Chapter Thirteen
The morning sun was just beginning to filter through the car windows as my mother drove me to school. I fidgeted in the passenger seat, eyes scanning the streets, my thoughts tangled in yesterday's chaos. Part of me was still unsettled, replaying Kian's father's accident, Kian's grief, and my mother's cold efficiency in orchestrating things behind the scenes.
"Mom…" I hesitated, biting my lip, "when am I getting a car? Some of my friends already have theirs, and… I could use it for school, errands, everything."
She didn't answer immediately, her gaze steady on the road ahead. "We'll see," she said lightly, almost dismissively.
I let out a small sigh, frustrated. Of course, she had the money. But independence was more than money—it was freedom from her whims, freedom to live without wondering if she had some plan behind everything she did.
When we pulled into the school parking lot, I couldn't help but notice the way she carried herself. Her outfit was striking, her heels clicking confidently against the pedals, and the way she moved—so graceful, so deliberate—made her seem untouchable. Even now, despite everything, she exuded power and beauty, a presence that commanded attention.
As she stepped out, two guys standing nearby stared. One, tall and thin with glasses, whispered to his companion, "Is that her sister? Or maybe a friend?"
The second, slightly shorter with a mischievous smirk, shook his head. "No way… that has to be her mom. She looks… too young for that."
I straightened my posture, almost proud, almost embarrassed. "That's my mom," I said, and their expressions shifted to disbelief.
"Oh… wow," the first muttered. "She's really something."
"Your mom?" the second asked again, as if confirming.
"Yes," I said again, letting the words hang. "She's my mom."
The two of them muttered among themselves, still staring, then moved off toward their lecture hall. Their surprise stayed with me as I watched my mother walk with confidence, untouchable, mysterious.
I muttered a small "See you later" as she drove off, her presence lingering in my mind, a reminder of her power and my entanglement in it.
Inside the campus, I first searched for Kian. His usual spots—the library, the courtyard, the benches near the entrance—were empty. My chest tightened. Was he avoiding school because of yesterday? Or was he caught up in something urgent at home? And the prince… he hadn't been in class either. Why? Did he see me comforting Kian? Or was there a palace matter keeping him away? My mind spun with questions and no answers.
Class was a blur. Professor Harmon's voice was background noise, my attention pulled in a thousand directions. I barely followed the lecture, my notebook filled with scribbles that made no sense.
"Leah," the professor said suddenly. "Can you answer the question on the board?"
I froze, heart racing. My mind went blank. "I… I…" I couldn't even form words.
"Think carefully," he urged. I swallowed hard, cheeks burning. "I… I'm sorry, Professor," I whispered. "I… I can't answer right now."
After class, I scoured the campus, searching for Kian, but he was nowhere to be found. Anxiety twisted in my stomach until my phone buzzed. A message from him:
Kian: "Hey… I'm at home. It's been rough today. Thanks for yesterday, Leah. I really needed you."
Relief washed over me, tempered by worry. I typed back quickly: "Kian, why didn't you come to school? I looked everywhere for you. Are you okay?"
His reply was brief: "It's just… things at home. Don't worry too much, I'll be okay."
I didn't hesitate. I headed straight to his house, my thoughts a storm of concern and anticipation.
When I arrived, he was waiting in the hallway, shoulders tense, eyes red from worry and sleeplessness. "Kian…" I whispered, crossing the room and wrapping my arms around him. He trembled, clinging to me.
"It's… it's been awful, Leah," he choked out. "When I got home… my dad—he had a heart attack. He's being treated at home, but it's… it's too much. I didn't know what to do. I…"
I held him close, whispering reassurances. "Shh… it's okay. He's getting care, and you're not alone. I'm here, Kian."
His hands gripped me tightly, his body shaking. I ran my fingers through his hair, murmuring soothing words, my own heart aching at his pain. Slowly, the tension eased slightly, but the air remained thick with unspoken feelings—fear, grief, and fragile intimacy that made every breath heavier.
"I don't know what I'd do without you," he murmured, voice low, lips brushing my ear. He pulled back slightly, searching my eyes. My chest raced, heart pounding against my ribs as I met his storm-gray gaze, raw with emotion.
Then, almost instinctively, he leaned closer. Everything outside that room—the world, responsibilities, chaos—vanished. The moment held its breath, fragile and electric. My pulse thundered, my senses sharpened, and time seemed to pause.
I wanted to pull back, to retreat into reason and caution, but I couldn't. The closeness, the tension, the weight of everything unspoken—it was irresistible. And he moved closer still, his intentions clear, yet unfulfilled, leaving the outcome suspended in a delicate, electrifying ambiguity.
Even as the world held its breath, so did I, caught in that moment where fear, longing, and uncertainty intertwined, leaving me desperate, yet powerless, to resist the pull.