"I won’t go,” I said firmly.

  “You really think you have a choice in this? Grow up a bit. Go.”

  My entire life revolved around this stupidity.

  “I have work—”

  The glass ashtray flew before I could finish. It struck my head, split my skin, and shattered against the floor with a sharp crack. Warm blood slid down my forehead, dripping—slow, deliberate.

  “Now you have a reason to go,” he said coldly.

  Right. What was I expecting anyway?

  Him? To listen?

  How stupid of me.

  “I will go, Father.”

  The word tasted repulsive. I left the study and stopped short.

  Michael Deliahne. My elder cousin. Jayden Deliahne’s son.

  Of course. I tried to walk past him, but life rarely lets me do that.

  “Still getting beaten up for being a brat, I see.”

  “Shut up, Michael,” I said flatly.

  He handed me his kerchief.

  “You look hideous.”

  I scoffed.

  “Thanks.”

  I took the kerchief and wiped the blood from my face, careful not to press against the split skin.

  “You should worry about your own health—your state of mind—before you try to inherit this block of shit,” Michael muttered as he brushed past me and headed toward the study.

  Rude. Uncannily good at getting under my skin. But not unkind.

  I looked over my shoulder, my eyes stopping at the door of the study.

  Yeah.

  This is it.

  This is my life.

  I walked away. Breathless. It wasn’t unusual. I just never really understood what I was feeling—or why.

  Just like that, I was back in my room. By the window, with open notes.

  By quarter past ten, everything blurred. I finished my routine and went to sleep, even as the thoughts followed.

  Sleep did dawn on me eventually. Morning did too. It felt like every other day.

  Saturday. Five a.m.

  I fell back into my routine—the private gym, the workout, the shower. It worked. Until I remembered there was no real escape from family time. Just then, I? felt an arm around my shoulder. Michael. Again.

  “Hey, why are you giving me that ugly look?” Michael started.

  “Maybe cause you are?” I flatly said.

  “You know I could help you get out of the hospital situation.”He paused . “But then again, I’ll need you to pay me back for it. Your father’s a dick— worse than mine.”

  Of course, there was a catch.

  “What do u want ?”A frown crept onto my face.

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  “Now, now, don’t give me that ugly expression. Let’s continue this in your room, yes?”He replied, calmer.

  “We can do that”, I paused, “after breakfast” I replied.

  I? needed to process this.

  Michael, what are you cooking up this time ?

  Unexpectedly, I got lucky—my father wasn’t present at breakfast. It felt like a small, undeserved mercy, the kind that settles in your chest before you have time to doubt it. I suppose even I am allowed moments of relief.

  The space smelled like toasted bread and warm milk, faintly tinged with sugar and something frying in oil. Plates were already laid out, cups sweating gently beside them, the ordinary comfort of a morning that asked nothing from me. For once, the silence wasn’t heavy. It simply existed, and I let it.

  This silence brought me peace -momentary, fragile, but real. I ate quietly as my thoughts threatened to wander into anxiousness. My head still throbbed in pain.

  I wondered when I could get back to school.

  After I was done, I wiped my mouth clean, washed my hands and made my way to my bedroom, where I? knew Michael would be waiting to catch me. I remembered a line I’d read once—about peace being mistaken for weakness. It stayed with me longer than it should have.

  And I? I? decided to enact it in my own life because I don’t like pain either. I am human too. I hoped for refuge. Instead, I met cold stares and whispers that followed me even into sleep.

  I? pushed myself to face Michael again. I saw him waiting outside my room, smoking his cigar.

  “I told u not to smoke near my room”

  I was disgusted.

  “Can you blame me? Your room—your room makes me sick.”

  He scoffed.

  “You could’ve just asked to meet you somewhere else ?”I replied with a shrug.

  “Fuck. You really think it’s that easy?”

  He scoffed.

  “You and I—we both know how far your father and mine will go. Bargaining chips. Pawns.”

  He said while he pushed his deep brown locks back in frustration, as he stubbed out the cigar on the dustbin before pushing it in the dustbin.

  “I know what u mean.”

  I? paused.

  “Come on in”?

  I? opened the door to be met by the familiar scent of the room fresheners the maids use after cleaning my room. Ever crack and crevice clean, like every other day.

  “Now tell me. How do you plan on helping me out with the situation I? am in ?”I? asked him as he followed in and closed the door behind us before sitting on my study table and making himself comfortable.

  Michael smirks. “first let’s talk about something else?? Are you sure you don’t want to talk about how you’re planning on dealing with your 'Surge' this time around?"

  “Stop acting weird.” , I muttered, rolling my eyes.

  “HEY! I’m asking out of concern, okay? And also, if I ever act weird for anyone, it'll never be you.” Michael’s smirk lingered, then widened into a grin.

  He idly spun a pen from the stand, letting silence stretch between us.

  “You’re no fun, cousin. Can’t you just talk for a bit?” Michael sighed in boredom.

  “Do you realize that we have some more pressing matters to talk about?” I sighed in irritation.

  “Your pressing matters, not mine.” Michael shrugged with a laidback smirk.

  “Michael, get to the damn point,” I snapped.

  “Oh, but do you know how much fun I’m having right now?” he said lightly. “Don’t steal it away from me, little cousin.”

  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands supporting his weight. The grin stayed.

  “But since you’re asking so nicely,” he drawled, “I’ll tell you.”

  The smirk dropped.

  I waited.

  “We need to take over.”

  My eyes widened in slight disbelief at what he said.

  “Michael, you can’t be seri—”

  “I’m damn serious, Elijah.”

  It was reckless. Terrifying. And somehow, I still didn’t want to say no.

  I couldn’t help it — a short, breathless laugh escaped me.

  “Alright,” I said. “I’m in.”

  “You still didn’t answer the question though” I changed the subject.

  For a moment, he looked caught off guard. Then he composed himself, and the smirk returned.

  “Oh. Right,” Michael said. “The hospital thing.”

  He waved it off casually.

  “Just go along with it. I’ll handle the rest.”

  “You want me to just follow along?” I leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, rolling my eyes.

  I chose to trust Michael—just this once.

  I needed proof.

  I showed him out of my room. Michael left my room still complaining about how it reeked of my pheromones.

  That piece of work.

  But for one second, before I closed the door, I thought I saw something warmer in his smile. Just my imagination, perhaps?

  I sighed and returned to my work, preparing myself for the hospital later that evening.