Double Star

21,5 : Good night, blondie.

Through the open window, the full moon appeared, glimmering like the last hope of the month before vanishing behind the fused grey mists of the indigo night. A shirtless boy stood silently, watching the pale gold curtains sway back and forth in the breath of post-midnight air. Something about this night felt different. Maybe it was the scent of garden grass, or the lightness in the air—a fleeting feeling that tasted like comfort and happiness. He smiled softly and turned his gaze upward, letting his fresh memories drift toward the fair-haired girl who had seemed so sweet and humble. He could've sworn the place he brought her to had never seen someone so pure.

He let the thought linger for a moment. A pleasant smile stretched across his tired face as he bent down to pick up his phone and check the time.

When he had kissed the métis girl, he recognized that watchful glint in her eyes—an unspoken promise of revenge she was willing to carry out at any cost. He hated the way everyone looked at her with that desperate hunger, like they'd fight each other just to have her. But the longer they wandered through that chaotic place, the more her golden hair and ocean-blue eyes turned heads.

Her quick walk, her innocent gaze—the aura of a sheltered daddy's girl—had reassured him. He believed she wouldn't do anything reckless in such a dangerous environment. As long as she was close, no one would dare touch her. He had wrapped his arm around her waist, claiming her as his to protect.

But of course, things didn't go as planned. She fooled them all with her angelic behavior, played her best friend, and dismantled the mixed-race girl's arrogant words with such soft malice that she left her speechless. Then came the moment that stunned everyone: she outdrank half the guys like it was nothing, still standing tall as if alcohol couldn't reach her. No one expected that from a seemingly fragile girl.

The boy sighed and locked his phone. When that bulky jerk tried to kiss her, his fury had peaked. He wasn't one for fights—he preferred to sit back and see where things went, even if rage was boiling inside him. He had warned her to get a grip, but she had cursed him out like a wild creature, hell-bent on revenge. She nearly pulled it off—if he hadn't restrained himself from lunging at the thug.

But this time, it felt different. She was different. Of the few people he truly cared about, she had earned her place—with those dreamy eyes, glossy lips, and amber hair cascading over her shoulders like a golden waterfall. She was dangerously enchanting.

Suddenly, his phone lit up and rang. He frowned, annoyed by the interruption. Still, curiosity got the better of him. He picked it up—and gasped when he heard the voice.

—"Luke, my son, I didn't expect you to answer so fast."

He could almost feel the smirk behind the voice. Luke clenched his jaw, already regretting his curiosity.

—"What do you want?" he asked coldly, ready to hang up at any moment.

—"Still awake at this hour, son?"

Luke shut his eyes, adrenaline buzzing. He knew this man too well—his father never called without a reason. And somehow, he knew Luke would be up.

—"Don't call me 'son'. I'm not."

His father laughed, mocking him.

—"You're still living in my house, aren't you? That means you're under my responsibility, am I wrong?"

Here we go again with the threats. Luke sighed, muttering a curse under his breath.

—"What do you want?"

—"How's Elizabeth? Haven't seen her in a while. She's still alive?"

That smug tone made Luke's blood boil.

—"She's fine." He replied quickly, trying to remain composed. His father was a master manipulator. Luke had learned long ago: stay cold, and maybe you'll stay safe.

—"By the way, congrats on winning the race. Sorry for the late praise—I can be such an absent father sometimes," he said, laughing cruelly.

Luke lay back, staring at the ceiling, feeling the cold finally seep in.

—"So?"

—"You don't know it, but I'm proud of you. You remind me of my old self when you win."

Of course. Narcissists only admire their own reflection.

—"Thanks," Luke muttered flatly.

—"But this time... it was different, wasn't it?"

Luke frowned.

—"What do you mean?"

—"Oh, you know. You had help. What was her nickname again? Rookie? Loli? Sil—"

—"Blondie," Luke said quietly, cutting him off.

The man chuckled. The smirk in his voice was unmistakable.

—"Who told you that?" Luke's grip on the phone tightened.

—"Your friend... Matthew? No, no—Cayden? Cayton?"

—"Jordan," Luke muttered, exhausted.

—"And you fought for her," his father sneered. Luke didn't reply. He was too drained to continue this game.

—"What happened, Luke? You've only ever fought for Elizabeth. Always the wise one, the stoic with self-control. Are you in love?"

Luke ran a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to pass out from exhaustion.

—"No." Love? No. That wasn't for him. Too messy. Too stupid.

—"Good. Then do me a favor."

His tone turned cold, calculated. Luke straightened.

—"You forgot something," Luke snapped.

—"Of course not. Speaking of which, I have files on your friends that could cause... complications. Let's see—Jacob James Watterson, Taylor Ryan Corner, Edward Joseph Galbraith..."

Luke froze. He could feel his father's icy grin through the phone. Cold. Ruthless. Calculated.

—"What do you want me to do?"

He had no more energy to resist.

—"Come to my office tomorrow. I'll explain everything—"

Luke hung up.

He stood abruptly and hurled the phone onto the bed.

—"Goddamn son of a bitch! When will he leave me alone?!"

No matter how many times he blocked the number, the bastard always found a way back.

He didn't let himself dwell on it. Slamming the window shut, he forced himself into bed.

Luckily, something made the crack of dawn twinkle a little more — he could almost swear he'd seen the red flush when he gently kissed her cheek.

—"Good night, Blondie."