another friend. He never cared about our differences in social class, and apparently, neither did Richard. After that night, the three of us became inseparable.
Richard and Dylan were like brothers, always together—whether traveling or spending time with family. It was easy to understand why they got along so well: neither of them cared about material wealth. They valued each other's company and appreciated the simple things in life, much like I did.
Unlike the other girls who constantly surrounded them, I had no interest in what they owned, nor did I ever use their status as a way to benefit myself. Perhaps that's why I got so close to them—I imagine that in their world; many people only approach them out of self-interest.
During the party, Richard kept me company for nearly the entire night. We talked a lot. I shared a bit of my story with him, and in return, he opened up about his own life. I got the impression that he revealed things to me that he had never told Dylan—including his decision to avoid taking over his family's business.
I also found myself confiding in him, perhaps even more than I had with Dylan up to that point.
It made me reflect on how complicated life must be for the wealthy, the more money one has, the less freedom they seem to enjoy. I couldn't imagine living a life dictated by strict expectations and endless rules. Maybe that's why I was never romantically interested in Dylan. I knew that marriage, in his world, was often more of a business transaction than a union of love. I imagined an arranged marriage meant to secure a corporate merger—an idea that made it impossible for me to see him as a potential boyfriend.
As my conversation with Richard deepened, our topics became more intense, and the atmosphere between us grew warmer. The chemistry was undeniable.
Just as things were getting interesting, Dylan appeared with his parents. It was nearly one in the morning, and with most of the guests gone, he finally had time to sit down at our table and spend some time with me.
I was sitting on the balcony, my back to the view, when Jason and Helen approached to greet us. Dylan stood up, whispering for me to do the same so he could introduce me to his parents.
_"Mom, Dad, this is Stacy—the college friend I've been telling you about."_
As I turned to greet them, both of them went pale, as if they had just seen a ghost. I pretended not to notice.
_"Dylan, sweetheart, I came to meet the friend you speak so highly of,"_ Helen said, her voice warm but carrying an undertone of anticipation.
I flashed a polite smile and extended my hand. Helen, however, ignored the handshake and pulled me into an emotional embrace.
_"Stacy Withlle, what a pleasure!"_
Jason took my hand next, his grip firm, his gaze unnerving—as though he was staring at someone he hadn't seen in decades. I brushed off his odd behavior, figuring it was just another eccentricity common among people of their social circle.
_"Tell me everything about yourself! Dylan won't stop talking about his talented friend,"_ Helen exclaimed, pulling me toward a chair, her excitement palpable.
I shot Dylan an uncertain look. _"What stories have you been telling your mother about me?"_
He grinned mischievously. _"Just the basics—you're special. You moved to New York, you sew, fight, cook, know how to shoot, and you're finishing two degrees. Of course, I had to brag about my friend! No one I know has such an incredible story to tell. Am I wrong, Richard?"_
Richard, who had been silent until then, spoke with unwavering intensity, his gaze locked onto mine.
_"Not at all,"_ he said smoothly. _"Stacy is truly remarkable."_
I had known Richard for a few weeks but had never talked much about myself with him. I hadn't mentioned my skills, partly because I didn't want to intimidate him. Helen, however, was visibly enthralled.
Jason, meanwhile, remained utterly silent, his expression unreadable. He simply stared, lost in thought, nursing a glass of whisky.
Helen kept me engaged in conversation for quite some time, showering me with questions. She was warm, attentively too invested, as if she saw something more in me than just Dylan's friend.
As Jason watched Stacy interact with Helen and Dylan, a wave of unease settled over him. He had spent years burying the memories of Amelia—the woman who had once been the love of his life. But now, standing before him, was a young woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to her.
Her features, the way she carried herself, even the way she smiled, it was as if Amelia had stepped out of his past and into the present. Jason's grip tightened around his glass of whisky as he struggled to steady his thoughts. Would it be possible? Could Stacy be the daughter he had never known?
He had never been given the chance to be a father. Amelia had left abruptly, vanishing from his life without explanation. He had searched for her, desperate for answers, but she had been determined to keep her distance. And now, here was Stacy—her presence stirring up emotions he had long since buried.
Jason's silence did not go unnoticed. Helen, ever perceptive, glanced at him with concern. _"Jason, dear, are you alright?"_ she asked softly.
He forced a smile, nodding. _"Just lost in thought."_
But his mind was racing. If Stacy truly was Amelia's daughter, then that meant—
His gaze flickered toward Dylan, who was watching Stacy with admiration, his interest in her undeniable. Jason knew his son well—Dylan had always been drawn to strong, independent women. And Stacy was exactly that.
Then there was Richard. Jason had noticed the way the young man's eyes lingered on Stacy, the subtle admiration in his expression. Richard was enamored with her, though he tried to mask it with casual conversation.
Jason took another sip of his drink, his thoughts swirling. He needed answers. He needed to know if Stacy was truly connected to his past. But how could he ask without unraveling everything?
For now, he would watch. Observe. And wait for the right moment to uncover the truth.
It wasn't until someone interrupted to bid them farewell that Jason and Helen excused themselves to say goodbye to the guests. Seizing the opportunity, I decided to leave as well.
_"Dylan, go enjoy your party. I'll call a taxi,"_ I told him when he offered to drive me home. _"You can't just abandon your own birthday celebration to take me home."_
Dylan frowned slightly, reluctant, but eventually nodded.
As he walked away, Richard turned to me.
_"I'm heading home too let me give you a ride,"_ he offered casually.
The truth was, I wanted more time with him. The conversation had been unexpectedly enjoyable, and for the first time in a long while, I felt completely at ease.
Smiling, I accepted. That night, I realized that Dylan's world was far more complex than I had imagined—and that Richard might be a much bigger part of my story than I had anticipated.
Months had passed without a single clue about my mother's past. But just as the night was coming to an end, the party offered me an unexpected revelation.
While waiting for Richard to retrieve our coats, I wandered over to a wall of framed photographs in the side room. At first glance, they seemed to depict familiar sights—the buildings of our college. Drawn in by curiosity, I stepped closer, admiring the collection.
Just as I was about to turn away, one particular photo caught my attention. It was of the college library, but that wasn't what made my breath hitch—it was the people standing in front of it.
Helen.
Jason.
My mother.
I blinked, telling myself I must be imagining things. It had to be a trick of the light, a strange coincidence. But when I took a deep breath and looked again, the image remained unchanged. My mother, standing among Helen and Jason, smiling as if she had always been a part of their world.
At that moment, Richard returned, draping my coat over my shoulders.
_"I see you've found Helen's memory wall,"_ he said warmly. _"She's always loved preserving the past—there are photos from her college days, old childhood pictures of us, memories of Dylan growing up. She documents everything."_
I was frozen. My body refused to move as I stared at the photograph, eyes wide with shock.
_"Stacy?"_ Richard's voice carried concern. _"Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."_
I barely heard him. My voice was barely a whisper.
_"My mother... Richard, my mother is in that photo—with Helen and Jason... How?"_
I couldn't comprehend it. Never in my life had I imagined that my mother had known these people, had lived in this world. A part of her past was staring back at me, and I had never known.
My hands trembled as I reached for my phone, quickly snapping a picture. This wasn't something I could ignore—I needed answers.
The magic of the evening evaporated. My mind spiraled with questions I had no way of answering. I barely managed to hold a conversation with Richard after that.
_"Stacy, calm down. Talk to me—you're not making sense,"_ he pleaded. _"Just breathe."_
I shook my head, overwhelmed. _"Richard, just take me home... I need to get out of here."_
The drive back was silent, filled only with the relentless storm of thoughts raging in my mind. Why had my mother left New York? Why had she abandoned this life? Why had she never told me about any of this?
I hadn't even noticed when Richard stopped the car in front of the apartment.
_"We're here. Stacy?"_
_"Oh... Right. Okay."_
I stepped out, closing the door behind me, but I found myself unable to move forward. I stared at the entrance to the building, the weight of what I had just seen anchoring me to the spot.
Richard sighed, shutting off the engine and getting out. He walked up to me, placed a gentle hand on my back, and guided me inside.
Once in my room, I sat on the edge of the bed, still in shock, my thoughts racing too fast to grasp onto any of them. I hadn't even noticed Richard leaving—until he returned with a warm mug of tea and placed it on my nightstand.
_"Stacy,"_ he said softly. _"Talk to me. You can open up to me."_
The dam broke. Without thinking, I rushed into his arms, silent tears slipping down my face.
Richard held me gently, scooping me into his arms and laying me down on the bed. He didn't ask questions—he just knew. It was as if he had always known how to comfort me.
The sun was already rising by the time I realized I had fallen asleep in his arms.
I had never felt so safe.
Distracted, I traced the lines of his face with my gaze, lost in thought—until his eyes fluttered open and caught me staring.
_"Good morning, my lady. Feeling better?"_
I managed a small smile. _"Yes, I am. You must think I'm completely crazy."_
He chuckled. _"Not at all. Dylan would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you. I wasn't about to leave you alone like that."_
_"It won't happen again,"_ I whispered. But part of me knew that was a promise I might not be able to keep.