After Alan carried Nikki out of the hall, Laurel raised her hand. A dim red glow flashed across the room, and everyone's eyes went blank. She erased their memories of what had happened and, with a snap of her fingers, brought them all back to awareness.
Music filled the hall again. The guests resumed talking and dancing as if nothing had occurred. The party continued, leaving no trace of the chaos that had shaken the room only moments before.
Outside the City — Later That Night
Alan drove away from the venue, his expression unreadable. Nikki lay unconscious beside him, her head resting gently against the window. The car turned down a quiet road lined with trees until it reached a white bungalow enclosed by a white fence and a tall black gate.
The gate opened automatically, and the car rolled inside, stopping before the bungalow's front porch.
Alan stepped out, opening the back seat door and lifting Nikki into his arms. Her breathing was soft and steady as he carried her toward the door. He tapped a passcode on the keypad, and the lock clicked open. The door closed silently behind them as he entered.
The house was simple—only three rooms: a bathroom, a kitchen, and one exceptionally large room. The air smelled faintly of paint and turpentine.
The large room was covered from floor to ceiling in vivid graffiti and hand-painted murals. The walls were divided into long, vertical rectangles, each filled with a different artwork—portraits, abstract shapes, dreamlike landscapes. Every piece had a story.
They were the works Alan had painted with his father when he was a child—a year before his father vanished. After that, he returned here often, painting new murals to fill the remaining spaces. It was his way of holding onto what he'd lost, a way to stay connected to his father.
An Hour Later
Nikki stirred awake. Her head ached faintly as her eyes blinked open to a softly lit room she didn't recognize.
She sat up slowly and looked around. A black handbag lay on the dressing table opposite the bed.
Rubbing her eyes, she got up and walked toward it. She picked up the bag and pulled out her phone. The screen flickered on.
17:30.
"Oh my… how did time fly so fast?" she gasped. "Mother is going to kill me."
She glanced around the floor, looking for her shoes, but only found a pair of black slippers. She slipped them on hurriedly and left the room, hoping to get out unnoticed.
But when she stepped into the next room, she froze.
It was massive—wide enough to pass for an art gallery. Paintings, writings, and drawings covered every wall. The colors danced beneath the dim lights.
She walked slowly, mesmerized, her fingers tracing the air near each mural. When she reached the center of the room, she noticed someone ahead of her—wearing black overalls, a gas mask, and holding a spray can.
She stepped closer, curiosity taking over. The person was painting a large image—and when she looked closely, she realized it was her face.
"Why is my face here?" she murmured under her breath.
She tapped the figure on the shoulder. The person turned, lowering the gas mask.
"Who are you, and why are you drawing me?" she demanded.
The figure smiled. "Hello, Nikki. I see you're finally awake."
"Alan?" she gasped, stunned. "What are you doing here? And why am I here?"
"You ask too many questions," Alan said lightly. "Are you hungry?"
"What's going on here? Where's Amber? What happened to the party?"
"You're fine with pasta, right?" he asked.
"Yes, I am—but what does that have to do with anything I just asked?"
"Let's eat first, and then we'll talk," he said with a calm smile.
She sighed. "Fine."
"Let's go," he said, leading her toward the kitchen.
Thirty Minutes Later
After cooking and eating, they sat on the floor of the large room, gazing up at the new mural Alan had just finished.
"Wow," Nikki said, breaking the silence. "I had no idea that the weak, good-for-nothing-looking boy was actually full of talent."
Alan gave her a side glance. "That was more of an insult than a compliment."
"Honestly, I'm shocked," she said, smiling. "You're good at cooking, you're smart, and you're talented. The future Mrs. Alan Mendes is going to be so lucky."
"Yeah," he said quietly, "she has no idea."
"Anyway," she said, leaning back on her hands, "you still haven't told me what really happened at the party."
"You had a fight with Laurel," Alan replied evenly. "After that, you stormed out. I followed you and found you unconscious outside, so I brought you here to get away from all that madness. You're feeling better now, right?"
She smiled faintly. "Thanks a lot, Alan—for helping me."
"I didn't have much of a choice," he said with a shrug. "My conscience wouldn't have let me leave you there."
"Is it so hard for you to admit that you're actually a good person?" she teased.
"I know I'm a good person."
"You just don't show it."
He smirked. "Just like the way you don't show that you can actually be happy."
She blinked. "What do you mean by that?"
"Forget it," he said with a sigh. "I'm just glad things went well today."
"Before I forget," she asked curiously, "what is this place?"
"My dad built it for me when I was born," he explained. "He said it would be our way of connecting—since he wouldn't be in my life for long."
"I'm sorry for asking, but… is he dead?"
"No," Alan said softly. "Not dead. Just missing. He disappeared when I was four."
"He went missing? How?" she asked, her voice gentle with concern.
"I don't know. One day he was here… and the next, he wasn't. He just vanished. My mom never recovered from it. She still waits for him—every single day."
"She must really love him," Nikki said quietly.
"She does."
"I wish I had that kind of love—what your parents had."
"You're too young to love someone like that," he said with a faint smile.
"Yes, and apparently I'm also too young to get married," she muttered, "but that's happening in a few months anyway."
Alan looked at her sharply. "You're getting married?"
"Yes, I am."
"Why?"
"I have a responsibility to fulfill," she said, her tone distant, her smile faint and fake.
"That doesn't explain why you have to get married."
"As the first child of my family, I have to live up to our name," she said softly. "Marrying the son of an honorable family is… my purpose. If I don't do that, I simply cease to exist."
Alan frowned. "Why would your family do that to you?"
"We don't get to choose our families," she said quietly. "We just have to be grateful for what we've got."
"Who are you marrying?" he asked, his tone serious.
"Why do you care so much? Don't tell me you're starting to have feelings for me," she teased, forcing a laugh.
"I'm not in the mood for jokes, Nikki. I want a name."
"His name is Rylan Randall," she said at last.
"The second son of the Randall family?" Alan asked, surprised. "I thought I saw him with your sister today. Isn't he her partner?"
"Umm… the thing is…" Nikki hesitated. "My sister's in love with him—and he loves her back."
"You're marrying someone you don't love?"
"It's an arranged marriage, Alan. We're both being forced against our will. I'm just grateful he doesn't despise me."
Alan's expression softened. "You act like you can take on the whole world, but deep down you're fragile. You're just a girl who needs to be loved, protected, and cared for."
"I'm not fragile," she said quickly.
"You don't have to pretend with me," he said gently. "You can cry if you want to. Yell, scream—whatever you need. I won't judge you. I'll always be here for you, Nikki."
Tears welled in her eyes. "What's in it for you? Why do you care all of a sudden?"
"Do I need a reason to care?"
"Yes. I want to know why."
He smiled faintly. "Because you deserve it. You deserve to be loved. Everyone does. You don't deserve to throw away your happiness for someone else's expectations. You deserve to be happy—with someone who loves you."
She sniffled, wiping her tears. "You're all talk. You have no idea what it's like to have this kind of responsibility. I can't escape it. If I ran, it wouldn't just bring shame to my family—it would put them in danger."
"What kind of danger?" he asked softly.
"I know you mean well, but don't get involved in things you can't understand," she said, hoping to end the conversation.
"Fine," he said. "I won't pry anymore. But can I ask just one last question?"
"Sure, but I can't promise I'll answer."
"Who's Damien?"
Her head shot up. "How do you know that name?"
"You kept saying it on our way here," he said quietly. "You sounded like you missed him."
"He was… a close friend. From when I was younger."
"What happened?"
"I'd rather not talk about it."
"I understand," he said softly. "I won't ask again."
"Thanks."
After a moment of silence, he asked, "Are you ready to leave now?"
"I've been meaning to ask—what's the meaning of that symbol?" she said, pointing to a design painted on the nearest wall: an X intersecting with four directional arrows, cutting through a heart. The heart was divided by the compass lines, with the X anchoring its base.
Alan smiled. "It means that a broken heart will always find its way back to love—no matter which path it takes."
"Did you come up with that? It sounds so cheesy," she teased with a soft laugh.
He chuckled. "No, my dad did. He used to tell me that every day before he disappeared."
"I'm sorry," she said quietly.
"It's fine," he said. "I thought it was cheesy too—until I realized what he was trying to tell me."
She smiled faintly. "Today's been an amazing day. Thanks to you, Alan Mendes."
"You've been amazing company yourself, Nikki Sawyer," he said with a grin.
She laughed and stood up, offering him her hand. "Let's get going."
He took her hand and rose to his feet, his fingers brushing against hers. For a brief moment, the air between them felt still. Then, side by side, they walked toward the door and disappeared into the night.
TWO HOURS LATER
At the Sawyer Mansion
Nikki arrived home, her mind still tangled with everything that had happened. She hurried through the grand hallway and went straight to Amber's room, desperate to explain what had transpired.
But the room was empty.
Her brows furrowed. "Amber?" she called softly, checking the adjoining bathroom and balcony—no sign of her.
A hint of worry twisted her chest. She turned and made for her own room, thinking Amber might be there instead. Again—nothing.
Her pulse quickened as she searched the halls and corridors of the mansion, the echo of her heels bouncing against marble floors.
Finally, on her way down the stairs, she collided with a maid carrying folded white sheets. The stack fell, cascading down the steps. Nikki instinctively reached out and caught the maid's hand before she could tumble.
The maid gasped, immediately pulling her hand free and dropping to her knees.
"My lady, please have mercy on me!" she cried, her head pressed low to the floor.
"You can get up, Rose," Nikki said firmly but gently. "Just tell me—where's Amber?"
The maid hesitated, trembling. "She was… summoned by the Queen. To the forbidden room."
Nikki's heart stopped for a beat. "Why was she summoned?"
"I don't know, my lady. All I heard was that the Queen asked Princess Alison to report about the birthday party. After that, Lady Amber was called."
Nikki's expression hardened. "What did that brat tell Mother this time…" she muttered under her breath.
"Your Highness," the maid stammered, "I think Lady Amber might be in serious trouble."
"Why do you think so?"
"The Queen asked for her tools."
Nikki's eyes widened. "Thank you for telling me, Rose," she said quickly before darting down the staircase, leaving the maid to gather her sheets in silence.