I arrived the Irving mansion in Surrey Lane at twelve o'clock.

My palms were sweaty and my jeans started to feel uncomfortable. I hated that despite my effort to walk in quiet steps, my shoes echoed off the marble floors. Down a long hallway and through another one, I met with a woman in a suit.

“Hi, I'm Mary-Rose Philips.” I introduced, trying to sound formal. “Mr Joaquín Irving asked to see me.”

She nodded and turned around. Wait, no security checks? I thought that was rich people vibes.

Quietly, I followed her.

Joaquín Irving was the first son of the man who wanted to buy my house, and the family property lawyer. He wore expensive suit and hair gel and called me ma'am, like it was still the late 90s or something.

“You must understand that we have your interest at heart too, ma'am Philips.” He said, hovering near the massive wall paint behind his chair.

At first, I thought his office was a mini playground. It made Milton's office look like a janitor's closet. I cubed in my seat, as if touching anything would bewitch me. The Irvings were so wealthy, it frightened my mind.

“You must also understand, sir, that I'm doing my very best here.” I put out in a slightly imploring tone. I wasn't going to play a distressful underdog to foster sympathy. “Yes, your family needs property. I get that, I really do, but I also need a roof over my head. The state is reeling with locations that would be perfect for your project. It's absurd that out of all that you would want a house that's being occupied by someone who's trying to save her childhood too.”

Joaquín studied me. Behind his Harry Potter glasses, I doubted he knew any emotion. “Your point has been made, ma'am Philips, but this is a much bigger affair than you think. My family has legal claim over the land that house is built on. All that is left is to finalize and transfer ownership. We're not buying nor seizing the house from you, we're merely taking back what is ours.”

“Why won’t you let me pay to keep it?” I was on the verge of yelling.

“Your tax records show you are nonchalant toward housing bills. That is not the kind of attitude that earns you such a privilege. Besides, the state is reeling with locations that you might find comfortable to live in. You might as well find one before it is too late.”

“That wasn't the agreement.” I rose in disbelief and slight fear. “Milton said if I could clear my taxes before two months was up I'd keep the house. I was already working towards that. You people are the ones pushing things faster than I can run. Whether or not you have the means to take the house back, you could at least be human enough to let me try and prove that I can manage the bungalow. This is unfair!”

“When was life ever, ma'am Philips?”

I wanted to punch his stupid lawyer face in.

“Mr Cyrus Milton will deliver the legal documents to you before the end of today.”

“You're giving me a quick notice?” I fought back tears.

“A quicker notice. You have no more than eighteen hours to evacuate the bungalow. Demolition begins later. Have a good day, ma'am.”

I cried all the way home. I called up Marta and managed to tell her in a composed tone that I wouldn't be coming into work at all for the next week. She prodded to know what the problem was, and I just made stuff up so she wouldn't be worried.

My knees weakened the moment I plopped in the couch. I couldn't move a muscle, opting to sit and cry until every bit of strength in my bones leaked out. I was in a fit of hiccups when a familiar ring floated from the bedroom hallway. I hadn't heard that sound since my mother first accepted my admission into high school.

I fought to stand and fought even harder to walk down to the hall. The black telephone sat there, vibrating from its loud ringing.

Only one person today would call me with a telephone.

I picked up the device and gently put it to my ears.

“Mary-Rose?” Orm's voice came from the other hand. I wanted to smile, but only hot tears fell from my eyes. He'd mastered technology at last. I made to speak, but with how long I'd spent crying, my voice was too thick to come out of my mouth.

“Mary-Rose?” He called again then muttered. “Is this the correct number?”

I sniffled and my breath shook. He overheard.

“Are you alright, Mary-Rose?” Alarm was evident in his tone.

After a few minutes, I found my voice. “Come see me.”

I buried myself in his arms the moment he was through the door. He picked me up without a word and brought me to the couch, cradling me in silence until I finally stopped crying.

We laid there with limbs entwined. I looped my hand under his own and gripped his bicep. The other hand wrapped around his back. His smell was nothing exotic or fancy, but I loved it and buried my nose in his chest. The whole of him felt strong and welcoming.

His breath fanned the side of my face. “Will you tell me now why you cried so much?”

I didn't bother to clear my throat. I simply retold what happened in a sad whisper and could swear he heard every word.

“I lost.” I concluded.

He chuckled softly, nudging my temple. “As someone who's lost before, take it from me that it doesn't get better from here.”

I frowned up at him. What the fu—? But his little  laugh made me realize he was aiming at humor. “I don't know if I should feel better.”

“I'm not sure I know how to make you.” He confessed. “But I will tell you what I've realized.”

“What?” I pinned my face into his neck.

He moved and trapped me there, his chin vibrating with every word. “I was raised by warfare. My father was a hard man. He taught me to never shed a tear for whatever reason because he wouldn't have weakness of any sort in his bloodline. You, on the other hand, cry at almost every inconvenience.”

I wasn't sure whether to blush or laugh.

“But I've realized, Mary-Rose, that everytime you do it, you seem to grow stronger afterwards.”

The butterflies in my stomach soared. I gripped his arm a little tighter.

“It may be your secret superpower, and I may never understand how it works. Every tear that falls only gives you new strength to brave the storm you face. I admire it. You might've lost this time, but you won't break.”

He smoothened my hair, filling my scalp with tingles and moved my head so that I was looking up at him. “I thought differently of human women before. In truth, I thought nothing of them because, to me, they were the same as men. But you alone have restructured the way I see them. In my world, you would be a high born – a befitting warrior that can lead her people to victory. You're not a loser because you lost a few times, Mary-Rose, you become a loser when you give up.”

I stared into his captivating eyes.

“You haven't given up yet.”

He spoke like a king. I voiced it and he smiled.

“Well, I did sit on my father's throne a long while.”

He kissed me this time and almost conjoined us both with how much he smoldered me. It made me feel much better. Just being in his embrace erased all my worries from my mind.

“Orm?” I called when I suddenly remembered the attack at his cabin.

He moved his head.

“What about The Fishermen?”

“What about them?”

I looked up at him. “Did you find out if they're really after you?”

“Oh, I know they are after me.” He admitted, lifting his eyebrows. “I intend to visit my mother in secret and talk to her about it. She will be able to curb this problem.”

I traced a finger down his hairline. His expression wavered and made me suspect he was faintly ticklish there. “What's she like? Your mother.”

He exhaled and tightened his grip around me. “I can tell you a million things about her. Her name is Atlanna. She's the strongest woman in the whole of Atlantis; the wisest, most loving and most protective. I grew up watching her lead by my father's side. A time came when I lost her.”

“To what?”

He squinted in recollection. “Banishment. Long ago, she was to marry my father, but she escaped to the surface. After her return, my father discovered she had birthed a son with a human and banished her to the Kingdom of the Trench. A dangerous realm, but she survived all. In that time I thought she was dead. It enraged me to unthinkable degrees and made me resent her first born, my half-brother.”

“Arthur.” I inputted. I could bet nobody knew this bit of the tale.

“Indeed. But it was he who found her and brought her back to me. When Atlantis turned its back on me and judged me for my rashness, she supported me. She loved me still.”

He caressed my jawline with his knuckles, making me drowsy. “I could never repay her. Sometimes I wonder if she thinks of me as a disappointment.”

“I don't think she does.” I offered, wishing his caress would last long. Naturally, it didn't. “You said so yourself that she supported you when no one else would. Mothers are built differently. They're like overloaded cannons. They can't help the love they have for their children; it blinds them to every fault or mistake, every wrongdoing. I'm sure she just feels very proud of you, probably for just being her son.”

He rested his forehead against mine. I couldn't shut my eyes. I wanted to see how he looked up close.

Troubled.

He looked very troubled albeit calm, as if a storm had stirred around him.

There and then, I swore that no matter how difficult it was, I'd brave it with him. I loved him.