𝔉𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔏𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔰

I never belonged to his world. Theirs was a realm of marble floors and crystal chandeliers, of last names that carried weight and whispers that followed wherever they went. Mine was quiet, ordinary, unremarkable — a life that passed unnoticed, hidden in the background. And yet, somehow, our paths crossed. Before him, my world had been small and quiet. I preferred the corners of rooms, the library’s forgotten aisles, the safety of invisibility. He lived in the center of everything—captain of the school team, the heartbeat of every party, the kind of person people followed without question. We were never meant to cross paths. And yet, somehow, we did. It started with a conversation that lasted longer than it should have, a glance that lingered too long. Slowly, against reason, our worlds began to merge. I learned the truth behind his charming smiles, the loneliness that came with his family’s expectations. He told me he felt seen for the first time. And I—foolishly, completely—fell for him. For a while, it was perfect. But perfection never lasts. His messages grew shorter, his eyes distant. I heard stories from his friends—about parties, about other girls—and each one chipped away at what we had built. Eventually, I stopped waiting for answers. I convinced myself to move on. Until tonight. The phone rang just as the rain began to fall. It was his sister, her voice trembling with panic. “Please,” she said, “you have to come. It’s about Aiden.” And before I could think, before I could remind myself of all the reasons I shouldn’t care, I was already on my way to the Sinclair estate—back to the place where it all began, and where, perhaps, it would all end.