A Glimpse Behind the Mask

By the time I stepped out of the school, the sun was dipping low, casting a warm orange glow over the city. I'd stayed late to finish an assignment—an excuse, really, to avoid the suffocating silence of home. The school hallways had emptied hours ago, and now the streets were quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy with secrets.

Instead of taking the bus, I decided to walk, hoping the cool evening air would clear my head. Passing a corner store, a neon sign caught my eye: Strawberry Milk—Buy One, Get One Free. It wasn't exactly a grand find, but it felt like a win. With the cartons swinging in a plastic bag at my side, I headed toward the park, letting the city lights guide me.

That's when I saw it—a sleek black sedan idling near an alley, its polished surface reflecting the soft glow of a nearby streetlamp. Something about it felt out of place, too clean, too deliberate, like it didn't belong here.

As I drew closer, faint voices reached my ears. Low and controlled, one voice carried an edge of impatience.

"Sir, enough with the games. Mr. CEO is still waiting for an explanation regarding last Wednesday," the towering man said, his voice calm yet commanding. "He wasn't pleased with your absence, as I'm sure you're aware." 

The name *CEO* sent a shiver through me, though I didn't understand why. Against my better judgment, I slowed my steps, curiosity buzzing louder than common sense. I veered closer to the alley, my heart thudding in my chest as I peered around the corner. 

And there he was—Sinister. 

His sharp features were illuminated by the glow of the car's headlights, his expression unreadable but tense. He leaned casually against the sleek vehicle, his arms crossed, a portrait of defiance. Across from him stood a man who could've passed for a soldier—broad shoulders, perfectly pressed suit, and an air of unwavering authority. 

"Where have you been, sir?" the man asked, his tone measured and respectful. "Your unexplained absence has raised concerns. Mr. CEO has instructed me to ensure a detailed account is provided." 

Sinister tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a faint, almost mocking smile. "I was at school," he said without so much as glancing at the man. 

The towering man's jaw tightened, but his composure remained intact. "At school, sir? Forgive my persistence, but could you provide further clarification? It is my duty to report accurately." 

Sinister's gaze remained fixed on some indeterminate point in the distance, his voice cool and dismissive. "I stayed after hours to study. I was alone." 

The man adjusted the small device in his ear, his expression unchanging. "Understood, sir. However, I must ask—can anyone corroborate this?" 

"No." Sinister's tone was clipped, as if daring the man to challenge him further. 

The towering man gave a small nod, his professionalism unwavering. "Very well, sir. I will proceed to verify this information with the school authorities and obtain the necessary surveillance footage." 

My grip on the bag of milk cartons tightened. I knew I should've walked away—this wasn't my business. But something about the exchange, about Sinister's composed defiance and the undercurrent of tension in the man's words, made it impossible to look away. 

I didn't know what I'd stumbled into, but I had the sinking feeling that whatever it was, it wasn't meant for someone like me. 

The air felt colder as I edged closer, the dim glow of the streetlights barely cutting through the growing darkness. The tension between Sinister and the towering man was almost suffocating, and even though I couldn't hear every word, the weight of their exchange made it clear: this wasn't just about skipping a family gathering.

Sinister's voice cut through the silence, sharp and defiant. "Footage, search my room, my house—I don't care. Let it go already."

The bodyguard—if that's what he was—didn't flinch. His stance was rigid, unyielding. "I'm sorry, sir," he replied, his tone calm but firm, like someone used to being obeyed. "I have orders from the CEO himself to bring you back."

That caught my attention again. The CEO? Wasn't that Sinister's father? Why would a man as powerful as him need to send someone to fetch his own son like this? And why did Sinister seem more annoyed than afraid?

Sinister scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "You should—"

Before he could finish, his gaze snapped to mine. It was like being caught under a spotlight. His cold, dark eyes locked with mine, and for a second, I froze. My grip on the milk cartons tightened as my heart pounded in my chest.

He didn't attack, though. He didn't yell or demand to know what I was doing. Instead, he clenched his jaw, his lips pressing into a thin, bitter line before he looked away, almost as if he'd decided I wasn't worth his time.

That was… unexpected.

The logical part of me screamed to turn around and leave, to pretend I hadn't seen anything. But logic didn't stand a chance against the storm of curiosity swirling inside me. Why was someone like Sinister—someone with everything at his fingertips—being treated like this? And why did he seem so resigned, so… trapped?

Sophia's voice echoed in my head, her warning clear as day: "Stay out of trouble, Grace. Especially where Sinister is concerned. He's nothing but danger wrapped in a pretty package."

I should've listened. I really should've. But my legs had a mind of their own, carrying me forward even as my brain yelled at me to stop. I was drawn to the tension in the air, to Sinister's bitterness, to the unanswered questions hanging between him and the man in the suit.

The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "I witnessed," I called, my voice betraying my nerves. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure they could hear it echoing through the alley. The tall man turned toward me with deliberate slowness, his face calm but unreadable.

Sinister, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely baffled as I interrupted their conversation.

The tall man studied me for a moment, his sharp gaze flicking to my school uniform. "What exactly did you witness?" he asked, his voice polite but laced with authority. Adjusting the earpiece in his ear, he added, "And may I ask who you are? A student from Rosewood High, I presume?"

My throat felt dry, but I managed to speak. "Well, your little boss and I..."

Before I could finish, Sinister cut in, his tone sharp. "I suggest you don't listen to her. She's just—"

I wasn't about to let him push me aside. Smiling brightly, I interrupted him right back. "We're friends," I said, the words slipping out like they were the most natural thing in the world.

That got his attention. Sinister's words faltered, and he turned to face me, his dark eyes narrowing.

"We were hitting the books on Wednesday," I added, my voice carrying a forced cheerfulness, "and even treated ourselves to some pastries. You know how it is—study sessions and sugar cravings. So, why the hold-up? Semesters are creeping up, and there's still so much to cover!"

The tall man sighed, the weight of whatever was happening clearly pressing down on him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head as though trying to make sense of the mess. Meanwhile, Sinister just stared at me, his expression unreadable, before turning away with a deep exhale.

Finally, the man spoke, his tone resigned. "I'll excuse you this time, sir. But don't cause any more complications. Remember—I wasn't here today." With that, he turned and disappeared into the sleek black sedan, leaving Sinister behind.

The car pulled away, leaving us alone in the dimly lit alley.

The tension hung in the air like a heavy fog, the faint hum of passing cars the only sound between us. I kept my eyes on the ground, the weight of Sinister's gaze making it hard to look up. Finally, I broke the silence. 

"Are you asking why I lied?" My voice came out quieter than I intended, almost hesitant. 

Sinister's expression remained unreadable, but his words were anything but. "No, I'm not mad at you. I'm asking why you helped me out. You even lied that we were friends." 

My head tilted, the smallest smirk tugging at my lips. "What, weren't you hoping I'd help you?" 

"What?" He frowned, thrown off by my question. 

"Your eyes were screaming for help," I said simply, meeting his gaze for the first time. "But if not, my bad for jumping in." 

He stiffened, the faintest flicker of vulnerability passing through his usually impenetrable facade. 

"I've been a jerk to you," he said, almost grudgingly. "Why'd you bother helping me?" 

That was the million-dollar question, wasn't it? I didn't even have an answer for myself. But instead of dwelling on it, I shrugged and said, "Come on, no need to overthink it. Just say 'thanks,' and we're good." 

His brow furrowed, and for a moment, I thought he'd brush it off like he did with everything else. But then, so low I almost missed it, he muttered, "Thanks." 

I blinked, startled. It was like hearing a lion whisper. 

"Sorry, what was that? I didn't quite catch it," I teased, leaning in for effect. 

"Don't push it," he shot back, his tone somewhere between annoyed and embarrassed. "I'm not saying it again." 

I couldn't help but laugh under my breath. "Meh, cranky as always," I muttered, more to myself than to him. 

We walked out of the alley in silence, the streetlights painting our shadows long on the pavement. Just as we reached the main road, Sinister stopped abruptly, turning to face me. 

"Do you need a ride home?" His voice was steady, his expression carefully neutral. 

I shook my head. "Nah, I'm good. But thanks for offering," I said, already turning toward the park. 

But a few steps in, I stopped. Digging into my bag, I pulled out one of the strawberry-flavored milk cartons and held it out to him. 

He stared at it for a moment before taking it without a word. That alone was enough to surprise me—this was the guy who wouldn't so much as touch anything that didn't scream luxury. 

"Nice try," he said, holding up the can, "but I'm not gonna thank you for this." 

That's when it happened—a smile. Not his usual smirk or condescending grin, but something softer, almost… genuine. 

I raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by how different it made him look. For a split second, I thought about pulling out my phone to capture the moment, but I decided against it. 

Instead, I waved him off, turned on my heel, and headed toward the park, the sound of his low chuckle echoing behind me. 

What was his deal? One moment he was all sharp edges and thorns, and the next, he was... this. Whatever it was, I had a feeling this wasn't the last time he'd surprise me.