CHAPTER TWO

The next morning, Aila awoke to the soft chirping of birds and the first golden rays of dawn filtering through the white, pearly curtains that billowed gently in the breeze. She lay still for a moment, letting her gaze wander across the room. Her fingers traced the intricate crown moulding on the columns standing tall at each corner, their presence both grand and delicate.

The furniture, if not true relics of the late 19th century, was impeccably preserved-the polished brown drawers gleamed, their bronze handles appearing heavier than they likely were. Yet, amidst the room's historic charm, the subtle presence of modern technology, cleverly concealed within wooden facades, created an unexpected harmony between past and present.

Her gaze drifted toward the windows. Rising from her bed, she walked over, drawn by the view beyond the glass. The gardens behind the mansion stretched out before her, bursting with an array of flowers in every imaginable color. It had been too dark last night to notice them.

As she took in the sight, movement caught her eye—a figure standing near the tree line. A man.

He wasn't working, nor did he seem to be admiring the flowers like one might expect of a gardener. He simply stood there, still as stone, facing the house.

Facing her.

Aila's breath hitched. She wasn't sure how long he had been watching, but now that she had noticed him, the moment stretched uncomfortably. Then, just as a chill prickled at the back of her neck, he turned—not hurriedly, not startled, but with a deliberate slowness—and disappeared into the hedges.

How odd.

She lingered for a moment, scanning the spot where he had stood. Maybe he was just a worker going about his tasks. Maybe he hadn't even noticed her.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.

"Ms. Aila, the madam asks that you get dressed. She's taking you to town for some shopping," Maya's voice came from the other side.

"Tell her I'll be ready in thirty minutes," I replied.

"I'll relay the message," she said before walking away.

Shopping! Finally, I wouldn't have to make the excuse of being too broke to go. New clothes were a rare luxury for me-something that only happened once in a blue moon.

Aila dressed in her Sunday best, the fabric crisp against her skin as she made her way downstairs. Her aunt stood waiting, draped in elegance-a quiet sort of grandeur that made Aila pause.

Were we shopping or meeting the queen?

Outside, a car awaited them-not just any car, but a vintage beauty, the kind that turned heads and made car enthusiasts weak in the knees. To Aila, it was simply blue. What shade? No idea. Just blue.

The countryside unfurled before them like a painting brought to life-rolling hills awash in green, cattle moving in slow harmony, their herd dogs weaving between them, barking orders like seasoned commanders. The wind carried the scent of earth and wildflowers, and for a fleeting moment, Aila let herself melt into it, the stillness, the serenity.

Then came the town, and with it, surprise. She had pictured something rough-edged, a sleepy relic of the past-perhaps a scene plucked from the Old Wild West. Instead, she was met with a world of gleaming storefronts and polished streets, where boutiques flaunted silken fabrics and shimmering trinkets, fruit vendors stacked their wares like art, and food stalls sent ribbons of spice-laden air swirling through the alleys.

It was a place that understood wealth, catered to it, cradled it.

Aila exhaled. So this is where privilege comes to play.

~

The moment Aila stepped into the boutique, she was enveloped in luxury-rows of mannequins draped in the latest fashions, silk and lace cascading from polished racks, shimmering fabrics catching the golden light. It was as if she had walked into a dream, and her aunt was the orchestrator of it all, guiding her with an expert's eye.

One outfit after another was pressed into her hands, and soon, she found herself twirling in front of the mirror, lost in a montage of elegance. Some dresses made her feel ethereal, their delicate embroidery a whisper against her skin. Others, however, clung too tightly, accentuating the rolls on her back. How unpleasant, she thought, the momentary magic dimming. But she refused to let insecurity steal this rare joy. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and smiled through it.

By the time they stepped out of the store, their arms were weighed down with bags, their hearts light with laughter. It had been a perfect morning-until Aila's stomach betrayed her with a loud, unmistakable growl.

Her aunt turned, eyes wide with realization. "Oh dear, I completely forgot-we didn't eat breakfast!"

Aila waved it off. "It's okay, Aunt Liz. We can eat when we get home."

"Absolutely not. Let's get something now," her aunt insisted.

Aila hesitated. She was hungry, but eating in public had always been a quiet battle within her. There was a shame she could never quite shake-the fear that being seen eating, while being on the heavier side, would invite silent judgment. It was an old, exhausting thought, but it clung to her nonetheless.

Before she could protest, Aunt Liz was already leading her into a cozy coffee shop. The scent of espresso and vanilla curled through the air as Aila settled into a corner table, watching her aunt place their order at the counter.

Then, as she waited, thoughts of the previous night crept in. There was something off about Aunt Liz's behavior. Aila hadn't questioned it then, but now, as she watched her aunt's profile-graceful yet tense, her smile practiced-she wondered. Should I ask? Would it ruin the mood?

Before she could decide, her aunt returned, a tray in hand, her face alight with happiness. Plates of delicate pastries and two lattes sat before them, the foam swirled into delicate patterns.

No. She wouldn't bring it up now.

Maybe after dinner.

They laughed over lattes and pastries, savoring the warmth of the moment before finally heading home. But as they pulled into the driveway, Aila's breath hitched. Several cars were parked outside, sleek and expensive, their presence unsettling.

"It seems Alex and his friends are home," her aunt remarked casually.

Aila's stomach twisted. Anxiety curled around her ribs, tight and unrelenting. Why? It was just her cousin-someone she had known for years. And yet, her body reacted as if she were stepping into a lion's den. Her hands trembled slightly, and she clenched them into fists. It's just Alex. It's just Alex.

Shaking off the nerves, she followed her aunt inside, leaving the shopping bags behind for the servants to collect. Her steps were small, hesitant, trailing behind like a duckling clinging to its mother.

Laughter echoed from the main living area-deep, carefree, confident. If anything, it made her nerves worse. It felt like she was walking straight into a room full of judgment, as if she were about to bare her soul-or worse, stand naked before them.

She hesitated, catching her aunt's sleeve.

"Alex seems busy," she said quickly, grasping at an escape. "Maybe I'll meet him later... once he's done with his visitors." She looked at her aunt, hoping-begging-she'd agree.

Her aunt gave her a knowing smile. "Well, you'll be waiting a very long time. Alex is hosting his friends this break. Some of them are from abroad, and he offered to let them stay while they explore the country."

"Oh, that's... really nice of him," Aila said, forcing a polite nod. So I have no choice, then.

"Don't be scared, it's just Alex," her aunt whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. "And don't tell anyone, but he still sleeps with a nightlight."

Aila let out a surprised laugh, the tension loosening ever so slightly. Oh, how she adored her aunt.

With that, they stepped into the main living area.

The sight that greeted her made her breath catch.

There, sprawled comfortably on the velvet couches, were Alex and his friends. And if Aila didn't know any better, she'd think they had walked straight out of a Vogue cover shoot.

It had to be illegal to be that handsome.

One of them, in particular, stole her attention.

Black hair fell over his forehead in perfect disarray, framing a face that was both sharp and beautiful. His green eyes-the most striking green she had ever seen-pierced through the dim light, as if they held secrets she would never unravel. His shirt stretched across broad shoulders, his muscles straining against the fabric like they were begging to be freed. He was ethereal.

The other two-brothers, if not twins-had long, flowing hair and smiles so radiant they could melt glaciers. She found herself wondering which parent had gifted them such perfect features.

Before she could dwell on it further, a familiar voice called her name.

"Aila!"

She turned to see Alex, grinning as he strode toward her.

It was only then that she realized-he had changed.

Gone was the four-eyed kid who used to cling to his comic books, the boy who was once shorter than her, whose mother dressed him in sailor outfits. He was taller now, his brown hair tousled, his eyes a mirror of his father's, his smile unmistakably like Aunt Liz's.

Aila swallowed.

As Alex pulled her into a warm embrace, laughter still filling the room, Aila couldn't shake the feeling that she was stepping into a world that had moved on without her-a story already in motion, where she was merely a late arrival, uncertain of her place.