Two Different World

The golden hues of the setting sun spilled over a modest suburban house, casting warm, amber light through the windows, enveloping the living room in a serene glow.

Ethan Cross tossed his backpack aside and collapsed onto the couch with a deep sigh. "Ah, finally home…"

A teasing voice drifted from the kitchen. "Another day of slacking off at school?"

Rolling over, Ethan glanced toward the source of the voice—his mother, Laura Cross. A gentle woman in her forties, she had her hair neatly tied back in a ponytail, an apron draped over her figure as she deftly sliced vegetables.

"Slacking off?!" Ethan protested indignantly. "I happen to be Brentwood High's fastest runner! Just broke the 800-meter record today!"

"Oh?" Laura paused, turning to him with an amused smile. "And? Did you manage to catch the eye of any young lady?"

"Mom!" Ethan groaned. "How can you reduce my achievements to that?"

Laura chuckled as she tossed the chopped vegetables into the pan. "Please, I know you too well. You've always had a flair for showing off—since you were a kid."

Ethan spread his hands in mock helplessness. "What can I say? It's natural talent."

"More like naturally vain." A deep voice cut in. Ethan turned to see his father, Jonathan Cross, stepping into the living room, briefcase in hand. His sharp suit was impeccable, though the exhaustion in his eyes betrayed a long day at work.

"Dad!" Ethan sat up. "How was work today?"

Jonathan exhaled, loosening his tie as he set down his briefcase. "The market's getting tougher. Competition is relentless, and the pressure isn't letting up."

As a middle-management executive, Jonathan's income was steady but far from extravagant. The Cross family lived comfortably—owning their home, never worrying about meals—but luxury was a distant concept.

"Quit complaining," Laura said, emerging from the kitchen with a plate of freshly prepared food. "We have it pretty good, don't we? At least Ethan gets to attend Brentwood Private High School. That's already a privilege."

"True." Jonathan turned to Ethan with a knowing smirk. "Kid, let's be honest—if not for your talent in sports, I'd probably have to pull a few extra night shifts just to cover those tuition fees."

Ethan took a bite of bread, grinning. "Don't worry, Dad. One day, I'll make enough money so you two can live the easy life."

Jonathan chuckled. "Sounds promising. Just make sure you're not spending all your time chasing girls instead."

Ethan nearly choked. "Dad! What's with that assumption?!"

"Don't play dumb." Laura's smile was laced with mischief. "You've been spending quite a lot of time with that Isabella Laurent girl, haven't you?"

Ethan froze, momentarily caught off guard by his parents' sharp intuition. Scratching his head, he let out a nervous laugh. "Uh… not that often. Just… sometimes. Study sessions. Lunch. That sort of thing…"

Jonathan's brows furrowed slightly. "Laurent… As in the family that runs the multinational corporation?"

"Uh… yeah." Ethan lowered his gaze, focusing intently on his food. "But Isabella isn't like all that. She's… nice."

"Of course she is," Laura mused, her smile turning knowing. "Otherwise, why would you be so eager to spend time with her?"

"Mom!"

In stark contrast to the cozy warmth of the Cross household, the Laurent family dinner was a scene of polished elegance—structured, refined, and bound by unspoken rules.

Inside a grand estate, Isabella Laurent sat at a vast dining table, where an array of exquisite French dishes was meticulously arranged. The air was calm, the silence broken only by the faint clinking of silverware against fine porcelain.

"How is school?" Henry Laurent set down his wine glass, his voice casual yet deliberate.

"Not bad," Isabella replied lightly, cutting into her steak. "The math curriculum is a bit more challenging this term, but thankfully, Ethan—"

She stopped abruptly. Realizing she had mentioned Ethan's name, she quickly resumed eating, as if that could erase the slip.

Across the table, her mother, Vivian Laurent, had already taken notice. A small smile played on her lips. "Ethan? That doesn't sound like someone from our usual circles."

"He's a classmate. A talented athlete. Academically… not the best, but I tutor him before exams," Isabella answered, feigning nonchalance.

Henry merely nodded, showing little reaction. Vivian, however, maintained her gentle tone as she continued, "It's good that you're making friends at school. But, we've also been thinking about your future."

Isabella's hand stilled over her plate. "My future?"

"Yes. You know how significant the Laurent family's influence is. Many of our business partnerships involve strategic alliances, including marriage." Vivian's smile was serene, but her words carried weight. "Your father and I have begun considering suitable matches—partners who would complement both your personal and professional life."

A faint crease formed between Isabella's brows. Setting her knife and fork aside, she carefully measured her words. "Do I get a say in this?"

"Of course," Henry replied evenly. "We would never force you. But as our only daughter, we trust you'll make the most rational choice."

"We'll introduce you to a few candidates," Vivian added in the same gentle yet firm tone. "There's no harm in meeting them, is there?"

Isabella remained silent. Her fingers absently toyed with the edge of her plate, but she no longer had any appetite.

Later that night, alone in her room, Isabella leaned against the edge of her bed, exhaling a long, weary sigh.

She picked up her phone, hesitated for a moment, then finally opened her messages.

Isabella: Do you think… a person's background really matters?

A response came almost instantly.

Ethan: Why do you ask?

She bit her lip, hesitating before typing again.

Isabella: It's just… Sometimes, family expectations feel suffocating. They're already talking about finding a 'suitable' partner for me, but I hate the idea of being told who I should be with.

Ethan's reply took a little longer this time.

Ethan: Does it matter? Maybe. But I think a person's worth isn't determined by where they come from—it's something they define for themselves.

Isabella stared at his words for a long time, letting them sink in.

After a few minutes, she finally typed a simple response.

Isabella: I see.

Setting her phone aside, she lay back against the pillows, closing her eyes. Yet, in the quiet of her room, one image remained vividly clear in her mind—Ethan's ever-carefree smile.

And for the first time, she realized—she wanted to choose her own future.