Flora got home from school, the rain still whispering against the windows. She was about to head to her room when her phone buzzed it was her mother calling.

Her heart instantly lightened.

"Mom?"

"Flora, sweetheart! We'll be back next week," her mother said cheerfully. "Your sister's already planning a list of things she wants to eat the moment we get home."

Flora smiled at the sound of her sister's voice joining in from the background, full of chatter, warmth, and the kind of love she had missed.

It felt good to know the house would finally be whole again.

At dinner, when Flora mentioned their return, Brandon's face softened. "Then let's hold a small welcome dinner," he said. "And as your fiancé, Austin should be there too."

The fork in Flora's hand paused midair.

The word fiancé still felt heavy like a title she no longer owned.

"About that," she said, her voice quiet but steady. "Austin and I… we're not together anymore."

Brandon looked up, almost dismissively. "Relationships have ups and downs. You'll figure it out."

Flora clenched her hands under the table. "It's not like that, Brandon. He's seeing someone else."

He exhaled, as if dealing with a naive younger sister. "Flora, it's not just about you two. Our families the Moore and Campbell groups have ties that go beyond emotions. Breaking it off publicly would cause a mess neither side wants. Think about what's right, not what feels easy."

She went quiet, biting back the words rising in her throat. She knew he wasn't trying to hurt her, but the weight of duty pressed down like a chain she couldn't remove.

After dinner, she went to his study to talk again, determined to make him understand. But his response didn't change, just colder this time. "Sometimes, being responsible means giving up what you want. You should learn that."

She couldn't speak anymore. The pressure in her chest made it hard to breathe.

As she turned to leave, she noticed Liam standing near the hallway he must've overheard. His expression was unreadable at first, then softened when their eyes met.

He said quietly, almost to himself,

"Sometimes people regret the things they throw away too easily."

It sounded casual, but there was something raw underneath, a whisper of his own regret.

Flora hesitated, sensing there was more behind those words, but before she could ask, Liam's gaze had already shifted.

He nodded once and walked away toward his room.

Liam closed the door behind him and sat down on the edge of the bed, phone still in his hand.

For a long moment, he didn't move. Then he unlocked the screen.

A chat window glowed to life, half-empty, quiet.

Later that night, Flora sat by her window, staring at the city lights. Her phone buzzed again.

She frowned an unknown number.

Her pulse quickened.

They won't be able to force you, Flora. You were never his.

Her fingers trembled around the phone.

How could they know about the conversation she just had in her own house?

For the first time, the warmth she'd felt earlier turned into something else entirely..... fear.

---

On the other side of town.

Shane sat alone in his small room, his dinner untouched beside him. From downstairs came faint sounds the clatter of dishes, the low hum of conversation.

He wasn't welcome there. He never was.

He'd grown used to eating in silence, the kind of silence that stretched too long and too deep.

The faint glow of his computer painted his face in pale light as his fingers moved quickly across the keyboard. On-screen, a network of codes connected like veins a world he was quietly building, bit by bit. A virtual city that existed only for him, where he could control what stayed and what disappeared.

He leaned back when the code finally compiled. The reflection of blue light glinted against something on his wrist a thin silver chain wrapped loosely around it.

Shane turned it gently between his fingers. The edges were dulled with time, the small pendant worn smooth.

It wasn't the kind of thing a boy usually kept, but he never had the heart to let it go.

He could still recall, as vividly as if it were yesterday, the day a little girl with bright eyes had smiled at him and said, "It look good on you."

That moment had felt unreal, a sliver of warmth he never found again.

He sighed quietly, running his thumb over the chain.

Some memories stayed, not because you remembered them but because forgetting them would mean losing the only light you ever knew.

The monitor dimmed, and Shane looked up at the ceiling, his eyes calm but distant.

Outside, the city was quiet.

Inside, the silver thread glimmered faintly a whisper of something long buried, waiting to resurface.