Not So Vibrant, Not So Dull (draft) ✔

Chapter Five: Gun Point - Part 1

The day you escaped from home, two days after the winter showcase, was marked by gunfire and chaos. That day revealed my true colours to you for the first time. The only thing that held me from shooting Timothy right through his skull that day was you.

"Ahen Lefevre. What is this?" Your mum's voice cut through the air like ice, piercing through the thick tension that hung between us. She had reached us behind the curtain, her tone a mix of confusion and alarm. I had just steadied your breathing, your panicked gasps finally easing, when her presence threatened to unravel it all.

You stirred, fear flashing across your face as you shuffled off the ground, your body trembling with the weight of everything that had just happened. My hand instinctively tightened around the weapon I had tucked in my belt. I stood in front of you, shielding you. I wasn't going to let her, or anyone, take you from me—not after everything we had been through to get this far.

Your mother stared, her eyes wide with disbelief. The ungrateful woman was about to ruin it all. She couldn't understand what you'd been through, what we had endured. And then I saw him—him—standing behind her. Timothy.

His sharp features, so familiar yet so despicable, twisted into a smug grin as his eyes met mine. His greying hair was neatly combed back, deep-set wrinkles etched into his forehead. His dark eyes gleamed with cruel amusement, the kind that made my skin crawl. He was dressed in a pristine navy suit, as though he had walked straight out of one of his high-powered meetings and into this nightmare.

His hands were clasped behind his back, the picture of arrogance and control. But his eyes—those cold, soulless eyes—were locked on you. My blood boiled. My father wanted this man dead.

"Get out of the way," your mother demanded, her voice trembling with an authority that wavered under pressure. She had no idea what kind of danger she was standing in. What kind of danger we were all in.

"No," I said quietly, but firmly. "Not happening."

Her eyes narrowed, but before she could respond, Timothy stepped forward, his voice smooth, dripping with condescension as he spoke. "You fit the rumours well, Swan Lombardy."

Oh, so he knew who I was. That made things simpler. My grip tightened around the weapon. I wouldn't hesitate if it came to that.

"You're protecting the wrong person," he sneered, his tone full of disdain. "He's not worth the trouble, and deep down, you know it."

I felt you shift behind me, your hands clutching at my shirt, tugging me back as if trying to stop me from doing something reckless. You wanted to run, I could feel it. But we both knew there was nowhere left to go.

"Maybe to you," I said coldly, "but he's worth everything to me."

Timothy's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something like curiosity crossing his face. "You're quite different from your father, Swan." I could feel your eyes on me, questioning, confused. You had no idea, did you? Neither did I, until this moment, that the woman and child Timothy had taken under his wing was you.

He took another step closer. Then another. Shadows shifted behind him as more men emerged from the curtain, dressed in black, their faces expressionless. Security—or what passed for it here. This university had the worst of it, or perhaps it was just that they were on his payroll. I was in enemy territory, surrounded, the odds stacking higher against me with every step they took.

We were being driven back, closer to the wall behind us, with nowhere to go. I couldn't just stand there, cornered and waiting. So I pulled out the gun. I heard you gasp, your grip on my shirt disappearing as you stumbled back.