It was a bright day -Susan woke to sunlight spilling through the blinds, warm and golden, the kind of light that usually promised an ordinary morning. But warmth didn't reach her skin. Something inside her felt heavy — like her body already knew her day was broken before her mind did.
She stretched, yawned, and padded down the stairs… half-asleep, half-aware.
And then she froze.
A blanket was thrown across the living room couch, but it didn't cover anything completely. Her mother lay underneath it — naked. Wrapped around her was a man Susan had never seen before, just as bare, their bodies tangled like they had fallen asleep mid-desire. The carpet was littered with clothing, bras, underwear, belts, empty glasses, and her mother's lipstick smeared across the man's chest.
Susan's breath caught in her throat so violently she tasted metal.
It wasn't just shock — it was violation. A betrayal she didn't have words for.
She didn't scream. She didn't throw anything. She didn't shake them awake and demand answers. She just stood there, unable to move, unable to blink, feeling like her soul had stepped outside her body to look at the scene from somewhere far away.
This wasn't the mother who read books in silence on weekends.
This wasn't the living room where she watched movies with popcorn.
Everything familiar felt tainted.
She backed away slowly, careful not to make a sound, as if waking them up would make the pain real. A tremor ran through her hands when she reached her room. Her heart hammered in her ribs. She barely remembered pulling on her school uniform — buttoning it wrong the first time, fumbling, fast, frantic.
It wasn't embarrassment.
It was grief.
She left the house without breakfast, without thinking, without breathing properly.
The cold air outside felt like knives against her skin, but at least it was real. At least it didn't lie.
She walked to school quickly — not because she wanted to be early, but because she had nowhere else to go.
When she reached the school gate, her phone vibrated.
A message from Mr. Dexter.
You don't have to talk if you don't want to. Just reply when you're ready.
Her hands hovered over the screen. For a second she imagined telling him everything — collapsing, crying, letting someone hold her together. It scared her how badly she wanted that.
I… I'll reply now.
She sent it before she could rethink it.
---
Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Dexter stared at his phone with an unreadable expression. Then it rang.
He answered without a greeting.
"Why send Aria to my school?" His voice was low, cold, controlled.
His mother didn't soften. "She was expelled. Your father insisted she go there. It was the only school that would accept her because of your name."
A pause. Dexter's jaw tightened.
"I just can't tolerate her. You know that."
"Your father does what is necessary. You will deal with it." Her tone dropped like a blade.
Then silence — she had already hung up.
Dexter stared into nothing for a moment, his breathing even, his expression detached… until a flicker of something dark moved across his eyes. He murmured, almost to himself:
"That damn old man. Always butting in."
He stepped into the hallway of his apartment building, mind locked on violence rather than irritation. If someone got in his way right now, he wouldn't care.
Someone did.
A stocky thug from the neighborhood brushed past him hard, shoulder checking him deliberately. The man smelled of sweat and alcohol. The sneer on his lips was slow, mocking.
"Watch where you're going, prick," the man growled.
Dexter didn't hesitate. There was no tense buildup, no warning, no shout.
His hand slammed into the man's collar. The second after, the man was pinned against the wall with a crack, and Dexter's fist dropped like steel.
One punch. Two. Three. Four.
Not wild —but precise like he was aiming only for the vital points.
Blood burst from the thug's nose, splattering across Dexter's jaw. Bone met bone again and again, and the corridor echoed with the wet rhythm of impact. The thug's voice broke into begging, then choking, then nothing but whimpers.
Dexter didn't stop because he wasn't angry anymore.
He stopped because he was satisfied.
When he finally released the man, he stepped back slowly, chest rising and falling calmly. The blood on his face made his smile sharper, deeper — almost serene.
That deep ear bursting laughter slowly quiet down.. till there was nothing but pure silence.
Dexter walked away like he had simply just thrown out the trash.
Not caring nor feeling anything-no remorse no guilt and definately no expression on his face
---
School felt like another world entirely — bright lights, chatter, lockers slamming, teenage laughter. Nothing matched the weight Susan carried inside her. Every sound was too loud, every color too sharp. She didn't know how to act normal when she felt like her whole life was cracking.
Then she saw Aria.
Dexter's sister moved through the hallway like she owned it — confident, graceful, unapologetic. People stared, but she didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she didn't care at all.
When Aria's eyes met Susan's, she smiled — small, elegant, almost… like knowing her.
There was something magnetic about her, something that made Susan both want to approach and run away Just like Dexter.
Then Dexter appeared across the hall.
He didn't speak. But the moment Aria drifted too close to Susan, something flickered inside him — irritation, warning, something possessive and territorial that didn't belong in a normal Man.
He called her softly.
"Aria."
She turned, eyebrow raised, bored amusement in her eyes. She walked towards him like a model walking on a stage but slower controlling her pace and maintaining eye contact- all confident and full of pride.
Dexter spoke -His tone was quiet, but the threat was unmistakable.
"If you touch what belongs to me… expecially Susan. I'll make sure you're expelled.. immediately...."
The hallway buzzed with students, lockers slamming — yet it felt like a private conversation held in a vacuum of tension.
Aria studied him, eyes glittering. Then she stepped back turned around took her bag and sat somewhere far from Susan — obeying without admitting defeat.
But Her smirk promised trouble later.
Susan watched, heart racing. Everything today felt unreal — the morning, the tension between Aria and Dexter, Dexter's unusual behaviour today. She didn't know what she felt — fear, safety, curiosity, longing — but it was something, and it swallowed her whole.
Later, when the halls emptied and the noise faded, Susan reached for her bag.
A silence curled around her.
Someone was watching.
She looked up.
Dexter stood at the far end of the corridor, leaning casually against the wall, hands in his pockets. His expression unreadable. His eyes unreadable. And yet… full of something. Something dark. Something dangerous.
He didn't approach.
He didn't speak.
But the message in his gaze was clear:
You're mine. I don't let go of what's mine.
Aria's laugh echoed in her head from around the corner
Susan shivered.
She didn't know it yet, but she had already stepped into a story much bigger — and much darker — than her own life.