Before It all hits

Kit woke slowly, the early light creeping through the blinds casting thin lines across his room. His phone lay on the bedside table, screen dark, but the heaviness from last night's call still pulsed in his chest like a dull ache.

He heard faint footsteps from downstairs — his stepmother was already up, probably on her way to the kitchen. The quiet house was unfamiliar, sterile almost, without the warmth his mother's presence had once lent it. It felt like the walls themselves held their breath.

Pulling on a shirt, Kit forced his shoulders to straighten. He didn't want Delorah to see this version of himself — the Adrian his father had called, the son under pressure and wrapped in expectations he wanted nothing to do with.

Downstairs, his stepmother was waiting, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

"Well, Adrian," she said, voice smooth but icy. "Did you sleep at all? I trust last night's conversation with your father gave you plenty to think about."

Kit gritted his teeth but nodded. "I'm handling it."

She gave a thin smile. "Good. Because the contract with that family… It was signed last night. Your father expects you to be ready."

Ready. The word tasted bitter on his tongue.

"I understand," Kit said quietly. "I'll do what's necessary."

Her eyes softened for a brief moment, but the mask didn't slip. "We're all counting on you."

Kit swallowed the knot in his throat. The weight of the name Adrian — the boy who lost his mother to a fire, the name he hated, the name his father still used like a chain — pressed down harder than ever.

When she left the room, Kit stood alone, the silence almost suffocating.

He pulled out his phone and typed a quick message to Delorah:

"Things are getting worse. Just… don't forget who I am when this all hits."

He didn't know if she'd reply. But he needed her to remember him — not Adrian, not the family's pawn — just Kit.

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Kit pushed his plate away, the last bite of breakfast he had warmed up tasteless in his mouth. His stepmother's clipped words still echoed in his mind, but before he could fully process them, the front door creaked open.

"Looking for me?" Sebastian's voice sliced through the quiet kitchen like a blade. Kit barely had time to register his brother's presence before Sebastian was leaning casually against the counter, a smug grin plastered across his face.

"I hear you're still in the dark about some family business," Sebastian said, his steel gray eyes practically gleaming with satisfaction.

Kit's jaw tightened. "What are you talking about?"

Sebastian chuckled, stepping closer, his tone mocking. "About last night—Delorah and I. Our families made it official. We're engaged. She's going to be my wife, Adrian. Isn't that something?"

Kit's breath caught. His mind raced, shock crashing over him like icy waves. "You're… what?"

"Surprised?" Sebastian shrugged, as if announcing the weather. "You should be. You didn't even know, did you? Funny how these things happen behind your back."

Kit's fists clenched at his sides. "You're gloating."

"Only because it's true," Sebastian said smoothly. "She's perfect for me. Powerful, smart, and from a family that actually means something. Not like you—just the forgotten son hiding behind a fake name."

The sting of Sebastian's words burned, but Kit refused to let him see it. "This isn't over."

Sebastian's grin widened. "Oh, it's just begun, little brother. You'll get your chance to play the part, whether you like it or not."

With that, Sebastian turned on his heel and left Kit standing alone, the weight of his brother's revelation settling like a stone in his chest.

Kit didn't move.

His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the distant sound of a closing door. Delorah. Engaged. To Sebastian. It didn't feel real. Couldn't be. His thoughts scrambled, looking for a thread that made sense—some detail he'd missed, some sign she would've given him. But there had been nothing. Just that moment in the dark on the swing, her breath close to his, her hand brushing his. Just her.

He swallowed hard, stomach turning.

Of course it was Sebastian. Of course his father would orchestrate it this way—tying their family to the LaRoches through the golden son. Kit's fingers curled tightly around the edge of the counter. He was always one step behind, always the shadow to Sebastian's spotlight. And now… now Delorah was being tied to him too.

A bitter laugh almost escaped. Of course she didn't know. She couldn't. She would've told him. Wouldn't she?

But another voice inside whispered doubt. You're not the version of yourself they want. You're not Adrian. You're Kit—the broken one. The mistake.

He gritted his teeth, dragging in a breath like it might hold him together.

No. His head buzzed loud, thoughts spiraling into several different directions. If he could just….

He turned from the counter and walked out of the kitchen—fast, like if he stopped moving, he might fall apart.

Delorah sat at the kitchen table, her untouched toast growing cold on the plate in front of her. Her mother sat across from her, sipping espresso with the same calm detachment she used to deliver shocking news—like announcing they'd be relocating to Switzerland or pulling Del from school for a last-minute gala in Milan.

But today, the quiet was thicker. 

Intentional.

Del picked at a corner of her toast, then set it down. "You're being weird," she said finally.

Her mother blinked, setting the espresso down with a soft clink. "Am I?"

"Yes. You are. And you've been weird since last night." Her father was out on the terrace, phone pressed to his ear, gesturing like he was finalizing some business deal. But it was the glance he'd exchanged with her mother earlier—the one Delorah caught in the mirror reflection—that set her teeth on edge. 

That and the sudden, mysterious dinner they'd insisted she dress up for the night before.

Her mother folded her hands. "You're seventeen now."

"I'm aware."

"And you know how important our family name is. How delicate these arrangements can be."

Del's stomach sank. No.

Her mother reached into her handbag and pulled out a document—a thick cream-colored folder tied with a satin ribbon. She slid it across the table.

"What is this?" Del asked, but she didn't touch it.

Her mother gave her a small, polite smile. "An opportunity. For all of us."

Del picked it up with numb fingers. As she opened it, her eyes caught the words preliminary marital agreement, and then further down—

Sebastian Victor Honey.

She stared.

The blood drained from her face.

"You can't be serious."

"We are. It's been signed. Finalized last night, in good faith between both families. Sebastian is an excellent match—"

"Sebastian is—" She stood so fast her chair scraped loudly across the tile. "He's Kit's brother. He knows I—" She bit the words back too late, hands trembling.

Her mother's eyes sharpened. "You've been seeing Kit?"

"I haven't been seeing anyone," Del lied, voice brittle. "He's in one of my classes. That's it."

A long pause.

Her mother tapped her nails against the espresso cup. "Be careful, Delorah. You're not a little girl anymore. And in this world, there's no such thing as harmless attachment."

"I didn't agree to this."

"You didn't have to. You're part of something bigger than just yourself now."

Delorah's breath hitched, her heart twisting in her chest. "I won't do it."

Her mother didn't answer. She didn't have to.

The contract sat between them like a loaded gun.

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Delorah shut the door to her room with more force than she meant to. The click of it echoed behind her like the final word in an argument she hadn't been allowed to finish. 

Her mother's voice still rang in her head, calm and calculating as she spoke about "family legacy" and "what's best for everyone." But nowhere in that conversation had Delorah been mentioned—as if her life was just another business arrangement.

She paced once, then twice, her breath shaky. Her phone buzzed on the bed, drawing her attention. She picked it up, expecting maybe a message from Cassie or some irrelevant notification.

It was Kit.

Things are getting worse. Just… don't forget who I am when this all hits.

Delorah sank onto the mattress slowly, thumb hovering over the screen. The ache in her chest flared at the words. Not just what he said—but the way he said it, like he was already fading. Like he didn't believe he could hold on to who he was once everything came crashing down.

She typed slowly at first, then faster as her frustration and panic finally found a crack to pour through.

Delorah: I won't forget. Not now. Not ever. I don't care what they're planning, I still see you. The one who stayed with me that night. The one who looked scared when he said his real name. That's the one I'm holding on to.

Her finger hovered over the send button—just for a second—then tapped it.

The message sent with a quiet whoosh. And for a moment, her hands didn't shake as much.

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Kit was still sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over like something heavy had been stitched into his spine. The house felt colder than it was—like even the walls had heard what Sebastian said. Delorah. Contract. Marriage.

He couldn't move. Couldn't think straight. The silence was roaring.

Then his phone buzzed in his hand.

He almost didn't look—expecting another missed call from his father or a text from Sebastian rubbing it in further.

But it was her.

He read the message once. Then again.

I won't forget. Not now. Not ever. I don't care what they're planning, I still see you. The one who stayed with me that night. The one who looked scared when he said his real name. That's the one I'm holding on to.

His eyes stung before he realized he wasn't breathing. He sucked in a breath like it hurt, chest tight, throat tighter.

She saw him. Not Kit. Not Adrian. Him. That mess in between who didn't know how to be anything except scared and angry and pretending.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Kit: I don't deserve that. But I need it anyway.

He hesitated—then added:

Kit: You're the only thing that feels real right now.

Send.

He dropped the phone beside him, leaned forward, and pressed both hands against his face.

She had no idea what they'd done—what they were planning—but she would. Soon. And when she did?

He could only hope she still meant it.