Storms can disrupt or clear a path. You choose.
-L.T

That's the message stuck to my desk written on a pink square sticky note. My red painted lips part for a sigh as I peeled it off and walked around my desk, abandoning the note inside the drawer with the others.

Something.

That's what the past three days have been- something.

As planned, I've been making myself at home at Lennie's though it isn't easy as it was at Harry's place. Speaking of him, I haven't heard from him since that day. However, I did hear from Remi. She called me yesterday twice, both calls I intentionally missed.

Speaking of calls, every day I have called my father and was never granted a reply to the point that I've grown worried. I don't have my mother's number and we barely know our neighbours so he was the only one I could've called.

The need to know more about that picture Harry showed me intensifies the longer I think about it and quite frankly, I can't stop thinking about it. There's so much I need to know.

Focusing on work at Malik Creations appeared to be more of a struggle than it usually is but thankfully, no new work has been assigned so I've been holding on to the ropes as best as I can.

Speaking of Malik Creations, I hadn't remembered Zayn's request to meet him in the conference room before lunch until he was barging into my office. He doesn't look angry, so maybe I'm not doomed.

"I told you to meet me in the conference room this morning," Zayn states with furrowed brows pinning together above his eyes as they settled on me, awaiting an explanation.

"I was..." glancing at the time shown on my laptop, I was supposed to be there an hour ago so I can't say I was just about to head over there.

Then, his furrowed eyebrows draw apart, no longer confused as he dawns on some realization.

"You've got a lot on your mind," Zayn assumes correctly, eyes trying to decode any giveaways. "It's..." the words died at the tip of my tongue- again, unknowing what I should reveal or not.

"Complicated?" Zayn once again correctly assumes. "Yes, Uhm- personal stuff," I mumbled, flicking my eyes to my laptop to break the intensity forming between us.

"Perhaps about Harry?" He wonders, startling me with that person. I just stared. At my laptop, refusing to meet his eyes yet.

"He saw me, a while ago. Told me to...behave around you," he explains. I suppose that made sense since one moment Zayn was the angry dragon and then a happy dragon. Still a dragon, nonetheless.

"Partly, it is about him, yes. And my family..." my throat clears. Zayn drums his fingers on the desk and my eyes fall to them, noticing his inked drawings on his top knuckles.

"You know I never asked if you had to pause family traditions to help me with this Christmas party," Zayn states. Did you ever care? "I did have plans but I don't mind cancelling them," I answered, searching for where this is going.

"As I said, you look like you have a lot on your mind and I'll need this project to be your main focus. Closer to Christmas more than now so if you need some time off to clear your head for then, take it," he explains, overall surprising me with the offer.

"What?" I blurted out, shocked that Zayn Malik- a strict workaholic of a boss- would ever say that to me. "Don't make me repeat myself, Miss Sage. Call it the Christmas spirit," he sighs, pinching the bridge of his brows.

Then, my mind rolls back to the mention of his little visit with Harry. So, of course this would make me suspicious.

"Harry didn't put you up to this, did he?" I cautiously asked and Zayn laughs, shaking his head. "No. This Christmas party would not be the best as I need if you're not focused enough. If you need to fix the...complications, please do so," he insists.

I already intend to do so by booking a plane ticket back home.

"Suppose you won't lend me your private jet too?" I shout as he begins to walk away towards the door. "Don't push it, Sage. See you next week," he denies and it feels good, talking with him without any suffocating tension of our past lurking around.

Within the next thirty minutes, I completed all the tasks that were near finishing and then left.

Barreling emotions tumbled through me as each moment passes and I got closer and closer to going home. Collecting a suitcase at Lennie's, driving to the airport, being on the plane, landing and then finally, a taxi takes me through the roads of a small town that I knew like- as they say- the back of my hand.

That's when it got worse. The nervousness itching everywhere while I listened to the car tires rolling on the stone path that leads to my family home.

Passing bills to the driver with a shaking hand, he reverses into the driveway and the taxi disappears. Leaving me with my luggage for a few days in front of a house- my home. I still can't tell if that's present or past because right now, I'm unsure if there's anything I'd call home.

This house felt more like a building of secrets when this was supposed to be my home.

The moment is cut short when the front door opens, my father strolls outside, a concerningly happy smile on his face. Just like that, the nerves vanish.

Behind him, my mother remains at the door, leaning against it simply watching our exchange.

"Couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the text message," he says just before crushing me into a tight hug. So tight that my arms are trapped down, unable to return the hug.

"So you did see my calls and messages then," I realised. "Oh, we've been busy the past few days. Only got a chance to this morning," he excuses and loosens his arms.

His eyes fully drink me in, seeing his daughter for the first time in nearly a year. I haven't changed at all yet he looks at me as if I did.

"See we're still matching with the hair, mom is jealous," he jokes, playfully tugging at the ends of the hair that had fallen out of my ponytail, framing my face.

Sharing most similarities with my father, both of us had the same curly hair. Dad loves his hair which is the reason he has it grown, probably an inch or two past his wide shoulders.

My mom however, has straight hair probably straighter than any hairdresser or straightener can ever achieve.

"Still got all the pretty looks from your mother," he gushes, kissing the side of my head, returning me to reality.

The deep lines on his face that giveaways of his age are more apparent than the last time I'd seen him but that doesn't stop him from seeming so joyous.

My father has never seemed so happy in a very long time, it's concerning. Even when I made phone calls to him, he always sound so serious and to the point.

"What's the reason for this, Esrin? It's not Christmas yet. Not that I'm complaining but I know you always have a lot going on in that big city of yours," he rambles off.

Time to rip off that bandaid.

"I know, that's the thing. My boss will need me for Christmas so I decided to have an early visit," I explained with a tight smile and watched as his own falls.

"Oh, it won't be the same," my dad shows his disappointment and pulls me into a side hug, squeezing my shoulder. "I'll take this inside," he says after and slides the suitcase handle away from me then rolls it away, disappearing inside the house.

My nerves rose as I followed him, realising that I'll have to cross paths with my mother.

I walked past the threshold where she stands and before another step, her forceful hands wrapped around my arm to halt me. "I will not tolerate you not speaking to me any longer," she states.

I stand there, blank even though I'm shocked inside. Towards the end of high school, my mother drunkenly caused an accident which lead to the death of the person that she knocked into a tree.

Mom fled the scene. When I found out the truth while listening to an argument between her and my dad, I haven't spoken to her since. Our relationship was ruined by her selfish decision.

Too ashamed of herself, she never approached me either. This is probably the first time in years my mother has never looked me dead in the eye.

"I've heard of the awful things you did to the Payne family. You are in no position to punish me for what I did," my mother spits.

I still haven't forgiven her though I'm in no place to hold her accountable since I've got some mistakes written myself.

"You're right," I murmured, my eyes falling to the space between us. "I was hoping to fix that this visit," I lied perfectly. The hard glare in her eyes softened at the realization. "I'd like that," she agrees.

I smiled, one that was partly related to plastic and her grip on my arm disappears. With that, I walked further into a home that matches with bittersweet memories.

Dad stands at the bottom of the staircase, both hands on his hips. "Take it you remember where your old room is?" He jokes, head nodding up. "Hopefully, I don't get lost," I tell him and began to walk up the stairs since he already dropped off my suitcase in my old room.

"Dinner is in thirty minutes!" dad shouts before walking off. Trailing my hand up the wooden handrail of the staircase, my fingers ghosted over my name carved into the wood when I was around three, perfecting the five letters of my name.

At the top and walking to my right is the white painted door that leads to my sanctuary. Decorating the white is stickers from all the times I'd aced exams as a kid through high school and teachers still put them at the corner of papers or report cards.

The door is open, and through the wide space, I glimpse the room that hasn't changed. It's relieving that they still haven't touched it. Though it still feels like this bedroom was a different lifetime ago.

Strolling in and with a sigh, I flopped on the edge of my purple sheet covered mattress. Not satisfied until my back was tipped back completely and then I lay on the soft sheets.

After resting there for a few moments, I drag myself up and to the bathroom to shower and change into something more appropriate and less airport-like.

Knowing that I'll have tomorrow to rediscover my home, I made my way downstairs and the closer I got to the kitchen, the louder the music got.

It felt like I dragged the tension in the kitchen as I offered to help them finish dinner. I've realised that being in the same room with my mother will be something to work on slowly but having dad there with us was somewhat less suffocating.

It's been a while since I actually cooked anything so once I forgot to put on mittens while taking the pan out of the oven and the next, I forgot simple things like how many seconds to set the microwave to melt butter.

Our dining room table is massive though I have never seen it filled. We occupy one corner of it, my dad and I sitting opposite each other and mom at the head of the table.

A hard task presented itself, choosing which moment to bring up the picture. Every moment the cloud of silence temporarily hovered over the room while eating, I debated it.

Several times, my lips would part to say the words and then I would actually speak differently or one of my parents would steal the opportunity itself.

Then eventually, the lack of conversation dragged on, the sound of cutlery hitting and knocking our places providing sound. This is the moment, rin.

"Dad," his eyes found mine at the call, awaiting the rest of what I had to say. "Four years ago when I came home between semesters...and one night," I trailed off, picking and choosing the right words even though I thought prepared myself for what to say.

I didn't know if I should blatantly say the words since I'm unsure if mom knows by now. As if reading my mind and knowing the specific night I'm talking about, my dad replies," with the strange man in our kitchen and the bag of money? Your mom knows." Well, that's relieving.

"I know that the man is Douglas Styles and I know he wasn't talking about you when he said I'm special to someone important. He was talking about Harry," I swallowed with difficulty, my gaze faltering," Harry Styles."

Dad leans back in his chair, his hands falling off the table and onto his lap. Not any part of his reaction told me he was shocked, surprised or anything along those lines.

"What more don't I know about Harry, dad?" I urged him for a response when he failed to give any. "There's a lot you don't know about the Styles," my father states with a sigh.

"So then tell me."

Our family don't do secrets, that's a lesson that was instilled in me from the beginning. Against the rest of the world? There are so many people who don't know, things that would tarnish us. Even if it takes some time for us to be honest with each other, we always do.

It's the reason I'm sure dad eventually told mom about Douglas, the reason why I knew about my mom's accident and I hope, it's the reason he tells me about Harry's family.

"Douglas and Alice Styles are the biological parents of Harry."

Two pairs of eyes are on me, studying the reaction I currently wear after the revelation.

"You're..." the last word was lying, to accuse my dad of lying but as the word sat on the tip of my tongue, I remember the undeniable features that Gemma and Harry shared.

Replaying that night four years ago when I found my father helping the injured man- Harry's dad- I matched the similarities between father and son.

This doesn't make any sense. "Why was Harry an orphan then? For fifteen years- who would ever do that to a child?" I demanded, my hands falling to my lap so my nails could sink into my thighs to prevent them from shaking.

"The world Douglas lived in was too dangerous for him to start a family but they realised that too late when Gemma was already born and Alice was pregnant with Harry," he spews the answer," horrible people were after them and being parents, they had to protect their children."

"There were other ways of keeping them safe," I pointed out, my voice growing louder. My dad's shoulders rise and fall in a simple shrug. "Douglas felt like it was their last resort. Alice had fallen into a depression after giving birth and they couldn't trust anyone else."

"It's why Harry was never adopted, neither was Gemma. Douglas would return for him again and he did."

"So Gemma was an orphan too?" I realised, failing to remember if I had ever read anything about that in the articles. Dad nods his head," when Gemma was born three years before Harry, she was only a rumour to the world. They kept her tucked away in that brick mansion of theirs so it was easy for them to hide her away in an orphanage too."

"So why not keep them both tucked away in the mansion?"

"I don't know! He had things to take care of, whenever you see him again you can ask," dad sighs, leaning against the table with his eyebrow on the top, his hand tracing over his eyebrow.

"Harry was treated horribly there," I muttered, failing to agree with any of this. I would've never guessed that the injured man I met in my kitchen four years ago would've done this to his family.

"Douglas gave them permission to shape Harry because he couldn't. He knew that eventually, he would be in the public eye a lot. It would've been harder to shape him to be in a proper way so...." dad rambles off with an exhausted tone, recalling the things that Douglas once told him.

I laugh- I laugh because the cup that has been filling since the start of this conversation was so damn full that it was about to spill over and shatter all at the same time.

"Why? Why do this to children?" My voice breaks as I asked, under the weight pressure of all of this paired with being there every time Harry couldn't understand why he was the only kid constant in that home.

"I agree with you and if my opinion meant anything to him and I was close with him at the time, I would've changed his mind," dad confessed and at the least, that makes me feel slightly better.

Then the ultimate question.

"Does Harry know any of this?" I asked though I already knew the answer. "No, no Harry and Gemma don't," my dad reluctantly proves my thoughts correct.

It's my turn to sigh exhaustedly, leaning against with my eyebrows propped on the surface and my abandoned food at the side.

"What else is there?" I wondered, needing to know everything even though I'd already heard enough for one night.

"Harry was in trouble a while ago because after what happened, he disappeared. The banks were threatening to take all the money and property in his name if he hadn't done something so I helped him buy two hotels, one off my hands and the other, Harry did it all," he reveals.

This causes my hands to drop flat on the table, startling the plates and my face washes blank."Two?" I repeated the word. "Beacon House and Hotel Affair," dad reveals with a nod.

No fucking way.

"What else?" I groaned.

Behind his eyes, he calculates his next actions and then he gives in. Dad pushes back his chair as he stands and walks off into the other locked room, his study.

Seconds later, he returned with a paper in his hand, eyes studying whatever was depicted on it before handing it over to me. "This is the original picture," he states.

The picture that Harry showed me was just that, a picture. In my hands is the exact same picture but at the top of the frame are details on the camera. Which camera it is, the length of the recording and a timestamp.

The date in the corner is three days after his dad's body was found in the lake.

"If you helped him leave the country then how did they find his body in that lake?" I confusedly wondered, flicking my eyes up with my head kept bent down, looking at him through my furrowed brows.

"Because they didn't," he reveals, casually and I lose it but gained everything all at the same time. It finally clicks.

"It was fake."

They faked his death. "We stole a body from a morgue a few towns away and..." he trails off. Harry doesn't know any of this.

"Harry grieved his father that isn't even dead," I stated and there was guilt swimming in his eyes. "He was in danger. It was either that or he actually did die," he points out the obvious.

"There is one more thing," dad states with caution, a guilty look casted over his face. All at the same time, I dreaded whatever he had to say yet I was impatient for it.

"Do you remember when I asked you to pick up my old car at Ivoriene Limited?" He questions, my eyebrows furrowing as I quickly scampered through the filed memories in my mind.

"You used my car while you were visiting on break and we used that car to take Douglas' body from his house to that warehouse," he reveals.

"Then you had me pick it up a few days later," I pieced together. This makes complete sense, this was why Harry and Niall thought I was involved in the incident because I picked up the getaway car from the second crime scene. Unknowingly.

"Why didn't you tell me any of this sooner," I muttered and I don't gain a reply.

I've had enough.

"What else is there?" My hand slams down on the table and as I rose to my feet, the chair flies back. "Nothing, that's all of it," dad finally says the word and relief wash away the tension in my shoulders.

"Good. I need to go," I stated without thinking about it. "What? Honey, you just got here," my mom points out, a concerned look worn on her face. "Sit down, Esrin. You have only been here a few hours," dad follows suit.

"I'm sorry- I really am but I have to go. How about you come spend Christmas with me in Portland? That way we can still see each other for the holidays," the words just toppled off my mouth without thinking too much.

I'll admit it, it's easier to suggest that now that mom and I are on some...understanding.

"What?" dad says the word, utterly confused. "Yeah! Let's change things up a bit," I go on, toes tapping on the floor impatiently.

"oh...okay," he agrees, eyes meeting my mom's across the table and her head nods. With that, I was out of the room within the next second, making my way to the stairs.

Just as I was about to race up the stairs, my father's fingers wrapped around my wrist. I hadn't known he had followed me out. "You can't tell him. Harry- he can't know," he states, an insisting look caught in his eyes.

"If it were me, I'd like to know you were alive," my voice is soft. Dad blinks, his chest rising with a deep breath and his hand drops to his side, letting me go.

Spinning around, I bolt up the staircase.

The few articles of clothing I had taken out were thrown back in and zipped up. Dad stands outside my room, waiting to take the bag downstairs and telling me that mom is in the car waiting.

I want to fix the bridge between Harry and me. When I go to him, I wish to sit and talk about everything including what my dad revealed.

Even with heavy doubt that I can forgive him so suddenly and he possibly won't trust me again, we should still talk.

Dad and mom dropped me off at the airport, the ride filled with more plans for their visit for Christmas.

There was still a two hour gap before departing, a perfectly presented moment to actually be a good daughter. I sat with my parents at one of the tables in the airport food court and actually talked with them.

The conversation ended with my dad being unable to decide if he likes having his daughter around all the time or the place all to himself and mom.

I missed them. Being with my parents are such a lifetime ago and in times like these, I'm reminded to be grateful. I really should look forward to their visit in a few weeks.

On landing at Portland International Airport, I collected my Jeep from the airport parking. It's a long drive to Harry's house, one that tested the fine line of my patience but eventually, I was there and stopped in his driveway.

Fishing out the key I still had for his house from my bag as I made my way up his porch, I shoved it in and unlocked the door.

Rushing inside, words jumbled in my mind, ready to be spilt over, I'm practically slapped off the track by the person sitting on Harry's couch.

"Louis."

"Just in time!" Harry cheers from where he sat beside Louis, slapping his hands together for a clap. My eyes flickered to him and it felt like a chain had finally snapped free after not seeing him the past nearly four days.

"Esrin, there you are," Louis says, a stammer in his voice and my eyes study his behaviour, realizing that he's fidgeting as if he's nervous. Shouldn't I be the nervous one?

"She wasn't even in town. No one knew! She's rather secretive isn't she?" Harry says to Louis and it's not surprising that he knew I was gone for the past few hours. Once again, he's up to no good. I can hear the bad intentions in his voice.

"Louis, what are you doing here?" I urged a reply from him, my tone soft yet slightly demanding. "Seth and I..." Louis trails off, his nervous crystal oceans meeting my worried browns," he saw us...together."

"Yeah! Oopsy," Harry nods his head, reaching over the table to grab his glass that's already poured with liquor.

"Since you're into the lads, you should check out that boss of yours," Harry slaps his other hand on Louis' knee to gather his attention.

My body stills, the blood in my stream running cold. Harry turns his head, a wicked grin on his face and I pleaded with my eyes for him not to do this but surprise, surprise- he does.

"Esrin certainly did," Harry mutters with a laugh in his words as he brings the cup to his lips for a drink.

As the words registered, my entire body runs cold, freezing still. Louis ghosted eyes searched for mine, his bouncing leg halting and his fidgeting stops.

"Esrin and...Zayn?"

Thank you for eighty thousand reads❤️ that's such a big number, one that baffles me to think about. Thank you, thank you!!

Hotel Affair is in chapter 12 in case anyone forgot and it will be returning very soon.