I found myself walking to my room as soon as I was dismissed from my grandfather's study. Every bone in my body screamed for me to run, hide, do something to get away from this place, which started to feel a prison. I could feel the walls creeping in on me—collapsing into a ruin of my misery.

How did it come to this?

I knew my grandfather's relentless pursuit to be more involved in our family's business, from a young age he planted that seed in my mind that I will have to take over but something deep within my soul just wasn't up for the task.

All that money, power and influence felt like blood on my hands—unclean, undeserving. I didn't realize I was already pressing my back against my bedroom door, my luggage stationed at the foot of my bed, piled up neatly by the maids.

I couldn't blame my sister for running, I would have done so myself. I wanted to be angry, ather for putting me in this situation. But I couldn't. I never could even if she is at fault. Because Iunderstood. Empathy ran in every fractal of my soul—instilled by late mother.

Duty lingers in my veins like water to sustain life. I may have refused my grandfather all these time but one thing is certain, I have never abandoned duty to this family. I only asked to let me be free from the shackles of their plan for my future, their absolute control over what I want and only to find out, their agreement to that freedom was just a temporary reprieve like putting a plaster on lacerated wound.

My legs started to buckle as I held the doorknob for support. This couldn't be happening. And I here I thought it could be worse, I started to hear the whispers. It's coming. I could see black roiling mists coming out of my line of vision, creeping the bedroom floor. My body was now fueled by fear and mental fog. I was frozen. I need to thaw. The mist must not touch me. I forgot how long has it been since I saw the black smoke manifesting back to my reality.

"No..." my voice came to a plea.

Not now.

I finished my sentence in my head. I shut my eyes, hard, I could feel the creased on eyes hoping it will go away. My breathing became rapid, muscles trembling and my knees was about to buckle when I opened my eyes and the mists started swirling in front of me, slowly rising, taking its form. Slowly, but surely, agony started fall me in a veil. The mist now transformed into a silhouette of a man.

"Please leave me alone." I pleaded—beads of sweat running down my temple, tears on the verge of running down my face. I saw the silhouette cock its head to the side.

"Please..." I begged, pleaded like life depends on it. It now slowly stretch its arm to touch me, caress my face, the whispers becoming louder—incoherent words that screams of disgust, impurity until the all sang in one chorus.

Silence calls.

A knock came to my door, feeling the vibration through my door as the mist dissolved right in front of, before it touched my skin. I blinked, clearing my eyes and the tears and my body started to melt, little by little.

"Alexander," it was my grandmother who called. She can't see me like this.

"One second," I called trying to sound nonchalant. I went to my bathroom immediately, splashed cold water on my face, offering some relief upon its wake and looked in the mirror. The mist was gone, truly. I don't have the luxury of time to think when will it manifest once again. I dried my face, straightened my spine and fixed my hair. As soon as I looked decent I opened my door and my grandmother stood outside my door.

"May I come in?" I gave a smile and she stepped into the room with an air of quiet elegance, her silver-blue dress catching the light with every graceful movement. The delicate floral embroidery shimmered softly against the fabric, adding a touch of understated luxury. Seraphina Evelyn Kensington's face carried the grace of timeless elegance, framed by short, perfectly styled hair that blended soft hues of golden blonde and silver. High cheekbones and a gently sculpted jawline gave her an air of quiet regality, while her warm, expressive green eyes sparkled with intelligence and kindness.

A smile, radiant and poised, played upon her lips—an effortless blend of warmth and dignity. Her smooth, fair complexion bore only the faintest traces of time, each line a whisper of wisdom rather than age. Silver sandals adorned her feet, their subtle sparkle completing the ensemble with just a hint of glamor. She exuded poise, the kind of presence that drew admiration without demanding it.

She looked at me cupped my face with her two hands. "I'm sorry my dear," was all she said .She knew she couldn't have done anything. My grandfather's words is the law of this family and it has been since time in memoriam. She brushed her thumbs against the peaks of my cheekbones, offering comfort. I shut my eyes and heaved a defeated sigh. She pulled me into her signature warm embrace as I buried my face on her shoulder. Her hand moving up and down on my spine, relief starting to spread from my back down to my core. It was a brief respite, but at this point I'll take it.

"Oh my dear boy," she cooed—holding me as if the universe was mine. I always find her scent calming, welcoming and painstakingly comforting. a delicate yet commanding fragrance—an elegant symphony of warmth, mystery, and quiet sophistication.

The scent was an intricate blend of amber and patchouli, rich and deep, like the wisdom she carried with effortless grace. A whisper of rose and cinnamon added a soft, almost nostalgic warmth, evoking memories of handwritten letters, candlelit evenings, and the quiet strength of a woman who had seen the world change yet remained timeless.

But it was the unexpected touch of blackcurrant buds—fresh, slightly tart, and brimming with energy—that revealed the spark of mischief beneath her regal composure. Hers was a fragrance that told a story, not just of elegance, but of a life well-lived—layered, complex, and unforgettable. She broke our warm embrace and held me on my shoulders.

"Listen to me," she spoke, her tone gentle but with a strength of a queen. "My dear Alexander..." she murmured, a wistful smile gracing her lips as she studied him, "you stand at the edge of a path not of your choosing, and I see the storm in your eyes. But tell me—when has the wind ever asked the tree if it wished to bend? When has the river been given a choice but to carve its way through stone?" She offered a gentle squeeze on my shoulder and a smile that held a promise that everything is at it should be—the cliché that everything happens for a reason.

"Fate does not ask for permission, nor does it wait for a willing heart. It simply arrives, unannounced and unyielding, demanding to be met with steady hands. And you, my dear, will meet it— not as a boy burdened by duty, but as a man who understands that some chains are not meant to bind, but to forge." She removed her touch and stood in front of me, folded her delicate hands behind her and stood as an empress who has played the game and has succeeded. "You were not placed in this arrangement to suffer—you were placed in it to rise. So rise, my love. Rise, and show the world that a Kensington does not bow... he reigns."