✦ Kristen Ford has always been fiercely independent-a trait that threatens her family's reputation. Her father, Evan Ford, decides to send her to Blackwood Academy, an elite school known for straightening out troubled kids. But Blackwood is no ordin...
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Alexander
It was yet another pointless event day at school. My father's relentless nagging about it only added to my irritation. His concern felt superficial, and I couldn't have been less interested. I was scrolling through my phone, checking for any critical emails, when the call came in..
It was the investor, the one who seemed to drag his feet on every decision. I am this close erase the entire existence of this fucker , but I reminded myself of the necessity of closing this deal. I had to remain composed. I answered with a calm but firm tone. "I assume you have an update for me?"
His voice came through with a smooth, almost mocking undertone. "Mr. Blackwood, I'm terribly sorry for the delay. I've been meticulously examining the details, and I'm nearly ready to finalize. However, there are a few last-minute considerations that we must address."
I could barely contain my frustration. "Let's be clear. What exactly needs to be resolved for us to wrap this up today? I'm beyond the point of accommodating any more delays. This deal needs to be done now."
He chuckled darkly, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Ah, I see. You're eager for closure. Rest assured, I'm almost there. But perhaps you should consider that my pace, while deliberate, is not without purpose. I'll address the final details promptly, but I expect your continued patience."
"Patience?" I shot back, barely masking my disdain. "I'm not here to play games. Either you finalize this deal immediately, or you'll find out just how far I'm willing to push. Time is running out, and I suggest you act accordingly."
His voice hardened, losing any trace of mockery. "Very well. We'll resolve this swiftly." With that, he hung up. A surge of destructive energy coursed through me, but I quelled it, choosing instead to head towards the library. In past some labeled me bipolar, but what I understand is a lack of control. While I've mastered the art of concealing my emotions, there are moments when anger overtakes me. My remedy is always the same: books, especially those on ancient history, business, or anything nonfiction.
Fiction holds no appeal for me. I believe there is no escape from reality, nor do I seek one. Running away has never been an option; I prefer to confront things as they are. Investing in illusions feels like a waste of time.
I was flipping through the pages of yet another worn, ancient mythology, the words blurring together as my mind wandered. when a familiar voice broke through the quiet.
Her voice.Again.
Kristen. Always her. The girl who never seemed to understand the concept of keeping her distance. I could hear her in the distance, and as usual, she was running her mouth. A nuisance, nothing more But then, another voice followed. A boy's voice. I tried to block it out, but a sharp cry pierced the air.
"Let go of me!"
The air around me seemed to shift. Her voice trembled, threaded with real fear, and just like that, the calm I had carefully constructed began to unravel. My hands, which had been idly tracing the ancient script, stilled. And then, without thought, without reason, I was moving. Swift, deliberate, like a predator who had found his prey.
