Seven years ago, on the road to the Baxter family home
The traffic light rolled from green to yellow—slowly—and finally froze on red, forcing Charlie to stop the car carrying his wife and his stepson. For the third time, he switched songs on the flash drive plugged into the car's center console. It was painfully obvious how nervous he was, about bringing together the "complete family" he had promised his only biological son.
Meanwhile, the mother and the boy who had just left the De Rucci house were both lost in their own thoughts. The car moved again when the light turned green.
"Why did Mom let Arte stay there alone?" Apollo suddenly asked.
*Oh, he's doing this on purpose—so I'll stay focused on driving while he talks to Risa,* Charlie thought, forcing a bitter smile.
"Mom saw it herself—how Opa Luca talks, how Papa acts. They're no different from the kids at school!"
"Did you forget what your sister asked in court?!" Charissa snapped, her voice rising inside the soundproof car, all windows tightly shut. "She said she'd rather live with that private tutor of hers! Your sister is selfish!"
Apollo turned his face toward the window. His thoughts drifted back to the kids at public school who seemed to have forgotten what a heart was—calling Artemis 'rich aunties' kept girl' when her private tutor became her legal guardian. The same guardian who reported Artemis's bullying: scribbles all over her locker, trash shoved under her desk… all of it happening after Artemis stopped being class president and rumors about her liking girls suddenly became public.
Even though they'd already guessed. Even though Artemis had confirmed it herself.
"Maybe Mom just couldn't stand watching Arte get bullied anymore… maybe Mom's—too used to seeing kids who are victims of bullying…?" Apollo murmured.
The boy, newly in his second year of high school, wasn't even sure of his own theory—but seeing Charissa's face hurt too much.
Charlie glanced at his wife through the rearview mirror and froze. Charissa's jaw tightened, her eyes widened—as if she could see Artemis's injuries in her mind. But she quickly wiped away the tear that had barely formed.
"Arte's locker and desk get trashed every single day… I feel like I failed as her big brother."
Apollo's sentence died there—cut off when Charissa abruptly asked whether Patra, Charlie's son, had eaten yet.
Only then—when another boy's name left his mother's lips—did Apollo finally stare at her in disbelief.
---
Patra Baxter's bedroom, 7:00 PM
Grace VanderWaal's song played softly, but Patra's mind refused to focus on the presentation he had to give at work. Instead, his attention drifted to Artemis's internship work—she was sitting cross-legged at the foot of his bed.
The whole crowd seems to like me now,
'Cause I think I'm cool,
But back when I was in school,
They found it very easy to hate me…
"Making a schedule for The Boss again?" Patra asked, laughing quietly as he imagined the founder of the mental health startup Artemis interned at—the same person who loved terrorizing her with endless tasks.
Artemis, only a year younger than him, shook her head. "Whimstorical," she said, naming another startup. She worked there as a freelance content writer.
Patra winced at the sheer length of the text filling her laptop screen.
"That's insanely long," he muttered. He couldn't imagine pouring emotions into words like that—writing something that demanded more than just time and typing. Back in college, nearing his final semester, he'd memorized his thesis topic word for word and simply paid a classmate to write the rest.
Artemis frowned, only then realizing Patra was talking about a different document.
"Oh, this is for a novel competition at Whimstorical. They're collaborating on an online event with a semi-major publisher in Indonesia."
Patra frowned now. "Wait—where's Whimstorical based?"
"The Philippines," Artemis replied, prompting Patra to spiral back into one of his favorite topics: freelance pay versus corporate salaries like his own.
"I'm not gonna freelance at just one place forever," Artemis shot back when she caught the judgment in his expression.
Patra rolled onto his back at the edge of the bed, half his head hanging off so he could still see her.
"But you can't apply to other writing platforms like Whimstorical—or even news media outlets."
Artemis snapped her head toward him. "Why not?!"
Patra laughed at how clueless—but eager—his little sister still was.
"Because Whimstorical has its own article page. Meaning, your job overlaps with Lacy's."
"You still didn't answer my question!" Artemis protested. "I could bring new ideas from my experience there! Why wouldn't other companies want me—why?!"
"Zip it."
Patra pinched Artemis's lips shut between his fingers. Once she stopped squirming, he continued.
"What *you* think is fresh inspiration, some people see as you preaching. Others are afraid you'll leak their system back to Whimstorical."
"Ugh. You're so cynical," Artemis scoffed, turning back to her laptop. But the words in her head were already gone—job anxiety had wrecked them.
Patra gently ruffled her hair.
"Then try something else. Your mom said you used to like drawing—maybe develop that skill. You could apply as a graphic designer too."
"No one believes I can design unless I'm a DKV student," Artemis grumbled.
"Take an online class—"
"Arte."
Apollo was standing at the doorway.
Patra immediately pulled his hand away and turned his face toward the ceiling.
"Can you go shopping with Mom instead? I'm exhausted. I've got overtime tonight—client proposals."
Artemis groaned but agreed. Patra pretended to listen to the music blasting through his earphones—though he could still hear Apollo's last words, and their footsteps fading away.
Since Apollo moved in, Patra had secretly hated his stepbrother. The guy was built like an athlete, left his stuff everywhere, and never took out the trash.
But something else was wrong—every time Patra's skin brushed against Apollo's, accidentally or not.
He would shiver.
Something twisted deep in his gut—right down to the core of his body. He'd flinch every time, earning a confused look from Apollo.
Patra picked up his phone and opened his messages, texting his father, Charlie.
For a year, he'd been free from the nightmare where he was assaulted—unable to see his attacker's face, unable to look at what was happening *down there*.
Last night, the nightmare didn't come back.
It was dark—but he could hear Apollo's voice.
"Bang Patra!"
Artemis's voice made him jump.
"What?!" Patra snapped, trying to hide how easily he lost focus whenever Apollo was around.
"You're not listening to music. I can't hear anything," Artemis said, dead on target. Patra swallowed hard. Artemis didn't look away.
"What's wrong, Bang?" she asked softly.
Patra met her gaze and took her hand. Artemis looked just like Apollo—their faces inherited straight from Robert De Rucci.
But even with their similar skin, their similar eyes, Patra felt nothing like what he felt with Apollo. He released her hand.
"I need therapy again," Patra said at last, forcing his breathing steady.
"You don't have to tell me," Artemis whispered, brushing his forehead gently.
"But Papa Charlie deserves to be the first to know."
---
Later on the same day, Grocery Shop
"Sorry—I'm the one going shopping with Mom," Artemis said, pulling a cart beside Charissa.
Charissa, mid-conversation with her secretary about another charity event, shook her head slightly, smiling. In her memory appeared an image of Artemis constantly apologizing—even when their cat broke a vase.
"Maybe it's how easily you say sorry that makes women soften," Charissa said. "Weak souls understand each other."
Artemis stopped pushing the cart. Charissa's typing halted when she realized her daughter was no longer beside her.
When she turned around, Artemis laughed bitterly.
"Isn't Mom a woman too?"
"Women are finished products. *Girls* are still in progress," Charissa replied calmly. "Women know what they want and what they need. You still have a lot to learn about being female."
"There's a lot you still need to learn too," Artemis shot back.
Charissa glared, lips curling. Before she could launch into a lecture, Artemis continued—
"Dragging other women down doesn't help us win in a patriarchal world."
Charissa chuckled, sighing.
"Men and women balance the world, Arte. Nature. Normal. Men and women."
Artemis laughed—loud, unbothered by the stares around them.
"You think patriarchy only comes from men? Women degrade other women too. Want me to repeat what you just said?"
Charissa grew uncomfortable as people started watching. Her reputation as an anti-bullying consultant was at stake again.
"We'll talk about this at home," she snapped, grabbing the cart.
"At-home consultation?" Artemis mocked, laughing harder. Then suddenly, the laughter vanished.
"I don't need a consultant."
Tears welled in her brown eyes as her smile trembled.
"I need a mother."
Strangely, those words made people stop staring as Artemis walked out of the store.
Charissa stood frozen, fingers loosening around the cart.
Logic. Tradition. The beliefs she clung to.
They kept her feet rooted in place—unable to chase after her daughter.