Living in lies and deceptions is better than living in bitter truth. At least lies can be beautiful, but the truth can only exist in one form and one form only.

I always repeated those words to myself before I opened my eyes to welcome a brand new day with light, wind, clouds and everything else. I sat on the edge of my bed, taking in the scenery from the garden right outside of my window. My parents, or rather, my adoptive parents were taking their usual stroll like every morning along the peony bushes. They always have this oddly sorrowful look when gazing at the flowers, as if there was some sort of regret hidden underneath. 

It has been years - thirteen, to be exact - since the adoption. Yet, I have never really asked them the reason for their hasty decision of taking me in nor did I question the things they hid behind those sad looks on their faces every day. It's not like I do not want to, but to finally live under a roof with people whom I call 'Mom' and 'Dad' feels like a feverish dream. It's just too beautiful that it's frightening thinking about how a simple question could easily take them away just like that.

"Miss?", a knock on the door came with a sweet voice from outside waking me up from my own messy thoughts, "Breakfast is ready".

"I'll be there", I replied before getting up to bring myself to the bathroom.

Picking outfits was not the hardest part of the day. Just mix and match, make myself look like I belong to society. Worse than that must be...at the breakfast table.

I carefully trace my finger along the handle while taking the stairs to the dining room. This mansion is beautiful and historical, I admit. Even after living here for over ten years, I still find it hard to fathom the beauty of this entire estate. Dad said it was built since his grandfather's time. A very long time ago, I know. I'm always fascinated by how detailed the carve and structure looks, even for wooden furniture. When my eyes finished admiring the elegance within these walls, I eventually reached the dining room.

"Good morning, dear", mom greeted me with a warm smile.

"Hi, mom. How was the garden?", I sat down with a spoon ready for the fruit yogurt.

She started telling me about how lovely the flowers were with their enchanting scent and her plans to tell the gardener to clean some weed on the weekend. I was about to turn to dad with the same smile to ask him about work, but his phone rang. I never really got to talk to him. If it's not his phone, then his assistant or just anything else in the world that could interrupt every time I tried to open my mouth. He stood up and got out of the room with his call. Though it was vague, I heard how he answered the person on the other end in such an aggressive tone.

"I told you, I am not displaying the collection at a random gallery!", he snapped, "This is the last time and my final decision, you hear me?!"

At that moment, the fruits felt spoiled and the yogurt was overfermented. His voice rumbled through the walls. I guess this was something serious to the point mom had to catch up to him to talk about it. But their voices slowly faded away from the hall so I could barely hear what they said afterward. I let out a heavy sigh, tapped the napkin on the corner of my lips before finally leaving the room. I made a quick pace to the front door when the car was already waiting outside.

Though the silence among these leather seats could be calming, my mind kept drifting back to the breakfast table. I find it hard to make a bond with them. I tried, but it's just like they did not want to pay attention to that. Every time I get closer, they move further away. I always feel like there was something in their particular behaviour, but what and why, I never know. So, I stopped putting effort into bonding with them. Instead, I tried to coast my heart with the thought of 'as long as I still have a home', which includes not having to bond with people who aren't my flesh and blood.

As the car pulled to the front gate of one of the most elite universities of art, a sigh left my lips.

"Thank you, Mike", I said to the driver.

It was my second year there. Every day felt the same. Every day is a reminder to the name I have to carry and the secret I must bury until the day Albert Stirling - my dad - lets the world know that I am Madeleine Stirling, heiress to the Stirling couture legacy. But, within these whitewashed walls and canvas, I am Madeleine Rose, a girl like others. Making friends is like making enemies and exposing this secret to the world. They didn't forbid me from finding friends, nevertheless their word about the consequences if I do so just...feel like a chain with a lock and a key. Whether to use the key or not depends on how crucial I take their "reminder".

My history class lied all the way to the left and at the end of the hall, but I was an hour early so I took my time wandering around before coming to my hiding spot - the library. Scents of books, wood and the sound of pencils calm me down.

When I got there, it was surprisingly solitary. I strolled to the history section to find myself some good books for reading, but I could already feel my eyelid getting droopy while my pupil started to roll out of boredom. Everything I found was more torturing than watching paint dry. Some of them I have read, some were just good for decoration on the shelf. It was then I decided to let fate choose whatever for me. I closed my eyes while letting my index trace those books on the same shelf back and forth, hoping it would stop on the least boring one.

"One, two, three", I whispered to myself, then on 'three' I stopped.

My eyes were half-opened when I moved my finger away from the spine to read the title 'Color: A Natural History of the Palette'. I shrugged gently, told myself to accept the result anyway. Yet, when I tried to take it down it did not move one bit. No, it got yanked back by someone from the other end. Before I could even react to the situation, they pulled it harder to their side so hard I almost hit myself against the shelf.

"Excuse me?", I gasped under my breath.

"Excuse you?", they replied calmly. It was a man's voice, low, magnetic and mockery.

My brows scrunched in disbelief with my mouth opened to the audacity of someone who almost made me fall just because of their carelessness without feeling guilty about it. I was still in the position of holding onto the book with one hand while my entire body tilted forward. Now he wouldn't let go nor would he pull it any further. He held it with a force enough to make me not be able to yank it back because my hand would slip and the book would belong to him eventually. I didn't want it that much at first, but his attitude and tone just made me want to take it no matter what.

"Hey, I found it first!", I hitched silently.

"And I'm holding it", he said again with the same calmness, "You need it?"

"Yes!", I snapped.

Then, he let go. Just like that. But it was so sudden that I lost balance when he let go of the book because I was holding onto it too tightly. Even after I got the book, I did bend down and try to look through the empty spot, checking for his identity. But all I could see was a white shirt, sleeves up with a brown tie and arms crossed. He didn't even bother to show his face either, just stood there for a second with that pose and walked away. I held the book in my arm and tried to catch up from the other side of the shelf.

Once I got out of the area, I was maybe ten steps behind that man when I tried to memorize his look. The sun exposed his brownish, wavy hair from behind along with his remarkable height. Broad shoulders, formally dressed in shirt and a pair of grey trousers. I tried my best to print this figure into my head just so I could find him again with the hope that he would apologize for almost making me fall to the shelf. Oh and his voice, too, of course. That low, rumbling and annoyingly calm voice of his.

Now the book felt like a trophy to me, yet a joke to him, I assumed. Afterward, I found myself a good seat to read so I sat there for what seemed to be twenty minutes. In fact, it was already 9:15 when I finished the first chapter. Everyone in there, including the librarian, probably saw my face with a big 'O' from my mouth when I checked the time on my phone. In my attempt to stay quiet while getting out of the library, I pretty much turned myself into a spectacle with all the chair creaking, books falling and more.

Yes, I was late. For the first time in two years.

My legs were all sore from running through the long hall just to get to the end, to my history class. Could barely catch my breath when I stood in front of the door. That was the second most unforgettable moment in my life when I pulled the handle.

"And I am your substitute for this week-"

The teacher stopped when he saw the door swing open in the middle of his introduction. The air just felt oddly dense when I tried to inhale. Added to that was the awkwardness on everybody's face when they turned to identify the 'intruder'.

"Excuse me?", he snapped his finger in front of my eye to redirect my attention, "Miss...?"

"Stir-I mean Rose. Madeleine Rose", I stumbled, nervously looking down to not face his rage for being late.

"Miss Rose", he repeated, "Where have you been?"

"Um...I-uh...library" and that was even worse. I stuttered as if I just learned to talk yesterday. Then, I saw his arms crossed. A massive deja vu rushed over me when I noticed his movement. I look at his outfit again before coming back to the arm and tie. It couldn't be, could it? I took a quick glance at his hair, then his figure before coming across a slight difference - his name tag on the left of the shirt. Maderic Baxter - Professor of Fine Art History.

"Well, there are no doubts that books give you knowledge. Next time, find one that could give you advice on how not to be late to my class, would you?"

I could tell he found it amusing when he saw how widening my eyes were the exact moment I came to realize who he was. A slight smirk appeared on the corner of his mouth.

The annoying, yet dashing guy who talks with a poised tone, in formal outfits who tried to yank the book from a lady in the library, is standing here in front of me, announcing he would be the substitute teacher for this week.