August 8th, 2025(August 9th in Tokyo)
At St. Evelyn's Home for Children, South Carolina - 7:23 PM
The air around the South Carolina orphanage smelled of roasted turkey, butter, and rosemary long before the evening sun even thought about setting. From the kitchen's open windows drifted the warmth of baking bread, the soft simmer of gravy in a pan, and the hum of activity that only happened in this place during holidays or special occasions.
Mathilda moved like a conductor of her own culinary orchestra, hips swaying, hands moving from one pot to another. She wore her old, flour-dusted apron with the faint embroidery of faded sunflowers.
Her long dreadlocks hair was tied into a messy bun that somehow looked both functional and stubbornly elegant. Every so often, she would hum a tune that was half church hymn, half Southern folk song, the melody rising above the bubbling and sizzling.
"Pass me the thyme, sugar," Mathilda called without looking, reaching out her hand like she knew someone would be there.
Ellie, sleeves rolled up, hair tied high in a playful ponytail, tossed her the little jar with a grin. "You know, for someone who claims she 'cooks from the soul,' you sure measure spices like a chemist."
"Hush," Mathilda shot back with mock sternness. "The soul likes a little precision."
Elizabeth leaned casually against the counter, one manicured hand resting on the marble surface, the other curled around a glass of water.
Every so often, she'd comment softly - a warm, well-timed observation about Mathilda's skill or the inviting smell of the meal. It was the kind of thing that seemed harmless, even friendly. But every time she spoke, Victoria's eyes slid toward her, sharp and unwavering.
Victoria's hands were busy - slicing vegetables, mixing, adjusting the oven's temperature - but her mind wasn't entirely here.
Since the moment she learned that Elizabeth, the beautiful, influential, world-famous British supermodel, had once been Ian's girlfriend, something in her thoughts had… shifted. The knowledge burrowed under her skin like a splinter she couldn't pull out. She hadn't confronted Ian yet - not directly - but she hadn't looked at Elizabeth without that cool, assessing glare since the moment she'd found out.
Ellie seemed determined to keep the kitchen lively, tossing light-hearted remarks into the air like little paper airplanes. "You know, with this many women in here, it's a miracle the turkey's still alive."
"Turkey's been dead since sunrise," Mathilda replied dryly, making Ellie snort.
From outside came the muffled shouts of children, the bounce of a basketball against cracked pavement, and the sound of Jack's low, steady beats thumping from the Rolls Royce parked by the front gates.
Jack rarely emerged when he was in his music zone - he had the windows cracked just enough to let in a breeze but not enough for the noise of the world to disrupt his rhythm.
Madison wasn't here. That absence was deliberate. Earlier, Elizabeth had taken a call from her - the younger woman's voice strained and uneasy.
"I'm not coming back there if Ian's still around," Madison had said flatly.
Elizabeth, quiet for a moment, had answered, "Suit yourself, honey. Just to be safe."
"Safe?" Madison scoffed, but the frustration in her tone didn't quite mask the caution.
"Text me where you are," Elizabeth had murmured, softer now, as if coaxing a frightened animal. "I'll go there later."
That was that. Madison's voice was gone, leaving the faint static of a disconnected line.
Outside, away from the smells and sounds of the kitchen, Ian sat beneath the large oak tree on the orphanage grounds.
Its roots pushed up through the soil like the knuckles of an old, gnarled hand, and its branches reached high, shadowing half the yard in a gentle sway of green. The bark was rough against Ian's back, but he leaned into it all the same.
His gaze drifted somewhere far beyond the worn picket fence and the horizon beyond that. Thoughts swirled without form, heavy with the weight of collisions he hadn't asked for.
Fate, he decided, had a twisted sense of humor - bringing Victoria here, dragging Elizabeth into his private past, shaking loose memories he'd buried in quiet corners of his mind.
The last time he'd been alone with Elizabeth in any real way, things had ended with words he wished he'd never said.
Her perfume had lingered in the air after she walked away, and for weeks afterward, every time he caught a faint trace of it in the city, he'd felt that same hollow in his chest.
The sound of soft footsteps on the grass pulled him back to the present.
Ellie appeared from behind the tree, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. She had that casual gait that made it seem like she'd just happened upon him, though Ian suspected she'd been looking for him from the moment she stepped outside.
"Dinner's almost served," she said, coming to stand over him.
He glanced up, offering her half a smile - the kind that barely reached his eyes. "Not hungry yet."
Ellie let out a small sigh, then dropped herself onto the grass beside him, tucking her knees up. She tilted her head back to look up through the branches. "You ever wonder how old this tree is?"
"No. Never guessed it." he murmured.
"Gotta be at least a hundred," she said, running her fingers over the root beside her. "Imagine the stuff it's seen. People coming and going. Kids playing. Probably been here longer than the orphanage itself."
"Maybe."
For a moment, they just listened to the wind rustling through the leaves. Then Ellie glanced at him sideways. "Must be hard for you. With Victoria showing up like that."
Ian huffed a small laugh without humor.
"Fate's such an asshole," she added with a grin.
That got the faintest smirk out of him. "That's one way to put it."
"Damn right it is." She nudged his arm lightly. "I mean, come on. First, your ex. Then Victoria. Like the universe just spun a wheel labeled 'Women Who Will Complicate Ian's Life' and landed on jackpot."
He shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Ellie leaned forward a little, her tone softening. "Whatever you're feeling right now… whatever's running through your head… I got your back, Ian." She offered him a small smile, genuine this time.
He looked at her for a beat before quipping, "Are you high? Did you hit something on your way over here?"
Ellie laughed, rolling her eyes. "Wow. Can't even be nice to you without getting roasted."
"Just making sure you're okay."
"I'm fine. You're the one looking like you're about to write poetry about how life's meaningless."
He didn't answer right away, eyes slipping away toward the fading sky. She let it go, sensing that pressing too hard would only make him retreat further.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, broken only by the faint laughter of children somewhere near the swings. Then the sound of brisk footsteps on the grass drew both their attention.
Mathilda emerged, her apron still dusted with flour, but her expression was tighter than usual.
"It's Elizabeth and Victoria…" she began, glancing between them.
Ellie straightened. "Why? What happened?"
"They're… arguing."
Ian's eyes closed, and he let out a deep, tired sigh, the kind that seemed to pull from somewhere in his bones.
"Oh, and dinner's ready," Mathilda added almost as an afterthought.
"Where are they?" Ian asked, already knowing the answer wouldn't make him happy.
"In your old room."
The hallway to Ian's old room felt longer than it had any right to be.
The orphanage had always been quiet at this time of evening - most of the kids already in the dining hall, chatter and clinking plates carrying faintly through the building.
But now, the air was heavy with a stillness that made every sound Ian made seem amplified. The soft scuff of his shoes against the wood floor. The low groan of the boards beneath his weight. The faint rustle of the leaves outside the window as the evening breeze slipped through cracked panes.
He moved slowly, each step deliberate, as if rushing might shatter the fragile grip he had on himself.
The old hallway lights flickered faintly, their glow diffused by dust that had gathered on the bulb covers over the years.
The smell was the same as it had always been - aged wood, faint traces of floor polish, and the lingering scent of soap from the laundry room nearby.
He'd known this smell since childhood. It was supposed to feel familiar. Safe. But with each step toward that door, it felt more like he was walking into the jaws of something he couldn't escape.
His fingers brushed along the wall, feeling the small grooves and dents in the plaster - imperfections he remembered making himself, some from running too fast as a boy, others from moments of frustration when he'd slammed a shoulder or a fist against it. Every scrape told a story, every mark another small reminder of a life that had been half-built here, half-shattered here.
And then the memories began to rise.
The sound of children laughing, running down this very hall. His own voice among them, lighter, unburdened. Mathilda's scolding tone echoing faintly from the kitchen, telling them not to track mud in.
The way the late afternoon sun would pour through the side window, painting the hallway gold, making even the scuffed floorboards seem warm and inviting.
But as he neared his old room, that golden haze began to fade, replaced by a colder feeling that crawled up his spine.
Voices.
Low at first, muffled by the door. Two women. Victoria. Elizabeth.
He stopped.
It wasn't shouting. Mathilda had said they were arguing, but this didn't sound like raised voices - it was something else.
The tension was there, sharp as glass, but it was quieter, more dangerous. It was the kind of tension that spoke in careful words and calculated tones. Ian knew that kind. He'd been in rooms like that before.
He took one step closer, the voices growing clearer.
"…so, Ian was adopted by your parents, but later got thrown back here?" Elizabeth's voice - smooth, laced with curiosity, but with that subtle bite she carried so naturally.
There was a pause before Victoria answered. "How did you know?" Calm on the surface, but Ian heard it - something coiled underneath. Hostility, restrained but very present.
Elizabeth giggled lightly. "I'm a famous supermodel, sweetie. But that doesn't mean I don't like gossips and rumors."
Ian leaned a little toward the door, the cool brass of the knob just inches from his hand.
"It's true," Victoria said finally. No hesitation in the words. "And if I'm being honest… it's my fault for that. I set up Ian."
The words hit Ian like a stone to the chest.
Set up?
Elizabeth's tone shifted, curiosity sharpening. "Set up? What do you mean?"
Victoria exhaled slowly, but her voice stayed steady. "I chose my dream over him. I knew, somehow, Ian could be a hindrance to that… so I made sure he wouldn't be."
Ian's hand hovered above the doorknob, his heartbeat loud in his ears.
"So… I told my mom and dad that Ian was in love with me. That he was obsessed. And I said I found it creepy - especially after I told them I'd found him collecting my underwear."
Ian's breath caught.
And then, the memory slammed into him.
He was young kid again.
The Everhart home - polished floors, spotless walls, the faint scent of expensive perfume and freshly brewed coffee. The sound of footsteps - sharp, deliberate. Mr. and Mrs. Everhart entering the room, their faces like carved stone.
Mrs. Everhart's voice was ice. "Is it true?"
He blinked, confused. "Is what true?"
Mr. Everhart stepped forward, jaw tight. "That you've been… taking Victoria's things. That you're-" His words faltered, but the disgust didn't.
Ian shook his head quickly. "No! I didn't-"
"Don't lie to us." Mrs. Everhart's tone cracked like a whip. "We took you in out of kindness. We gave you a home. And this is how you repay us? By preying on our daughter?"
"It's not like that!" Ian's voice had broken back then, desperate, trembling. "I would never-"
Her eyes narrowed. "I don't want to hear it."
The words kept coming - sharp, cold, final. Words that burned into him, searing away whatever warmth he'd felt in that house.
We can't have you here.
You've broken our trust.
You're going back where you came from.
And behind them, standing just in view but not meeting his eyes - Victoria. Her face unreadable, except for the faint lift of her chin. Her lips moved, and he remembered every syllable.
Then another memory flashed in his eyes. The little him stared at little Victoria with so much love, compassion, emotions, and support. Their little hands bound together. But little Victoria's face? It was cold and expressionless.
"I'm sorry, Ian. I must've misplaced my undies." Little Victoria said. Her voice cold and off.
"It's okay." Little Ian said with a smile. "It's an accident."
"I forgive you because I love you." Little Ian said with sweet voice.
Little Victoria stared at him. She didn't respond.
"I... love you too, Ian," she finally had said, but there was no warmth.
It was cold. Calculated. Louder than it needed to be, as if she wanted to make sure the words were heard by everyone in the room.
And then she turned her head away.
The front door had slammed. And that was the last time he'd stepped inside the residence of the Everhart home.
The sound of voices in the present pulled him back.
"But I knew it was wrong," Victoria was saying now. "And I felt guilty. Every day. I never stopped thinking about it. And I hope Ian-"
Then..
Ian suddenly opened the door.
Both women turned to look at him. Elizabeth's brows lifted in faint surprise. Victoria froze, her lips still parted from the words she hadn't finished.
Ian stood there, his face unreadable. Not betrayed. Not even angry. Just… sad. And tired. As if the weight of it all had already been carried for too long.
"Dinner's ready," he said, the words catching slightly in his throat.
And without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away.
The air in the room stayed heavy long after he'd gone.