WHISPERS OF THE HEART

CHAPTER 1: A NEW BEGINNING

I woke up groggily to heavy noises. What the heck was all the fuss downstairs about? I sat up in bed and tilted my head to the left. The time on the alarm clock read 1:00 a.m. It was ridiculously early, yet it sounded like a party was happening beneath me.

I grunted, shoving the blanket aside and hopping out of bed. I glanced at the full-length mirror. I still had my Miraculous Ladybug pajamas on, and as always, my hair was a mess. I yawned, rubbing my left eye with my index finger.

The thudding on the wooden floor below grew louder, like someone was doing it on purpose just to get under my skin. I rushed to the white door on my right and flung it open to see what was going on.

Peeking over the railing, I saw a full-on family gathering. My parents were there, smiling, laughing, and clinking glasses with other people. I mean, I'm fine with gatherings, but at 1:00 a.m.? Who in their right mind does something like this?

My mom, grinning like never before, suddenly caught my eye. Her olive-green eyes were tired and heavy. She managed a weak smile before signaling for me to come down.

I obeyed. Her eye bags were already big enough, and there was everything to lose if she passed out from exhaustion right now. Funny enough, my mom could sleep through a war and wake up wondering why it was so quiet.

"Hey, baby girl," she said in an unusually lively tone, a stark contrast to her tired look.

As I descended the stairs barefoot, everyone turned to look at me. I tried to ignore the fact that I looked like I'd been electrocuted, with my hair standing up and my face crusty.

I felt like Barbie—except, well... not quite Barbie. I had donkey-brown eyes and matching thin hair that just blended with my chocolate skin, making me look 'normal.' I didn't want to look normal—I wanted to look extraordinary, like my mom during her beauty pageant days.

My mom was a knockout. She had a short blonde bob—the kind that was popular back in the day. It perfectly framed her features, especially her naturally chiseled jawline—no buccal fat removal needed. Her thin lips always formed an irresistible smirk when she strutted down the runway. It was mesmerizing watching her in her 20s, gliding down the red carpet with such pride. It filled me with pride too.

"Well, guess who's here!" my mom bounced up and down excitedly, clapping for no one in particular. Definitely not for me.

I cocked an eyebrow. I scanned the room—it was filled with the same neighbors I saw every day. But then I noticed a new face. A guy.

The 'perfect guy' type. He had glossy jet-black hair, rough and full eyebrows, and naturally lined lashes guarding sapphire-blue eyes that could make your knees buckle with just a glance. I watched him closely, how his shirt clung to his body, as if begging not to let go. If I were the shirt, I wouldn't let go either. He had the stereotypical Greek god physique, the kind every girl dreamed of looking at in real life. Sadly for them, I had taken their spot.

But as I stared, I suddenly felt ugly. I'd never really been bothered by my looks before, but now, faced with this worthy opponent, it hit me harder than I expected.

"Ha-ha," my mom gave a nervous laugh, feeling the tension from the gaze we exchanged with the stranger. "I see you've met him. Honey, this is Hughes—Alexander Hughes."

I turned to the guy—Alexander Hughes, huh? He finally smiled at me, and I found myself grinning back, my mouth wide open in awe.

And so, that was the start—the beginning of feelings I never knew I was capable of. The beginning of a toxic love.