rlina tucked herself into a quiet corner of Belford College Library, her notebook spread open beside her, cramd with scribbled notes, arrows, and circled nas.
She flipped through old student newsletters and archived reports with sharp focus, her eyes scanning each page like she was piecing together a secret only she could solve.
rlina leaned closer, her lips parting slightly.
Her finger froze over a headline. Dean’s Wife Involved in Charity Scandal.
rlina leaned in, her lips parting slightly. Even the dean’s wife. No one here was clean.
Belford College wasn’t just founded on lies, it was shaped by them.
Behind her, two girls strolled past the aisle, their laughter cutting through the thick Library silence.
"I’m telling you," one girl said, loud enough to carry, "if Craig Lesnar looks at one more ti in Lit class? I swear..."
"Please," her friend cut in, giggling. "He could date my twin and I’d still feel special."
rlina’s posture shifted subtly. She kept her eyes on the file in front of her, but her ears sharpened, capturing every word.
"Adriana is living my dream," the first girl gushed. "Did you see the car he picked her up in? One scratch on that thing and you’re in debt ’til 2090."
"She won’t last," the second girl said knowingly. "Guys like Craig? They get bored. Fast."
Their voices faded into the shelves.
rlina stayed still, staring at her notes, but her mind had drifted sowhere else entirely, to the gossip she’d just overheard, a ntal replay of Craig Lesnar’s na echoing in her head.
She let out a breath, half exasperated, half amused, as her fingers lightly tapped the desk.
Her thoughts lingered on him like a song you couldn’t get out of your head. No matter how hard she tried, the lody wouldn’t stop playing.
rlina shook her head, forcing herself to concentrate, but the mory of his deep green eyes, his expression, and the quiet, compelling tone of his voice kept creeping in.
Craig Lesnar... really?
The na wasn’t just a distraction. It was becoming a pull she couldn’t ignore.
***
At the Sanchez residence that night, the air was cold despite the gleaming surfaces. Everything was too neat, too curated. A house masquerading as a ho.
Aiden Sanchez stood by the large window, a glass of scotch heavy in his hand, staring into the darkness outside like it could give him answers.
Behind him, Alistair lingered with restless energy barely contained, while lissa sat curled up on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
"Fiona’s been good for ," Aiden said, voice asured. "For us. How many tis must I ask for peace in this house?"
Alistair’s eyes narrowed. "Good for you? Or just easy on the eyes?"
Aiden didn’t bother turning around. He just sipped his drink slowly, clinging to control.
"She’s present," he said. "Which is more than I can say for you."
Alistair laughed, bitter and dry. "Present... like a goddaughter waiting for her cut?"
That hit its mark. Aiden turned now, his movents slow but sharp, his gaze cutting.
"Mind your words, boy."
But Alistair couldn’t hold it in anymore. He stood up, his body alive with a fury too long ignored.
"You want us to pretend?" he said. "Smile for your replacent bride? After Mom..."
lissa’s voice, soft and aching, interrupted. "She was Mom’s goddaughter, Dad. Her goddaughter."
The words sank into the room like stones thrown into deep water. Aiden flinched. Just barely, then he masked it behind another long sip.
"She’s been part of this family long before things fell apart," he said quietly. "She knows . She listens. She stays."
Alistair’s voice dropped, dark and dangerous. "Did she know you before Mom left too? Were you already hers when you still belonged to Mom?"
lissa’s fingers clenched tighter around the throw pillow, the only sound the soft creak of the leather couch
A flicker broke through Aiden’s composure. Before he straightened. "You don’t know what you’re saying."
"I know enough," Alistair shot back. "I saw the way she looked at you. I saw the way you let her."
Aiden set his glass down with a dull thud that echoed through the tension.
"Enough," he said. "I will not let you rewrite what your mother and I had."
"You rewrote it first," Alistair whispered, his rage trembling at the edges of grief.
The room went still.
Grief, regret, betrayal. It hung between them like a ghost no one wanted to na.
Alistair’s voice cracked as he pushed out the words. "Did you ever love her, Dad? Or were you just waiting for the lights to go out?"
Aiden stepped closer, his voice a low warning. "You’re blinded by grief. I’m marrying Fiona. That’s final."
"No," Alistair said, standing his ground. "You’re not."
"Let’s see you try to stop ," Aiden shot back, cold and cutting.
From the couch, lissa’s voice slipped through like a whisper breaking glass.
"She’s not Mom," she said. "And she never will be."
Aiden’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing.
Nothing he could say would patch what he’d broken in them.
"You changed the night Mom died," Alistair said, voice trembling. "You stopped seeing us. Even when we’re right here. So tell , Dad. Did we just lose Mom... or did we lose you too?"
No answer.
Only the soft clink of ice in Aiden’s glass.
Alistair didn’t wait for a reply. He walked off, his pain following like a shadow. lissa moved after him in silence.
Aiden stood alone at the window, swallowed by the night outside. Unreadable. Unmoving.
But inside, sothing warred.
He could still hear Alistair’s voice. Raw, furious, and full of things Aiden had tried not to na.
Did you ever love her?
Were you just waiting for the lights to go out?
He’d told himself Fiona was comfort. Closure. A second chance at a complete family. But maybe she was just a way out.
Now lissa barely looked at him. Alistair couldn’t stand him. He didn’t even know when it all started slipping.
His fingers curled around the glass. Jaw locked. Breath shallow.
Then, low and rough, like a confession he didn’t an to say. "I never ant for it to be like this."
The wind outside howled, pressing against the glass, as if it carried a warning.
Just as Aiden turned away, the faintest sound echoed from the hallway. A footstep.
Soone was here.
And he wasn’t alone anymore.
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