The door to Levi's room creaked closed behind him with a familiar groan, as though even the hinges were tired. The air inside was still and quiet, a small refuge carved out of a world that never quite wanted him. A single window let in the soft golden haze of the sinking sun, painting long shadows across the peeling wallpaper and the worn-down floorboards.
He placed the groceries down beside his desk—one with a splintering edge and books stacked in precarious towers on either side. Then, with a long breath, he dropped onto the edge of his bed, its mattress sighing beneath his weight. The bedspread, faded blue and fraying at the corners, had been his since the first day he came to the Edwards house. It had never been replaced.
I'll just rest a bit, he thought, dragging a hand across his face. His eyes burned from the long day. His arms ached from the endless chores. His mind, however, wouldn't shut off.
The phone call from earlier replayed in his head like a puzzle with no edges.
"Mr. Wings… strictly confidential…"
He shook it off and leaned back on his elbows, staring up at the ceiling where cracks spidered across like veins of quiet secrets.
Then—
Buzz. Buzz.
He sat up immediately. The phone lit up on the desk. Same number.
His fingers hovered for a second before he answered.
"…Hello?"
This time, a man's voice met him. Calm. Measured. Deep. And unmistakably serious.
"Levi Wings?"
"Yeah," Levi replied cautiously.
"This is Martin Hale from Oakland Mail Services. We need to speak. It's important."
Levi furrowed his brow. "Look, I already spoke to someone about this earlier. I don't know who sent me anything, and I really think you've got the wrong guy—"
"This isn't a mistake," Martin interrupted firmly. "The parcel was registered under your name. Full legal name. There's a federal tag attached to the case, and we're under instruction to ensure that you personally receive it. Within twenty-four hours."
Levi sat straighter on the bed. "Federal?"
"Yes. And I'm telling you this off record—if this doesn't get signed for, our branch could face consequences. I don't know what's in it, and frankly, I don't want to. But someone made sure it reached you, and only you. You need to come."
The tone was sharp. No playfulness. No mockery. Just… obligation. Pressure.
Levi's voice dropped to a whisper. "Who sent it?"
There was a pause.
"I'm not authorized to disclose that."
Of course, Levi thought bitterly. But something inside him twisted—curiosity now fully lit, like a match against dry leaves.
"I'll come tomorrow," he said, his voice even but cautious. "Morning. Is that soon enough?"
"It's acceptable. Bring ID. Ask for me when you arrive."
Then the line went dead.
Levi lowered the phone slowly.
This wasn't Gianna's prank. That much was clear now. She could be cruel, but not this clever. And even if she could pull strings—federal tags? A mail branch this serious? No.
Gianna? Not likely either. She preferred to humiliate him in ways she could watch—whispers in the hallway, mocking words at dinner, little digs when no one else was listening. This wasn't her style.
So who?
Levi stood and walked to the window, gazing out over the back garden. His reflection stared back faintly from the glass: tired eyes, a jaw clenched too often, hair tousled from the wind.
No one had ever sent him anything in his life. Not a letter. Not a postcard. Not even a cheap birthday card.
Now someone had sent him something confidential. With urgency. With weight.
He turned back toward the room, his heart thumping a little faster, his mind alive with questions.
Whatever was waiting for him at Oakland Mail Services—it was real.
And he was going to find out what it was.
He decided they he could visit the company first thing in the next morning.
Morning broke over Chicago with a cool breeze and a dull, overcast sky, as if the city itself was holding its breath.
Levi stood in front of the small cracked mirror in his room, buttoning up a clean, slightly faded shirt. It was the best he had. His only decent pair of jeans, dark but fraying at the cuffs, hugged his narrow waist. His sneakers, scrubbed last night with dish soap and an old toothbrush, still looked tired. But they would carry him where he needed to go.
He glanced at the time. Almost 10 a.m.
Oakland Mail Services Main Office.
Even the name sounded like something locked behind gold gates. He knew the rumors. To send a package through there cost over fifty thousand dollars. The ultra-wealthy used it for deals, legal handovers, assets too valuable for regular couriers. Government documents. Heirlooms. Contracts worth millions. No normal person set foot in that place—unless they were cleaning the floors.
He pulled in a breath and grabbed his ID card from the desk. No matter how much his heart pounded or how strange this felt, curiosity now walked ahead of doubt.
He opened the door and stepped into the hallway, shoes quiet on the polished wood.
Downstairs, laughter spilled from the sitting room like perfume—loud, sugary, and mocking. He could hear her voice before he even reached the bottom of the stairs.
Gianna.
Levi considered taking the back way out.
But the front door stood in his path, and he wouldn't flinch. Not today.
He entered the sitting room.
Gianna Edwards lounged on the velvet couch like it was a throne, surrounded by three of her friends—all dressed in designer pastels, silk and diamonds catching the morning light. Their nails were perfect, their makeup flawless, and their laughter sharp.
They noticed him instantly.
One girl leaned close to whisper something in the ear of another. She giggled and looked directly at Levi.
"Look who crawled out of the attic," she said under her breath, loud enough for him to hear.
"Are those jeans or curtains?" another chimed in.
Gianna didn't miss a beat. She turned her head slowly, lips curled into that familiar sneer, eyes running down Levi's figure like he was gum stuck to the marble floor.
"Seriously, Levi," she said, "could you at least try not to embarrass the family every time you walk out the door?"
Levi said nothing.
She stood now, her height accentuated by heels he knew cost more than an entire semester's tuition.
"You're going out in that?" she said, arms folded. "You look like someone's discarded Goodwill donation."
One of the girls burst into laughter. "I swear, if I didn't know he lived here, I'd call security."
Levi stayed quiet. His hands didn't twitch. His face didn't change.
But something behind his eyes sharpened.
Unlike the girls, he wasn't handed platinum credit cards. He wasn't flown to Paris for spring shopping sprees. He didn't wear clothes that arrived still warm from the hands of a private stylist.
He worked. Scrubbing floors. Running errands. Ironing shirts that weren't his. He took the coins left in the couch cushions. He saved every cent he could. And even then, there wasn't enough to look "respectable" in this house.
But he knew who he was.
He didn't need Gianna to see it.
"I'll be back later," he said simply, voice calm.
Gianna scoffed. "Try not to get mistaken for a beggar, Levi."
He walked past her slowly, deliberately, not rushing. He let her words hang in the air, but he didn't pick them up.
And as he stepped out of the mansion, the cold wind brushing against his cheek, Levi felt the strangest thing:
Freedom.
Because today, he wasn't just going to any mail office.
He was walking into a place reserved for names with power.
And for the first time in his life, his name had been called.
But what if it was just like the other times. Humiliations and mockery? But he was used to all of that .