Saturday mornings had their own kind of silence.
Not the heavy, suffocating kind. More like the air itself had decided to move slower, as if the world was giving everyone a chance to catch their breath before the day properly began. The kind of quiet where even the birds outside seed too lazy to make noise, where ti stretched, soft and forgiving.
Inside, though, the silence wasn't empty. It was full of her.
Val had woken up before I was ready—again. She always did. Her definition of "good morning" this ti was stripping the blanket away from , poking in the ribs, and calling lazy until I dragged myself out of bed. She'd laughed while I stumbled toward the shower, hair a ss, eyes half-shut, and then claid victory when I finally gave in. Breakfast ca next—her idea of "balanced" ant pancakes with enough syrup to drown in, a side of eggs to pretend it was healthy, and sothing sweet tucked at the corner of her plate.
Now, a couple hours later, we'd both settled in. She was curled up on the couch, legs folded beneath her, eyes fixed on the TV. A show flickered across the screen, laugh track spilling into the room. She wasn't just watching—she was absorbing it, living inside it. Every little reaction was visible: her nose scrunching at a scene she didn't like, her brows knitting together when the plot twisted, the quick, light giggle that tumbled from her when sothing struck her funny.
She looked content. Effortlessly. Like the screen itself existed just to amuse her.
?
I wasn't watching the TV. My eyes were on her, but my mind was sowhere else entirely.
Last night's conversation hadn't left .
"How rich do you wanna get?" she'd asked, like she was asking about the weather.
At first, I thought it was one of her usual questions—ridiculous, playful, one of those things she threw out just to ss with . But the way her tone softened after, the way her eyes avoided mine, the way she admitted, almost reluctantly, that her parents probably wouldn't want for her…
It wasn't a joke. Not at all.
She'd tried to laugh it off, to stick a cupcake in my mouth and hide behind the teasing, but I'd seen it. The truth beneath her grin. The worry. The fear she wouldn't say aloud.
Her parents.
The thought alone dragged deeper.
I knew they were rich. Of course I did. Everyone did. It wasn't the kind of money you could hide. But last night forced to really look at the distance between where I was standing and where she ca from.
The first ti I'd ever seen it in action was still burned into my mind.
Professor Halifax.
I could still picture that day as if it had just happened.
Val had been sprawled on my lap in the middle of his lecture, smirk on her face like she was daring him to say sothing. Halifax had paused mid-sentence, glared over his glasses, and barked out in his sharp, precise way, "What in God's na—young lady! Get off that student imdiately!"
She hadn't budged.
He'd snapped, louder this ti. "Na. Now!"
And Val, without missing a beat, had lifted her chin and said it: "Celestia. Valentina. Moreau."
The na had detonated in the room.
Halifax froze. Just like that. A man I'd never once seen hesitate, never once seen bend, stumbled over his own words. "I wasn't aware... my apologies Ms. Moreau, carry on."
The strictest professor in an Ivy League college, the man who'd built his entire reputation on being unshakable, had folded instantly. Because of her na.
That was the kind of power her family had. The kind of wealth that didn't just buy things—it bent people.
And that was just in a classroom. I didn't even want to imagine what it looked like out there in the real world, in places where money decided everything.
I leaned back against the couch now, dragging a hand through my hair, watching her laugh at sothing on TV. She had no idea what kind of storm she'd left inside .
How the hell was I supposed to get that rich?
How was I supposed to rise high enough to stand against that?
I didn't co from power. I didn't have a family na that made people freeze. I didn't have empires or legacies or wealth stretching back generations. All I had was… . My hands. My mind. My stubbornness, if I could even call it that.
But last night, she'd looked at and made it clear—it wasn't about her.
It wasn't about whether she cared. She didn't. She'd pick no matter what, stand beside no matter what, even spit in her parents' faces if she had to. That much I knew.
It was about .
She didn't want to feel small. To feel less. To feel like choosing her ant I'd stepped into a world where I would always be looked down on. She wanted to be untouchable. Above judgnt.
Because in her eyes, I was already enough. More than enough.
But she wanted the world to see it too.
The thought sat heavy in my chest.
I glanced at her again. She was leaning forward now, her hair falling across her face, lips parted as she focused on the screen. The glow of the TV softened her features, catching in her eyes, making them shine even brighter than usual.
Perfect.
I could've watched her like that forever.
And the thought hit again, harder this ti: she was worth it, is worth it.
Worth figuring it out.
Worth every late night, every failure, every step it would take to close that impossible distance.
I didn't know how yet. The math didn't add up. The path wasn't clear. But sothing inside had already shifted.
For her, I wanted to.
For her, I would.
She laughed again, the sound soft and unrestrained, and I let my eyes close for a second. Just listening. Letting it wash over . That sound alone was worth more than anything money could buy.
But still.
Still, I wanted it.
Not the yachts or the submarines she teased about. Not the luxuries. But the certainty. The strength. The ability to walk into any room, any world, and know no one could look down on . On us.
I wanted that for her.
The thought sat with in the quiet, stretching, digging deeper, until it didn't feel like just a passing idea anymore.
It felt like resolve.
Her little laugh rang out again, pulling back. She clutched the throw pillow to her chest, her shoulders shaking with amusent.
She didn't even know what she was doing to .
I leaned back against the couch, my gaze lingering, the thought solidifying in the quiet spaces of my mind.
No matter how impossible it looked, no matter how wide the gap between and the world she ca from, I'd figure it out.
For her.
Always for her.
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To be continued...
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