Blue

Sofia had just stepped into the dining room when her gaze landed on Blue—a four-year-old girl with thick, wavy hair tied into two ponytails. Her deep blue eyes and puffed cheeks were scrunched in frustration as she stared at the untouched breakfast before her. Arms crossed, she sat in stubborn silence, ignoring the maids who hovered around, pleading with her to take at least one bite.

The moment Sofia entered, Blue straightened her back, biting her lip as she watched her mother with round, expectant eyes.

"Are you not going to eat?" Sofia asked, her tone cool and distant, more fitting for a stranger than her own child.

Finally, Blue spoke up, her little voice firm. "Mama! I don't want this!"

Sofia's gaze dropped to the lavish spread on the table—chocolate spreads, the finest croissants, fresh berries, and exotic fruits. A meal fit for royalty. And yet, the child refused to touch any of it.

"How many times have I told you to eat what's on the table?" Sofia's voice sharpened with impatience.

"No! I want soup!" Blue huffed, puffing her cheeks out even more, crossing her arms tighter.

Sofia shot her an icy glare before turning to the maids, who had already rushed off to fetch the soup, eager to appease the little miss's demand.

Sofia took a seat across from Blue as the maids stepped forward to serve her breakfast. Blue watched her intently, her big blue eyes fixed on her mother, but Sofia never spared her a second glance. She continued eating, unfazed, though she could feel the child's unwavering stare.

"Do you have something to say to me?" Sofia asked at last, barely looking up.

"You look pretty," Blue said happily, her face lighting up.

For a brief moment, Sofia's hand paused, and she glanced up, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. But just as quickly, she looked away.

"Hmm." It was the only response she gave.

Blue swung her legs beneath the chair. "When is Dad coming back?"

"I don't know," Sofia answered flatly.

"Do you have a lot of work today?" Blue continued, undeterred.

"Yes."

"Oh…" Blue sounded a little dejected. But just then, the maids arrived with the soup she had been waiting for. Her mood instantly lifted. She eagerly took a spoonful before looking up again. "Do you want to try the soup? It's really good."

Sofia shook her head. "You shouldn't eat soup for breakfast. You need something more nutritious."

With that, she set down her fork, tapped the corners of her mouth with a napkin, and rose from her seat. "I'm leaving for the office. Call me if there's a problem," she instructed the maids before striding out, not once glancing back at Blue—no goodbye, no lingering words.

Blue watched her mother leave, just like every other day—without a goodbye. She sat still for a moment, staring at the untouched food in front of her before silently picking up her spoon and eating.

"Miss, are you okay?" one of the maids asked gently once Sofia was gone.

Blue lifted her head and gave the woman a blank stare—the same kind her mother often gave the staff. Then, without a word, she looked away, dismissing the question entirely.

The maid shrank back. For all of Blue's doll-like cuteness, she carried the same icy demeanor as her mother, her warmth reserved only for Sofia. To everyone else, she was distant, detached.

After finishing her bowl of soup, Blue climbed down from the chair, and the maids immediately moved to escort her to her room. Inside, her clothes were already laid out for school.

Her nanny, an elderly woman with white hair, sharp black eyes, and a stiff, serious expression, held up two dresses. "Miss, which one would you like to wear today?"

Blue glanced at them briefly, then shrugged. "Both are fine."

Her tone was void of excitement—far too indifferent for a child who should have had a life filled with joy.

The nanny studied her for a moment but didn't press. Instead, she gave a small nod, picked one of the dresses at random, and led Blue to the bathroom to prepare for the day.

....................

The air was crisp and cold, yet Sara stepped out of the house in a slim, half-sleeved T-shirt and cargo pants. Behind her, her mother's voice followed, nagging at her to wear something warmer. Ignoring the concern, Sara simply hummed under her breath, skipping down the street without a care.

As an only child, she had been pampered her whole life—her parents making sure every need was met. Though they came from a humble background, they had saved enough to ensure she'd never have to struggle. With no particular goals in mind, Sara drifted through life, constantly changing career paths and dabbling in various fields.

At the moment, she was working as a swimming instructor for kids at the city's largest swim school. The pay was good, the hours were flexible, and for now, she had no complaints.

"Sara! Sara! Sara!"

The moment she stepped through the door, the manager's voice rang out from behind the counter, as if he had been waiting for her.

She instinctively recoiled, her eyes narrowing as she turned to face the round man with the comically thick mustache. "What is it?" she asked, slightly confused.

"Boss wants to see you."

"Me? Out of the blue?" Sara frowned, but the manager had no interest in explaining. Instead, he shoved her down the hallway, straight into the elevator, until she found herself standing in front of the boss's office.

"Good luck!" he said, knocking on the door before scurrying away.

Sara was still in a daze when a calm voice came from inside. "Come in."

Fixing her expression, she stepped inside. A man, bald in the center with hair circling the sides of his head, sat at his desk, scribbling relentlessly on a piece of paper. His glasses were perched low on his nose.

"Good morning, sir." Sara greeted him with a slight bow.

The man looked up, his posture unchanged, and the moment he recognized her, a wide grin spread across his face. "Sara, Sara! You're finally here!" He threw his hands into the air like he had just found his savior.

Sara blinked. "Is everything okay?"

"I have a job for you today!"

"Well, isn't that what I come here every day for? To do my job?" she said through gritted teeth.

The man adjusted his glasses and nodded. "But this time, you'll be earning twice your usual rate. How does that sound?" He pitched the offer like bait on a hook.

Sara tilted her head. "And how exactly are you going to do that?"

"Here!" He handed her a file.

Sara glanced down, her brows furrowing. "A special swimming class? Do we even have those?"

"Absolutely! Yesterday, Kent Academy reached out to us. They want our best instructors for their new swimming pool inauguration." He rubbed his hands together, looking particularly pleased with himself. "If everything goes well, we might secure a permanent partnership with them."

Sara pursed her lips. "Kent Academy? That rich kids' school?"

She had heard about it—parents in her neighborhood often used it as motivation for their kids, pushing them to study harder in hopes of securing a scholarship there.

"It does sound like a good opportunity… but what exactly am I supposed to do?"

"Just give some basic swimming lessons as a demonstration. Rich people these days are obsessed with making sure their kids learn everything, so this is just a way to catch their interest. A new way of milking the rich, but hey—if we're benefiting, who cares?"

"So—why me, exactly?" Sara asked, still confused.

"Of course, you! Who else could be more qualified than the international gold medalist, Sara Parker?" The boss declared with enthusiasm. "Just your name alone will be enough to make people sign up for our yearly subscriptions!"

Sara took a deep breath. Suddenly, the distant echoes of a roaring crowd filled her ears—cheers, applause, the weight of expectations. She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking off the memory before swallowing hard.

"Oh… that does sound convincing," she admitted, glancing back down at the file.

"Okay, I'll do it. I'll try."

Her boss grinned triumphantly. "I knew I could count on you! Now, get moving—assemble a team and figure out how you're going to handle the entire process. I need a report on my desk by three."

With that, he pulled his chair forward and resumed scribbling on his papers, as if their conversation had never even happened.

Sara let out a small sigh, nodded, and flipped the file shut before walking out of the office.