Markov Estate
They called him a rising star now.
He walked into war rooms and heads turned. He said things once and people listened. He closed mock deals that the adults used to test actual legislation.
And every time he returned to the estate's central hall, someone new bowed a little lower.
Jay Markov.
The Second.
The Favourite.
The heir apparent to a family that didn't believe in favourites.
He should've felt proud.
He smiled, anyway.
Because that was expected.
They held a formal recognition dinner in his honor.
Jay sat at the head of the left-wing table. Erina sat nearby, nodding approvingly between bites of caviar.
Jay's father, Reginald, stood and spoke words that sounded like praise but carried no warmth.
"The boy has earned his place. The rest will now adjust accordingly."
Applause followed.
But Jay's hands stayed in his lap.
Because he knew what they were really applauding.
Not him.
Just the Mold he'd learned to fit into.
An Unexpected Interruption
As the gathering broke into smaller groups, a hand touched his shoulder.
Not firm. Not aggressive.
Soft. Familiar.
Jay turned.
"...Mother."
Celeste Markov wore soft greys and a polite smile—fitting in as always while saying nothing too loudly.
But in her eyes?
The storm was quiet. Watching.
"You look tired, darling," she said gently.
"I look perfect."
"Which is why I know you're tired."
Jay blinked. Then followed her quietly as she led him away, through old halls, into one of the abandoned garden wings no one used anymore.
There were no guards here.
Just dusty roses and cracked stone benches.
Celeste sat, folding her dress beneath her. Jay remained standing.
"You're winning," she said.
"That's what they tell me."
"And what do you tell yourself?"
He paused.
"That it doesn't matter."
She looked at him like a mother does. Like someone who sees past polish and posture.
"It matters if it breaks you."
"I can't be broken."
"No. But you can forget what you were before all of this."
He stared at the wall behind her.
"They won't let me leave."
"Do you want to?"
"I don't know."
Celeste reached into her satchel and handed him a folded paper.
Jay opened it.
A photo.
Class 1-A. School trip. Jay standing beside Tyler, Sofia flashing bunny ears behind Emma's head. Amaya peeking from behind.
He couldn't breathe for a second.
"How…?"
"I have my ways," Celeste said. "And I still remember what a smile looks like when it's yours."
Jay's voice was barely a whisper.
"Why are you showing me this?"
"Because I want to know what you'll choose when they ask you to give it all up."
He folded the photo slowly. Tucked it into his jacket pocket.
"What if I already have?"
"Then take it back."
🪞 Back in His Room
Later that night, Jay stood by his window, staring at the estate grounds bathed in silver moonlight.
He tapped his phone on the windowsill once.
Twice.
Then opened a new draft message.
To: Unknown Number
"The files are gone. The choices were made. I passed all of it."
(Pause)
"But if I lose myself in the process..., do I still win?"
He deleted it before hitting send.
Instead, he whispered to the dark:
"The next mask I wear… will be mine."