♡ Behind the Gates
I didn't know what to expect from a Prime Minister's home.
I thought of marble floors, chandeliers, and people who spoke in measured tones — all posture and politics.
But when Mila's car stopped before the iron gates of the Madden estate, my breath still caught.
The gates rose high, laced with gold patterns that gleamed faintly under the soft glow of lanterns. Beyond them stretched a long driveway framed by manicured hedges, where fairy lights shimmered between branches like trapped constellations.
I adjusted the folds of my dress nervously, feeling the delicate chiffon brush against my ankles as the wind whispered through. The fabric moved like breath — soft, fragile — and I wished my heart felt the same.
Mila squeezed my hand. "Breathe. You look like you're about to walk into a royal court."
"Maybe I am," I murmured.
---
Inside, the house felt less like a mansion and more like a museum that had learned to laugh. The walls were adorned with portraits — some stern, others smiling — but there were books everywhere. Stacks and shelves, some spilling onto the floor, a strange comfort in all that grandeur.
A soft melody played from a piano somewhere deeper in the house. Laughter drifted down the hallway — warm, unguarded.
And then I saw him.
Adrian stood near the grand staircase, dressed in a dark suit that fit him too perfectly to be casual. He wasn't the flirtatious university star here. He looked… grounded. Older. Like he belonged to another world entirely.
When his eyes found mine, he smiled — that slow, quiet smile that never reached his lips fully but always reached my heart.
"You came," he said softly.
I nodded, my voice caught in my throat. "Happy birthday."
"Thank you." His gaze lowered briefly, scanning my dress. "You look—"
"Don't." I raised a hand, suddenly shy. "No teasing today."
His grin widened, the boyish glint returning for a moment. "Alright. No teasing."
---
His mother greeted us soon after — elegant, with gentle eyes that made you feel seen even when she said nothing. She hugged Adrian first, the kind of embrace that said I'm proud of you, even when you don't see it. Then she turned to me.
"You must be Arisha," she said. Her voice was melodic, her smile genuine. "Adrian talks about you."
I froze. "He—he does?"
Adrian coughed, looking anywhere but at me. "Mom."
His sister appeared then — Lucia — a mirror of him in spirit if not in look. She was light where he was shadow, laughter where he was silence.
"So you're the Arisha," she said with a grin, circling me like she was appraising a piece of art. "Finally. I was starting to think he made you up."
Adrian groaned. "Lucia, please."
She winked. "Oh relax, birthday boy. I like her already."
I couldn't help but laugh — the sound surprising even me.
---
Dinner was intimate, not the political affair I'd imagined. Just family and a few close friends. The table gleamed with candlelight, soft music playing beneath the hum of conversation.
I watched Adrian interact with them — the way he softened around his mother, how he teased his sister but always listened when she spoke.
He wasn't the campus heartthrob here. He was just… Adrian.
When his father entered, the atmosphere shifted slightly. The Prime Minister — tall, calm, eyes like still water. His presence filled the room without effort.
"Arisha," he said, shaking my hand. "Thank you for being a friend to my son. He doesn't have many who see past the noise."
"I'm… honored, sir," I said quietly.
He smiled, faintly. "Call me Mr. Madden. Titles belong outside this house."
And for the first time, I understood where Adrian's strength came from. Not from wealth or power — but from this strange blend of gentleness and restraint.
---
After dinner, everyone moved toward the garden for cake and laughter. The night air was cool, heavy with the scent of jasmine. Tiny lights strung through the trees cast everything in gold.
Adrian stood beside me as the others sang. I watched the candles flicker on the cake, their glow catching the small, boyish curve of his smile.
When everyone dispersed, he looked at me. "You don't like lying to your mother, do you?"
I shook my head. "No."
"Then why did you?"
I hesitated. The truth was too raw, too fragile.
"Because I wanted to see this side of you," I said finally. "Not the one everyone at school knows. The one that reads, that listens, that… cares."
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, softly — "And did you find him?"
I looked up at him, at the way the candlelight reflected in his eyes like molten gold. "Yes."
He smiled faintly. "Then I'm glad you lied."
---
Later that night, I stood on the terrace alone. The garden shimmered below, laughter spilling from somewhere behind me. I looked at the sky — deep, endless — and felt something unfamiliar tighten in my chest.
Maybe this was what falling felt like. Quiet. Inevitable.
And somewhere inside, I already knew — when I returned home and saw my daisy again, I'd plant another.
Because tonight, something new had begun to bloom.
---
---
Chapter Twelve — Behind the Gates
I didn't know what to expect from a Prime Minister's home.
I thought of marble floors, chandeliers, and people who spoke in measured tones — all posture and politics.
But when Mila's car stopped before the iron gates of the Madden estate, my breath still caught.
The gates rose high, laced with gold patterns that gleamed faintly under the soft glow of lanterns. Beyond them stretched a long driveway framed by manicured hedges, where fairy lights shimmered between branches like trapped constellations.
I adjusted the folds of my dress nervously, feeling the delicate chiffon brush against my ankles as the wind whispered through. The fabric moved like breath — soft, fragile — and I wished my heart felt the same.
Mila squeezed my hand. "Breathe. You look like you're about to walk into a royal court."
"Maybe I am," I murmured.
---
Inside, the house felt less like a mansion and more like a museum that had learned to laugh. The walls were adorned with portraits — some stern, others smiling — but there were books everywhere. Stacks and shelves, some spilling onto the floor, a strange comfort in all that grandeur.
A soft melody played from a piano somewhere deeper in the house. Laughter drifted down the hallway — warm, unguarded.
And then I saw him.
Adrian stood near the grand staircase, dressed in a dark suit that fit him too perfectly to be casual. He wasn't the flirtatious university star here. He looked… grounded. Older. Like he belonged to another world entirely.
When his eyes found mine, he smiled — that slow, quiet smile that never reached his lips fully but always reached my heart.
"You came," he said softly.
I nodded, my voice caught in my throat. "Happy birthday."
"Thank you." His gaze lowered briefly, scanning my dress. "You look—"
"Don't." I raised a hand, suddenly shy. "No teasing today."
His grin widened, the boyish glint returning for a moment. "Alright. No teasing."
....