a/n; got a little carried away so here's a 5.5k word chapter instead of the usual 3.3k lol — we are entering the juicy parts of the story!! don't be a silent reader and remember to vote and comment as it really keeps me motivated!

—

You were the kind of person who didn't get sick. But on your fifteenth birthday, you got sick for the second time in your life.

It was quite dramatic, actually. According to Silvia, you had collapsed in the middle of nowhere. You remembered faint blips of it — you had felt Silas desperately pressing on your neck, where your pulse was — you could hear the smattering of feet as Silvia ran to call for help, and you could feel the faint thuds of your heartbeat against the cold floor.

You felt yourself slipping into unconsciousness, and for once, you felt the anxiety bleed out of you.

Silvia called it a bad omen, and Silas had looked at her with irritation and had told her to keep quiet. Silvia could only slip by your room occasionally for she was being hounded for work, but Silas had the freedom to stay by your side to care for you. He dabbed at your forehead with a cool towel whenever you started to sweat, and draped blankets over your body whenever you started to shiver.

He was thirteen now. Both Silvia and Silas were. In a flash, you had watched the six year old boy whom you had once carried in your arms turn into a teenager. A two years age difference might not have seemed like a big deal to anyone, but to you, it was like a growing chasm. In that one year that you had transitioned from fourteen to fifteen, you had grown more aware of the world you lived in.

Nothing had changed, really, but your mind did. And your mind tormented you by playing memories of your family over and over again, leading you to dissect every single thing. And the realizations that came with it embittered you.

You had grown to resent your family. You were fifteen now, with more questions that answers. With more crushed hopes than high spirits. You were no longer a child of eight begging and begging for your parents' attention —

No. You still foolishly wished for that. You were fifteen now, and yet you still didn't want to grow up.

You envisioned yourself as eight, picking berries with Silas. You envisioned yourself at nine, your mother before you, wiping your cherry-stained fingers as the light shone on your face. You envisioned your life at ten, peppered with cruel training and horrible tears. Then you skipped the useless year eleven and headed straight for twelve. Your twelfth year had been a heartbreaking year, but the thirteenth year had mended you — you remembered laughing so hard that your belly ached. Your fourteenth year had been dismal, less bright. However, you still remembered the clearness of the sky and your sticky fingers, the endless summer that poured in front of you.

You remembered so much joy, so much pain, so much grief.

You remembered Silas. You would always remember him. You thought of writing about him in your journal again, but you didn't. You were starting to be afraid of how to handle your emotions: you were too angry, at times, too happy at times, too scared at times. Your fifteen year old self shivered with panic fraught nerves, and you so desperately wanted someone to strip you to a subatomic layer, to examine you, eviscerate you.

Today was your fifteenth birthday, and the universe gifted you with a stupid illness. Silvia was right — if that wasn't a bad sign, you didn't know what it was. It was like the gods were affirming that your fifteenth year — the last bit of it, anyways — would go terrible.

For the months leading to your birthday, you had frankly, felt upset and disoriented. And now the illness curbed the thoughts and sent you into delirium.

What was wrong with you?

Why were you changing?

You didn't know who you really were anymore, but you did know you were no longer anyone's son. Your mother had abandoned you, so had your father. You were nothing but Silas's friend anymore — Silas's butler.

You clung on to that title with desperation. You were extra clingy with Silas, hoping that in his teenage years, he wouldn't push you away. But he didn't — Silas welcomed you with open arms, in fact. Plainly speaking, he adored you; he cherished you; he treated you with so much tenderness you could vomit.

Oh, Silas, you had whispered to him one day, feeling immensely guilty that you couldn't say the same for Silvia — I would be nothing without you, do you know that? I would be ash. I would —

I wouldn't be alive.

In your sickness, when you could feel warm hands trace your cheek and the ridge of your throat, you would be brought back to memories of your mother.

You were my home once, you thought, you were my home once, Mother. I adored you; you hated me.

At times, when you were extra delirious, it was your mother you saw when your friends cajoled you and patted you on your head. You felt like a child again, running after her.

You missed your mother. You missed her dearly; so dearly, that at times, it felt like you were dying a little inside. You wanted a parent so badly. You wanted someone to coax you through your angsty teenage years and to teach you exactly how to soothe the pain rotting your insides. You wanted to be fed the love that you had not earned.

You had earned Silas's love. And now everything was effortless with him. You had earned Silvia's love, and things too, went well with her. The only thing you did not have were your parents.

"I wonder what my mother's doing now..." you murmured softly, fiddling with your fingers. Wasn't she very lonely at home? There was no husband by her side, no child...but ah, yes. There was alcohol. There were other delights she could indulge in.

There were things she could do to forget the mistake she had made, and yet there was nothing you could do to forget her remark. Years later, and it still haunted you.

"Why are you thinking about her?" Silas frowned. "Don't think about her."

Despite liking your mother because of her baked goods once, Silas soon started to despise the pain that your mother had given you. He knew of your complex feelings for her, fluctuating between love and resentment, and so he tried to remain neutral and cordial towards her. But still, a few mean words slipped out of his mouth at times.

You would allow yourself a little laugh. Silas's protectiveness over you as well as his undying loyalty was amusing and sweet to you.

"Must be the fever," you said quietly. "I hate being sick not because of the physical pain it brings me, but the thoughts it plagues me with. Do you know what I dreamt of when I was five, Silas, when I got my first fever?"

Silas shook his head. "No."

"Monsters. Ugly, jagged toothed monsters. It was so frightening that it stuck to me even a decade later. But not my fears come in different forms. Seriously, this..." you gave a little laugh. "How stupid."

"So you're dreaming about your mother now."

"Yeah." You squeezed Silas's hand. "Which is weird, because I don't really fear her — I just...I just fear the thought of me being unwanted..." you trailed off. "I think I'm her worst fear, really. And that makes me upset."

"Are you alright? I can listen to you." Silas touched your burning forehead, watching as you coughed and reached for a cup of water. It was a little strange to you how Silas served you even though you were supposed to serve him. But despite having the tilted dynamic of master and servant, your friendship with Silas remained stable and on equal footing.

You offered him a small smile, giving a choked laugh. "Yeah. I'm fine — really. Feels terrible, though. Looks like I can't have cake or any of the goodies that the servants made for me. I heard they planned a whole surprise party, but now I'm bedridden."

Silas frowned. "We'll save it and you can eat it later. And we can always celebrate when you get well."

"Silvia baked the cake, didn't she? She'll be disappointed that I won't be able to eat it."

Silas nodded his head. He was coming near your height, though you were still taller than him. Silas was slowly maturing: he was less enthusiastic in his tone, with his voice becoming rather soft and stilted, but his words held the same feeling. His eyes still glittered like a thousand suns when he saw you.

You had tried to play the role of who you were before, but the mask was slowly slipping away. Yes, you still remained as polite and sweet as you were, but now there was a certain detachment to your actions — like you were performing them, and not doing them out of sincerity. You didn't know how to explain this to anyone — you were sincere: you wanted to help them, and yet...

Being fifteen was strange. You wondered what being sixteen would feel like. Each year was a cosmic change.

"Well, but I'll get better soon!" You tilted your head at Silas as you rested on your bed, body propped by the pillow, "so don't look so worried, Silas."

"I was just upset that you got sick on your birthday. I wanted to bring you out to the gardens."

"Me too," you gave a soft sigh, "unlucky, aren't I?"

"I visited the trees the other time. The napkin birds we made were still there."

You didn't know if it was because you were sick, but you were slammed with another wave of nostalgia. "Really?"

"Yeah," Silas glanced at you. "Will you teach me how to make them again, one day?"

"You're thirteen. Are you sure you want to learn?" You teased him. "I don't know about that. You're a teenager now. You're old now."

"If it makes you happy, sure," Silas murmured. "Y/n, you seem..."

"Upset this year? Quieter?" You looked down at the blanket, feeling strangely guilty. "Yeah. I don't know. I just feel more tired now, and I don't have the energy to play pretend —" you paused. Those weren't really the best words. "Not play pretend, per se. More like I didn't have the time to entertain everyone."

"...Those earlier years, Y/n, did you — were you trying to put on a certain facade in front of me?" Silas said in alarm, his eyes widening fractionally. "You don't need to be cheerful and sweet in front of me all the time, Y/n. Hey, you can say the words fuck and shit—"

"Silas!" You slapped him weakly on his shoulder, your cheeks glowing with genuine emotion.

Silas was like a tonic to you. See? He had just lifted your spirits!

You laughed, and Silas loved how all your laughs in front of him rang true and bright. "Oh, goodness, no. I never have to put on a front in front of you. I laugh and smile the most with you, really. And I know you understand me to the degree that even when I'm sad, you'll understand why. You don't ask any questions. You just listen, Silas. You just listen and you know. And listening is one of the most precious gifts you can give someone."

"That's what you do. You listen to me too, Y/n."

"We're supposed to," you said gently, "anyway, I want to. You're a very interesting person."

"I am?"

"Yeah. And gosh, it makes me giggle when you get all jealous, Silas. Your jealousy was especially bad this year, wasn't it?" You looked meaningfully at him. "Puberty or something? But I never felt jealous when I was thirteen."

"Is it normal to be jealous?" Silas wondered aloud.

You reached out to tweak his nose lightly. His skin was cold under your feverish fingers. "It is. Makes me feel flattered."

"So I can do whatever I want when I'm jealous?"

"Yup," you agreed easily, "plus a kiss on the cheek! From me!"

Huh. So did that mean that even if Silas murdered someone who spent too much time with you, you would still kiss him on the cheek?

Silas saved that thought in his head. He didn't know when it would prove useful. You were like a people-magnet — people loved you.

Too bad, Silas always wanted to tell the people around you. I got Y/n first.

Oh, Silas really wanted to tell that to Silvia. That girl had been hanging around you more, and yes, you were right — with puberty, Silas found the dangerous feelings that he had clamped down rising again.

And it didn't help that you, well, enabled him to a startling degree.

Silas remembered stabbing someone with a dagger and cutting himself in the process. And yet you had rushed to him without batting an eye, cooing softly over his wound. You had even kissed it to make him feel better, and that had filled Silas with extremely pleased emotions.

Silas didn't like to admit it, but when he inflicted something on the people who approached you, he felt a cathartic feeling. It was like getting rid of ants around your food.

Silas wanted to observe your reactions first, before he would do it in plain sight. He wanted to see just what was too far.

"Hmmm," you squinted your eyes at Silas, slowly sliding down the pillow to lay flat on the bed, "you have like, a halo around you."

"A halo? You're sick and delirious," Silas flicked your forehead.

"Hey! You can't treat a sick person like this!"

"Want me to kiss it to make it feel better?" Silas said without missing a beat. He massaged the spot that he had just flicked, looking at it with a hint of regret and eagerness. "I can, if you want."

You huffed. Silas brought out that genuine sweet and cheerful side of you. With others, it was always be kind, kind, kind — but with Silas, you were just — well, you.

"Don't be all coy now. You flick my forehead and now you want to kiss it?"

"You're the one who always says that. You kiss my cheek whenever I get jealous."

"Because you demand me to, Silas."

"Do you kiss Silvia's cheek when she gets jealous?"

"She doesn't get jealous," you rolled her eyes. "She's probably over her little crush. She's avoiding me, and you know that."

"Yeah, because she's not over her crush."

"It's bothering you, isn't it?" You raised an eyebrow. "You really don't want her to replace you in my life, don't you?"

"Why bother explaining when you've already figured it out?" Silas shrugged. He didn't kiss your forehead in the end, but placed another cold towel on your head.

"But we make a pretty good trio at times, don't you think?"

"At times," Silas emphasized. "She's a thirteen year old girl now. Her feelings are only going to get stronger. What will you do with them?"

"I mean, we're all young right now. We don't really understand —"

"The two of us do," Silas interrupted. "Do I need to remind you how many times we both said I love you to each other?"

"You taught me the meaning of love," you told Silas. "So that's self explanatory. But with Silvia..."

"You pretend in front of her, don't you?"

You winced. "Pretend is a strong word," you said, before you coughed. Silas nudged you towards the water, urging you to take a sip. You obliged before you continued to speak. "But there have been fabricated moments. It's hard to have spare room in my heart when it's already all filled by you."

Silas's breath hitched and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. You blinked in surprise, smiling. "What was that for? I thought you didn't want to since you got all sulky."

"Sulky? When was I sulky?" Silas shrugged.

Ah, his mannerisms. Silas was getting more cheeky and out of hand by the day. With you, he was still as sweet as ever, but with other people — with the rumors flitting around about him...

Nasty bastards, you thought, claiming Silas is a horrible person when he's not! You had weeded out the culprit and had given him a sound scolding.

"Forget it," you sighed. "Anyway, back to my point: I've had raw and vulnerable moments with Silvia before, and I cherish her — I can say I love her, even — but it's just not the same."

"Just not the same as what?"

"Just not the same as you," you said, before you closed your eyes. A headache was starting to come up — you had exhausted yourself talking with Silas. But it was a peaceful, lulling kind of exhaustion. "Well, I'm going to rest. I'll get better in a couple of days and you and Silvia can give me your gifts, alright?"

"Mm," Silas nodded his head. He brushed away a sweaty strand of hair from your face. "Have a good rest, Y/n."

You slipped into unconsciousness again.

This time, you did not dream of your mother.

—

"Your son's fifteenth birthday. You're not even going to see him? What a pity."

"You seem awfully pleased today, Your Majesty."

Casper hummed. "Hm. I suppose you could say that, my dear butler."

Ralph gritted his teeth. "What have you done?"

"Now, now," Casper soothed, "a year since one of our darling, deep conversations and you're snapping at me? Something happened at home? I wonder if your son is aware of the development yet."

"He's ill." Ralph muttered, "he will have enough disappointments. Y/n dreamt of monsters when he was five. And this time, he might dream of me. He hates me — the least I could do would be to stay out of his way."

"What a doting father you are," Casper said mockingly, "I hear you even sent him tonics and medicine pretending it came from the servants?"

"You know a lot, don't you?"

"Of course," Casper murmured. "I happen to also know that your son is becoming more and more jaded — the last few years have been hard on him, no doubt — and my son, meanwhile, is starting to become a little more uncontrollable. What do you think happened in those few years, Ralph?"

There had been nothing strange. Your personality had been expected to remain the same, for your fourteenth and fifteenth year had been exactly the same as your beloved thirteenth year — but still, you had changed.

Casper tutted. "The answer is growing up. Your son has started to see the world as it truly is, and he has started to loathe his own people's pleasing act. He has started to resent and yet long for his parents. And yet your son still chooses to be like you and confine himself by putting others before him. Y/n hates the act now, but oh, he hates the idea of people's disappointment more."

"You know nothing about my son."

"But I know everything about you."

"Your Majesty, my son is not like me —"

"He is. Everything's the same. His thought process, his personality — his future downfall." Casper's eyes flickered to Ralph. "It's always about being sweet, isn't it? Being kind? Then at one point, you start to loathe being nice to people, and the earlier sincerity melts away."

"My son and I are not the same. You cannot read me, Your Majesty. If you had understood me, you would have known that what you did to me — what you pushed me to do — would make me hate you."

"Do you?"

Ralph stayed silent.

"See? I can read you," The Emperor cooed, "look, Ralph — look at your fifteen year old son and my thirteen year old son. They're growing up so rapidly, aren't they? Hah. Do you know what the two year difference in their ages represents?"

"I don't care," Ralph said softly.

"It represents those two years where I longed for you and where I groveled at your feet. It represents those two years where I waited for you."

"And then you punished me by having a child of your own."

"I needed an heir," Casper said lightly.

"No, you needed me back. You could have chosen a distant cousin, a niece — you could have chosen anyone related to you to be your heir!"

"You could have, too." Casper shrugged.

"Sarah simply got pregnant. I never saw it coming."

"Did you really? Ralph — did you have some illusion that I too, would adore the kid? I remembered you were utterly smitten with your child when he was born. You doted on Y/n heavily, you brought him everywhere, you kept talking about him — really, I grew fucking irritated. At first, I thought you would not care for Y/n. Considering how anxious you were when Sarah became pregnant. It was like you didn't want him — you didn't expect him. You are right. You never saw it coming. You never expected Sarah to become pregnant."

"And so you—"

"I could not even see them, Ralph. I could not even see the eyes that I loved on your child's face, for Y/n's eyes looked just like Sarah's." Casper said bitterly, "I was already furious that someone's child would have your eyes that I fell in love with when I was twelve, but lo and behold — your son came out with her eyes. Your son is the spitting image of Sarah, and yet he behaves just like you. For the briefest moment, through him, I see you. I see you, and I remember us."

"What's there to remember?"

"The initials," Casper hissed, "the initials we carved."

"That was a long time ago. It doesn't matter anymore."

"I should have killed Sarah," Casper said lightly, "I should have killed her a long time ago...and yet I bided my time, thinking she was tolerable. And yet I should have killed her."

Ralph closed his eyes for a brief moment, massaging his temples. "Things worked out in your favor in the end."

"I suppose so. But now you rarely spare me a smile."

"You are lucky my job entails me to stick by your side. I would have left you a long time ago."

"And I would have searched for you — I would have killed to get you back," Casper gave Ralph a little smile, leaning back on his chair. "You used to make excuses for me. You used to say I was the only one in your life. You meant none of it."

"It was true, Your Majesty, that you were the only one in my life at one stage of my life."

"And?" Casper prompted. "What happened?"

Your father truly didn't know. Was it when Sarah confessed to him? Was it when he accepted it? Was it before, when someone had finally snapped him back to his senses and allowed Ralph to see the monster that was before him? Was it during the ruthless annihilations Casper carried out where Ralph had been foolish enough to take his side?

Ralph didn't know. At a certain stage of his life, everything had gone downhill. The sweet, sweet memories were now gone. It was like the two of them had never existed in the first place.

"You don't know, do you?" Casper sighed. "Well, I do. That's all..."

"You're going to say that it's Sarah's fault."

"It's better to get rid of her, don't you think?"

"Don't you dare," Your father gritted out.

"Why? You two don't love each other anymore. I was right all along. She was never the right person for you."

"...You were never the right person for me, either."

"We were, once." Casper murmured. "You know that. There was a stage in our lives where we were each other's everything. You had saved my life, I had saved yours. We needed each other."

Ralph stayed silent. The Emperor observed him, shook his head, before he stood up.

"I think I'll give Silvia a little visit," he murmured. "Don't follow me."

"Your Majesty—"

"It's the Emperor's orders. Follow them."

With that, Casper stalked out of the room, leaving Ralph clenching his fists and gritting his teeth.

He's not going to do something, is he?

—

Silvia nursed a crush on you.

She knew you knew. She knew His Highness knew. And she knew the prince wasn't happy about it.

The other servant girls thought she was incredibly lucky to have the butler and the prince as friends, and Silvia agreed. If not for her mother, she would not have had the opportunity to befriend you. However, the prince was another matter.

The prince liked you. She liked you, too.

And you probably...

Silvia chewed on her lips as she continued sweeping. Unlike her other servant friends who despised their jobs and often sneaked away to gossip in their rooms, cleaning was quite therapeutic for her. She adored seeing things spic and span, and Silvia would scrub the windows so hard that she would be able to see her reflection in them. Cleaning was also a way for her to think of you peacefully.

I tied my hair into plaits today, she thought happily, I wonder if Y/n will notice!

Silvia was always going the extra mile to try to get you to compliment her. It was frankly upsetting for her when she saw sweet words roll off your tongue easily when it came to Silas, but with her, it seemed more...

When you complimented her, it was like you had done it out of obligation.

How could Silvia become closer to you? How could —

Silvia heard a small chirp and swiveled around, tossing the broom to the floor. She looked shyly at Elias, who pecked at her hand.

"You came to visit me again! I guess you knew I got lonely," Silvia grinned, "now, Y/n's your owner, aren't you? Any tips on how to get closer to him? I swear, he's so sweet and gentle, but he's like an iron wall..."

Elias gave a small, deflated chirp.

"Seems like even the bird is pitying me," Silvia gave a long sigh. "I wished I met Y/n when he was eight. His Highness is so lucky. What was Y/n like when he was young? He's awfully tall now."

Elias tilted his head and gave Silvia a little dance.

"Cheerful? Was he cheerful?" Silvia wondered. "When I met him, he was pretty bubbly too, but he seemed rather subdued. And His Highness is always attached to him. I can count the number of times I was alone with Y/n with my fingers," she gave an exasperated huff. "Even now, they're probably talking. Or maybe Y/n's sleeping, cause he's sick."

Elias nuzzled himself to Silvia's neck.

"Come to think of it, your name is pretty similar to His Highness, right? Y/n did say that His Highness made you..." she gently touched the bird's feathers. "His Highness is so scary, but Y/n doesn't even seem to realize."

Oh, Silvia really really liked you. She loved you. Her friends constantly teased her for having a crush on you, saying that she had a high chance because she was the only girl that you had befriended.

None of them seem to think that there's His Highness...do they not understand that His Highness loves Y/n too?

Well, it wasn't like the idea of a male loving another male was foreign. It was certainly rarer, and even ostracized in high society a while back, but in nobility, there had been instances of Dukes, Counts — even Emperors — having male lovers.

Most notably, the Emperor and His Butler. Silvia frowned. That was said to be a made-up rumor, but according to her mother, it held elements of truth.

But either way, the female servants either liked you or Silas. The ones who liked Silas were often blinded by his good-looks and were too immature to realize what a jerk he was. And the ones who liked you...

Well, good taste!

Silvia startled as she saw a shadow loom over her. She jumped, blinked, before she turned around.

Her jaw dropped to the ground.

"Your Majesty!" She immediately bowed, "what sends you to this servant's humble —"

"You're Silvia, aren't you?" The Emperor tapped his chin. "Friends with my son and the butler."

...I thought His Majesty didn't care for his son. Why is he here? Has he been observing us? What would an Emperor want from me?

"Yes, Your Majesty." Silvia stuttered.

"And that's Y/n's precious pet, I presume?" The Emperor tilted his head. "What's its name? Let me see it."

Silvia couldn't say no to the Emperor, could she? With shaking fingers, she passed a frantically chirping Elias to the Emperor.

"He's called Elias, Your Majesty."

The Emperor's face twisted with disdain. "That fool, using his mana on this. What a trivial matter."

"Y-Your Majesty," Silvia dared to say, "what brings you here to see me?"

"Ah, I wonder..." The Emperor smiled lightly. "Curiosity, maybe. Nostalgia, perhaps. Dislike, probably. I kept hearing of you. I kept seeing you around my son and Y/n. And I wondered: what gives this servant girl the right to hang around the future Emperor? I suppose I could have sent a messenger to relay this message, but I just wanted to see the look on my butler's face when I told him I was going to see you. His imagination runs wild, Silvia. In fact, he must be disobeying my orders and running to save you."

"Save me? From —"

"From me," the Emperor cut in, "he's afraid I will see someone else in you and kill you. Hm. Perhaps I'm petty. Perhaps I want Ralph to look for me. I don't know. But seeing you certainly wasn't pleasant."

"I've never spoken to you before, Your Majesty," Silvia managed out, "I'm sorry if I've offended you in some way —"

"You do know that your very existence will destroy my son, do you? Alas, it's a generational thing."

"Destroy your son? I would never dream of that," Silvia whispered.

"I suppose that's what she thought at first, too. How wrong. Let this be a warning, Silvia. Don't venture near my son. Don't even go near him — don't talk to him."

"W-Why?" Silvia asked desperately, "Your Majesty, what was so important that you had to come to me directly? What role do I play? What —"

"Don't go near Y/n either."

Silvia paused.

"Talking to my dear butler made me rekindle some piteous feelings, if you will. It's a cruel gesture to you, but a kind gesture to Y/n and my son. A kind gesture to Ralph, even," The Emperor smiled. "Will you listen or will you not?"

What was the Emperor talking about? Why would separating her and Y/n do any good for his butler?

Unless...the Emperor was trying to put himself into his butler's good graces somehow by performing what he thought was a good deed.

Why would the Emperor go out of his way just to meet her? For his butler? But —

Silvia was perplexed.

Why was she being told to avoid Y/n?

"Your Majesty!" A shout came from a distance. Silvia broke out of her thoughts and saw the sight of your father standing before her, grabbing the Emperor's hand. "Just what do you think you are doing to that little girl?"

The Emperor gave a careless shrug and looked pleased. "So you did come looking for me, after all. I see this was a good move. She's unharmed. You don't have to glare at me with so much venom in your eyes."

"Are you saying you went out of your way to terrorize her just so I could look out for you? Are you out of your mind?"

"You want to be a doting father, don't you? Well, here I am, being a doting father and making sure Silas doesn't go through the same pain as I did. Making sure Y/n and this girl never..." The Emperor smiled. "Consider it a gift for what you did to Sarah. You should soon break the news to Y/n, by the way. But oh — right, he's sick. Again, you're being a doting father by withholding the information from him."

"You're mad."

"You made me like this. You enabled —"

"Silvia," Ralph's eyes landed on her. "Take Elias and leave. I'm sorry for all this mess."

"There you go again; apologizing for me —"

Silvia quickly scattered away, heart thumping against her chest.

What had she just witnessed?

Meanwhile, as you slept peacefully, you did not know that your life would take a turn for the worse.

—

lmk if the last part was confusing! juicy development next chapter buckle up!! Silas is thirteen + MC is fifteen.. we have finally reached the arc where things will unfold.

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