❝ They say, who loves first, falls hardest, but what if this story is she fell first, he fell harder. ❞
Truths hurt, lies are a blasphemy in a relationship. But have you ever felt it? When everything feels like they're infinitely stretching your sou...
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As I regain my senses, I am glued to my bed, my eyes falling on the familiar high ceilings and walls adorned with tasteful art. The curtains are drawn back just enough to let the morning sun spill across the polished marble floor. Next I catch the view of my mother's face, watching me with tearful eyes, while my father's stern look can melt ice.
What the hell has happened?
"Mom, Dad, what's going on? Why-" My words falter. What is happening? How did I end up back home?
"How did I get here?" I manage to croak out, my throat dry, my mind racing to piece together the fragmented memories, attempting to rise on my king-sized bed, with a plush headboard and luxury linens, but my father's sharp gaze and hand presses down on my shoulder, a silent command to stay put.
"What..." I begin, only to be interrupted. "May brought you back! Found you unconscious on the street, drunk to oblivion," my father declare.
Drunk? I never-
The scent of vodka hits me, and I'm suddenly furious. Aiden's drink of choice. That bastard played me.
I curse under my breath but turn to see my mom sobbing. "What's become of my child? Oh Lord, guide him right. Why this drinking, Logan? It's not like you," she weeps.
Truth be told, I do indulge in a drink, but not this time. They've set me up!
I get up and wrap my arms around my mother, who feels small in her 5'2" stature.
"I'm sorry, Dad. This won't happen again," I promise, knowing they trust May over me.
After a stern talk, they leave, after my father reminds me of the importance of befriending Arianna for our company's critical phase.
I grab my phone and check the recording app. I had captured a conversation in that dusty room for evidence. But as expected, it was erased after I was knocked out.
My gaze wander across the room, to the sleek dresser made of dark wood, and beside it, a bookshelf that's more of a personal library, filled with first editions and rare finds.
I step out of bed, my feet sinking into the soft, thick rug, and make my way to the study area. It's equipped with the latest tech-a high-end computer setup with multiple monitors, all atop a large, mahogany desk. I take a seat on the comfortable leather chair behind it. I start typing codes on my computer. The north building's camera showed a 20-minute loop. As I suspected, they can't control all the cameras at once; they can only manipulate one at a time. It's a weakness, a chink in their armor. If you're observant, you can track their movements, always ending near the north building-their likely hideout. But its exact location remains unknown. Where can they hide, without being caught by the guards?
