(Background music: "Let the World Burn" by Chris Grey [slowed] + "Messy" by Rosé / "Hypnotic" by Zella Day)
Zzzzzzzzzzzzz—
I was in a deep sleep until my excuse of a best friend shook me awake, rattling my brain inside my skull.
Izzy, I love you, but what the hell were you thinking?
Isabella — Izzy for short — is impossible to pin down. Some kind of Egyptian–Kurdish mix? Don't quote me on that. No one really knows her exact background. But what we do know is she's gorgeous: hazel eyes, long light-brown hair streaked with dyed purple strands, about 5'5", and with a personality that's equal parts protective and annoying.
"Hey... can you help me pack my hair into a high ponytail?" asked Sarah, who had just wandered into the room, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt. She's got that bubbly, angelic vibe with long blonde hair, big blue eyes, and dimples so deep they look like little traps for anyone's heart.
"Sure," I said, motioning her to sit on the bed. I brushed through her thick blonde hair, slowly working it into a high ponytail. She looked so relaxed under my hands, I almost forgot how chaotic mornings usually are with her around.
And then there's me.
Bumy.
A regular, average Black girl with warm medium-brown skin kissed with a natural golden glow, dark brown eyes behind black-rimmed glasses, and long black braids I usually keep simple. Compared to Izzy and Sarah, I always figured I was the "plain" one in the group.
The three of us had moved in together for our last year of senior school. Our parents had reluctantly agreed, so now we were mostly self-sufficient, figuring out life on our own.
This morning, though, was a mess.
I blinked at the clock: 8:20 a.m. — the exact time I should have been out the door.
"Crap!" I sprinted into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, scrubbed my face, and pulled myself together in record time. Izzy scolded me like a mom while Sarah tried not to laugh.
We were halfway out the door when—
Ding-dong.
The doorbell.
I yanked it open and almost crashed into someone's chest. Strong hands steadied me by the shoulders.
"Sorry," I mumbled without looking up, trying to squeeze past. But then the hand on my head gently tilted me back. My eyes met light, ice-blue ones framed by platinum-blonde hair and a sharp black suit.
"Dani!" I grinned.
Daniel. Our childhood friend, now 23, a freshly graduated criminal law prodigy, and the most reliable guy in our lives.
"I came to pick you girls up," he said calmly. "But what's with the chaos? Did you forget school starts at 1 p.m. today?"
My jaw dropped. Right. I definitely forgot.
Daniel chuckled at my expression and ushered us back inside. He was already rolling up his sleeves, washing his hands, and pulling ingredients from the fridge.
"We might have just enough time for omelettes with stir-fried vegetables and toast," he murmured to himself.
"Thanks, Mom," we all teased in unison.
He rolled his eyes but smiled anyway.
Daniel cooking always brought me back. I remembered being 10, perched on a stool as he taught me how to whisk flour, eggs, and milk for crepes. He was 15 back then, babysitting me whenever my dad was working. Patient, protective, always steady. He'd make a fine housewife someday, I used to joke.
The memory faded as present-day Daniel slid a plate in front of me.
"Eat," he said simply.
By the time we finished breakfast, Sarah had practically squealed her thanks, Izzy had given her polite approval, and I was already halfway through my omelette before remembering to mumble mine. Daniel just laughed, used to my shortcuts.
When it was finally time, he drove us to school. On the way, we talked nonstop, filling the car with chatter while he mostly listened. At the drop-off, I lingered.
I watched my girls leave the car in a rush
"So... how long will it be this time?" I asked quietly.
He sighed. "Three weeks."
I bit back disappointment. He always disappeared for stretches of time, but three weeks felt long.
"I'll be back before you know it," he promised, pulling me into a hug. "Remember to lock the doors and windows."
I nodded, holding on just a second longer.
School was uneventful — fake smiles, small talk, the usual pretending to behave. Our teacher even asked if I was sick because I smiled too much that day. Izzy and Sarah barely held in their laughter.
"Its too late to play the obedient role. We messed around the last 5 years" Izzy whispered and I rolled my eyes at that
And they were correct.
The teacher kept giving me suspicious looks.
The day sped by until we decided to visit Sarah's uncle about our university applications. That's when the tone shifted.
His mansion loomed like something out of a Gothic movie, with sleazy butlers and unsettling paintings. Sarah idolized him, blind to his obvious vices. Izzy and I exchanged silent looks, already unimpressed.
As soon as we arrived. We noticed two tall pale women.
Definitely not friends of his.
Considering what i presume to be that they were wearing bathing suits.
I glanced at Izzy and she nodded.
I looked back and saw that Sarah didn't react and simply hugged her uncle.
They had a small chat before he asked her to bring out the USB. And he worked on it.
It didn't take a genius to know that he wasn't going to offer us the same courtesy.
So we sat on the couch. I brought out of my phone and opened up AFlix and opened up the latest korean drama and both me and Izzy were preoccupied with the latest cool and melodramatic male leads on the show.
After hours wasted there, we finally left. Sarah suggested another sleepover at Izzy's, gossiping late into the night. It felt safe. Normal.
We even watched Code Lyoko.
Until Sarah suddenly remembered a forgotten USB drive at her uncle's mansion.
"It has my personal statement," she pleaded.
I sighed. "Fine. I'll go alone. Just make me hot chocolate when I get back."
The town was dead quiet by 11 p.m. November darkness settled heavy in the UK streets. I caught the last bus, arriving at the mansion just past midnight. Music pulsed inside — a party. Perfect. I snuck in through a hidden passage Sarah had once mentioned, slipping into his private library.
There it was: the USB, sticking from a laptop. I grabbed it just as footsteps approached.
I dove under the desk.
Through a hole in the wood, I saw Sarah's uncle dragged in by the collar, a gun pressed to his temple.
A gun. In the UK.
BANG.
He dropped. Blood pooled into the carpet.
I clamped my hand over my mouth.
And then I felt it — eyes on me.
Slowly, I turned.
A boy crouched at my eye level, blood streaking his face. Bright green eyes. Olive-toned skin. Dimples carved into his cheeks. His smile, wide and playful, looked terrifying in the flickering light.
"You know," he said softly, "it's not nice to peep, pretty lady."
I froze.
"Get out from under there."
I slid the USB into my back pocket and crawled out, my heart pounding.
Our eyes locked.
End of Chapter 1