After my grandmother's visit, it felt like the weight the moon on my chest, was suddenly lifted, albeit not entirely, but I will take it—beggars can't be choosers. I had the opportunity to settle into my old bedroom. I lay in bed, my limbs spread across, my eyes plastered on the ceiling. I propped myself, my elbows sinking down in my mattress as I looked at my old room. I hadn't set foot in this room for God knows how long and yet nothing had changed. Not the towering mahogany walls with their intricate gold inlays, nor the heavy brocade curtains that hung just as they always had, their folds untouched by time.

The air was thick with something familiar—a scent of aged wood, expensive cologne lingering in the fabric, as if the room itself had been waiting in quiet patience for his return. It has been maintained, clean as the day I left it. I stood up, swinging my feet off of my bed and looked around. The four-poster bed stood exactly as he remembered it, its gilded frame an unmoving testament to tradition.

The same champagne-colored sheets, perfectly pressed but now a little disheveled since I just recently got off it, the same heavy damask duvet, untouched as if no one had dared to disturb it. The pillows were still arranged in perfect symmetry, not a single crease betraying the passing of time.

The nightstands, still perfectly aligned on either side of the bed, held the same antique lamps, photographs of me and Anastasia, us with our late parents. And then there was the bookshelf, untouched, its rows of leather-bound tomes and carefully placed artifacts standing like sentinels of the past. Even the chaise lounge by the window remained in its exact spot, it was as if time had stopped here, refusing to move forward. Everything was the same.

And yet...I wasn't.

My sister's room was next to mine and the thought going to hers, as if to check she really is gone gnawed at the back my mind and just dismissed the thought. I decided to take a bath as exhaustion—emotional, mental and physical all wrapped in one was starting arrive at the edges of my vision. I stripped, removing my clothes and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My golden blonde hair carried an easy, effortless look—neither too polished nor too unruly, but somewhere in between.

It was thick, with natural volume, the strands brushed back in a way that suggested habit rather than vanity, though a few pieces had a tendency to fall forward no matter how many times I push it away. I studied my face closer, alabaster skin, my green eyes brings promise of exhaustion like an unpolished emerald, minuscule stubbles jutting out my jaw but still looking well—just exhausted and nothing like an 8 hour sleep could cure.

I went in the showers, let the warm water caress my body like silk from the top of my head, down to my toes. I washed myself thoroughly, removing sorrow and lethargy from my skin. My gaze move to the faint silver lines on my wrist. A sense of dread came to me then had to take my eyes off of them.

Not the time.

I dried myself, wore my underwear and a simple black shirt and went straight to bed. In just a few winks, I was already out like a light. I woke up at the sound of Reginald knocking on my door. I grabbed my phone, checked what time it was and it's almost 11 in the morning. I slept more than twelve hours my body now buzzing with newfound energy. I sat up, stretched my arms and wiped the sleep from eyes.

"Alexander?" Reggie called through my door. I cleared my throat, dried from a long slumber. I got out of bed, put on a silk pajama bottom, making sure I was decent to receive any guest, and opened the door to find Reggie with a smile on his face, still wearing his signature all black ensemble.

"I thought you were dead," giving me an amused smile.

"Give me a break Reggie, I was exhausted with everything." I made sure to emphasize the last word of my sentence. He gave me a gentle smile.

"I know, I'm just teasing." A pause came between us.

"How are you?" he asked. I sighed.

"Never better." We both know it was a facade, but in this family, that's all I could muster.

"You know you have a choice, Alex?" I almost laughed at the idea but I appreciate the sentiment. I placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Reggie, other people may have that luxury, but not me and we both know that." His lips formed a straight line.

"For what it's worth my dear boy, you always have a choice." Another defeated sighed escaped my nostrils.

"Lunch will be served in a few, your grandfather expects you to be there."

"But of course, to discuss my life sentence, I presume." He offered me an apologetic smile. "I'll be there, let me just fix myself and tried to look ecstatic." A gentle laugh came between us.

"Of course," he bowed his head for a little—which I have told him never to bow to me as if I was his mater and him, a mere servant. But true to his duty, engraved in his DNA, he couldn't help it, it was Reginald's reflex speaking. He left as I leaned my back against my door frame, offering a silent prayer to my ancestors or to any Gods who's available to hear my plea and save me from my misery.

I took a quick shower, removing sleep from every inch of my skin, wore a simple black shirt, the same silk dark blue pajama bottoms that every time it touches my skin, glided so smoothly and effortlessly on my legs and thighs, and my night slippers. As I entered the dining room, my grandparents situated at the very end of the table. My grandfather, stationed at the head of the table, my grand mother sat next to him and I sat across her. Bacons, eggs, bagels, and tea were served.

"Good morning," I greeted. My grandmother offered me a smile, by grandfather just looked at me and gave a small nod. I sat and we started eating, my grandmother and I dabbled into a conversation about our love for the Next British Bake Off. While my grandfather just focused himself with today's paper. After a while, he closed the newspaper, folded it neatly and placed it next to his plate.

"Alexander," he spoke, the atmosphere dropping by a few centigrade. My grandmother just offered me a small smile. "We will meet with the Kings tomorrow, dinner time. Please make yourself available as it is imperative that you are there." Meaning, it's time to meet who I will share my prison cell with.

Andrew King is notorious in high society, that much is true but I looked at the repository of information about their family. He had a son who had a wife but they were dead, rumor has it, they died in an accident but as far as city's underground world is concerned, nothing is an accident.

They had a son, but never I bothered searching about him on the Internet as there was no need to do so. Well, maybe this is the right time as I am assuming that son is going to be my sister's groom-to-be. As if my grandfather could peer into my thoughts he spoke.

"You will be living with his grandson, Atlas King, and before you even think about looking for any information about him on the Internet out of curiosity—abandon the plight. I want you to meet you future brother-in-law without prejudice from distasteful rumors perpetuated by naysayers who doesn't have an honest bone in their body." I was caught of surprise but give it to my grandfather to somehow always know to answer my questions before I even ask them.

"Understood." I agreed as we finished our meal and I excused myself and head straight to my room. I received a notification from my phone, grabbed it and sat on my bed. It was a message from Leander.

Leander: 4 pm, my place. See you, darling!

A smile crept to my face, finally something to look forward to. I looked at the time I still have an hour to spare. Excitement rushed to my system like adrenaline as I went straight to the bathroom, took a quick shower once again and wrapped myself in the comfort of a slightly oversized royal blue hoodie. The fabric draped over my shoulders, its thick material bunching slightly at my wrists, worn and loved for years.

I paired with it, black athletic shorts that barely reached my mid-thigh. I had to thank Pilates for the contrast between the cozy hoodie and the sharp definition of my legs. My white socks stretched midway up my calves, grounding me in a way that made the whole look feel casual, lived-in, like I hadn't over thought it—yet somehow, it still worked. I grabbed my structured tan leather bag, place my wallet, phone, perfume and other essentials. As I left my room, I looked for Reggie who just came in from the main door of the estate.

"Reggie!"

"Yes, Alexander?"

"I'm about to meet my friends, any cars available for me to use?" I said as I descended the stairs and stood in front of him.

"You're driving?" I raised a brow.

"I don't mean to offend, what I am insinuating is we driver's available to take you to your destination."

"I rather drive myself, if you don't mind." I crossed my arms, pretended to be hurt by his words. A laughter came out of him.

"Follow me then," I smiled, linked my arm around his as we went to to left wing of the main floor, and into the security room. Sleek, modern, and utterly utilitarian, the room was a stark contrast to the gilded excess of an opulent estate. Rows of high-backed chairs faced an array of screens, their flickering displays filled with data, surveillance feeds, and fluctuating stock graphs.

The air held the hum of technology, efficient and impersonal, a space designed for function rather than comfort. There were our security staff, watching the paneled monitors at the end of the room. Next to the door were rows of keys, slung in a large metal pegboard. Our security staff just offered me a smile as I returned one back to them. Not a second later, Reggie grabbed on of the keys and handed it to me.

"Here," he said. The car keys felt against my skin. We went to the garage and the lines automatically lit up. Rows of cars lined both sides of large garage wall, painted in gunmetal gray. At the end of the garage was a large exit, sunlight flaring in making me narrow my eyes to adjust my sight. We walked and stopped by the car, near the exit. An Acura Integra. I looked at Reggie, obviously out of the entire collection of vehicles in the garage, he knows I would pick the simplest looking one.

"Thanks Reg," I said as I gave him a hug and went inside the car. I turned on the engine, as it made a soft purring sound, drove out of the estate looking at the rear view mirror, Reggie was waving goodbye with a smile on his face.