Elias sat in his office, legs crossed, flipping through a file with the enthusiasm of someone reading a washing machine manual for the sixth time. The numbers blurred, the words danced, and his head—well, his head was hosting a rock concert with no invitation.
He closed the file and tossed it across the desk like it had personally offended him.
His hand pressed to his temple. Throb. Throb. Throb. Like a heartbeat, but louder, meaner, and laced with electricity.
This wasn't just stress. He knew stress. He'd been raised on it, built an empire with it, probably owed it his entire net worth.
But this? This was different.
He stood up too quickly. Regretted it. The world tilted slightly, like it wasn't quite sure which way was up anymore.
"Sir?" his assistant's voice came through the intercom, annoyingly chirpy. "You have a meeting in—"
"Cancel it."
"Should I—"
"No." His tone shut her up immediately.
He grabbed his coat, ignored the way his vision shimmered around the edges, and left.
He probably shouldn't have driven, but the idea of sitting in the backseat of his own car while someone else watched him fall apart felt… humiliating.
If you've ever been a billionaire in a hospital with no appointment, you'll know money means absolutely nothing when the receptionist is on a power trip.
He sat in the waiting room, surrounded by coughing toddlers and a guy who looked like he'd been sneezed out of a garbage truck. Charming.
Elias tapped his fingers against his knee. The pain in his skull hadn't eased. If anything, it had spread — slithering down his neck, curling behind his eyes like smoke.
Finally, his name was called.
He didn't thank the nurse. Didn't look at her. Just walked in with that cold, expressionless face that made business rivals piss themselves.
Dr. Moretti was a middle-aged man with calm eyes and the kind of voice that said, "I've ruined lives before lunch."
"We'll run a scan," he said after Elias listed the symptoms with the usual clipped tone of someone used to being obeyed.
"Look," Elias leaned forward, trying not to wince, "I've had migraines before. Give me something strong enough to knock out a horse and let me get back to my actual problems."
The doctor didn't budge. "I think we should scan anyway. Just to rule some things out."
Elias wanted to argue. But the next wave of pain made him shut up and nod.
The doctor returned with the kind of expression you only see in movies right before someone dies.
Elias noticed immediately. He had a gift for reading people — a survival instinct dressed in Gucci.
"Well?" he asked, voice sharp.
"You have a brain tumor."
No build-up. No sugarcoating. Just those five words.
Elias blinked. Slowly. Like his brain was buffering.
"Excuse me?"
"We found a mass on the scan," the doctor continued, flipping to the image like it was a damn show-and-tell. "It's small, but aggressive. You'll need a biopsy to confirm type… but judging by its placement and shape, you likely have two years."
"Two years of what?" Elias asked dryly.
"Living."
There it was. Just like that. No drama. No music. Just… Living. Slipping through his fingers like sand.
Elias leaned back in the chair, stared at the ceiling, and let out a sharp, humorless laugh.
"You know, my mother has been nagging me to fall in love. That's hilarious now, isn't it?" he said. The sarcasm was his shield.
The doctor didn't laugh. Doctors never do.
"You'll need to make some decisions. Treatment, family…"
"Family?" Elias snorted. "The only thing worse than dying is dragging someone into it with me."
He stood, fixed his collar, and looked at himself in the mirror on the wall.
The same Elias Knight stared back. Impeccable. Cold. Composed.
But now he had an expiration date.
Amara collapsed onto the worn-out couch, arms crossed like a shield. Her mum stood nearby, arms on her hips, trying to look calm but failing.
"You're being so stubborn," her mum said, voice too soft to be convincing. "This marriage… it's for your own good. You don't see the bigger picture."
Amara raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Oh, the bigger picture? Like being traded off like a prize cow at a livestock auction? Sounds like a dream."
Leaning forward, her eyes flashed. "Let me spell it out for you. They don't want me. They want what I bring — the connections, the money, the whole circus. Me? I'm just the show."
Her mum paced slowly, biting her lip, trying to keep her cool. "It's not like that. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for the family. You think love is easy? It's complicated. You don't always get what you want."
Amara shot up, voice rising. "So what? You want me to swallow that like bitter medicine? You don't love me. You're just throwing me into a trap and calling it protection. That's not love — that's a death sentence with a pretty bow on top."
Her mum froze for a moment, then sighed deeply. "You're young. You think you know everything. But life… life is about making hard choices. Sometimes, the hard choice looks like a trap."
Amara snorted, dripping with sarcasm. "Oh sure, because nothing screams 'hard choice' like marrying a cold, heartless CEO who treats me like a business asset. Next, you'll tell me burnt toast for breakfast is good for my soul."
Her mum chuckled despite herself. "Alright, maybe not the toast. But sometimes you have to fake it till you make it. You'll see."
Smirking, Amara folded her arms again. "Fake it? That's your grand plan? Guess what, I'm not an actress, and this isn't a movie. I'm real. And I'm not signing up for your plan without a fight."
They stared each other down, tension thick enough to cut—but somewhere beneath it, a fragile thread of love still lingered.
Xavier's phone rang just as he was about to shut his locker. He saw "Dad" flashing on the screen and hesitated. Probably another lecture.
"Xavier, what the hell is going on with your district?!" His dad's voice blasted through the speaker like a storm. "The numbers are pathetic. I don't know why I even bothered giving you this part of the business!"
Xavier rolled his eyes so hard they practically threatened to get stuck. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, Dad. I'm a failure. Heard it since I was ten."
"Failure? You're more than a failure—you're a damn embarrassment!" The shouting cut deeper than Xavier wanted to admit.
He gritted his teeth and leaned against the locker, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Thanks for the reminder. Really helps my self-esteem."
His dad barked something about Elias's district booming and how Xavier needed to shape up or get out. Then the line went dead.
Xavier let out a bitter laugh and slid down to sit on the floor, pulling his knees close like armor.
Just like old times.
He remembered the childhood dinners where his dad's disappointment hung in the air thicker than the burnt lasagna his mom tried to pass off as food. The endless comparisons to Elias—the "golden son" who could do no wrong. The whispered talks, the silent sighs when Xavier messed up a little thing.
"Maybe I'm just the family joke," Xavier muttered, voice low and cracked. "Always been. Always will be."
He looked at his phone again—no new messages from Amara, no signs anyone really believed in him.
Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. "Tomorrow's supposed to be different, huh? Yeah, sure."
Xavier closed his eyes, the noise around him fading into the background as memories crashed in like a bad movie rerun.
There he was, eight years old, standing in the schoolyard while a group of kids circled him like sharks eyeing their next meal.
"Hey, loser! Why don't you go cry to your big brother, huh?" one sneered, pushing him lightly but enough to send his books tumbling.
Xavier bent down, picking up the scattered pages as laughter echoed around him. "Yeah, I'm just the 'family joke,'" he muttered under his breath, voice barely louder than the wind.
But the real sting came later, at home. Dinner was supposed to be a break from the battlefield of school, but instead, it was the "Elias show."
His dad, with a glare that could freeze fire, said, "Why can't you be more like your brother? Elias doesn't have these problems."
His mom shot him a quick look, the kind that said, "Don't argue, it's just how it is."
Xavier clenched his fists, sarcasm bubbling up like a defense mechanism. "Oh, great. Because being the 'perfect son' means never making mistakes, right? Newsflash, Dad—Elias isn't exactly a saint either."
But no one heard that, because no one wanted to hear it.
He learned early that being 'Xavier' meant being the punchline, the disappointment, the guy everyone counted out before he even had a chance.
And now, years later, with the weight of his dad's latest call pressing down on him, it all felt like a never-ending rerun.
"Maybe I'm just the family joke," he whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat.
The night was quiet, but inside the grand house, Diana's smile was anything but warm.
"Amara, darling, I think you've had enough fresh air for one evening." Her voice was honey-coated, but the steel underneath was clear.
Amara rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Mum, seriously? Let me go out. I need to clear my head."
Diana's smile didn't falter as she gently but firmly steered Amara toward the upstairs hallway.
"You'll thank me later, sweetheart. It's for your own good."
Just then, the doorbell rang. Diana's eyes twinkled with mischief.
"Perfect timing," she whispered, opening the door to reveal Mrs. Knight, sleek and cold as ever.
Within minutes, the two mothers were whispering conspiratorially.
"Elias must be involved," Mrs. Knight said with a sly grin.
Diana nodded, her eyes sharp. "Let's make sure they spend some… quality time together."
As Amara barely had time to protest, Diana gently but firmly pushed her into a nearby room—and before she could react, the door slammed shut and locked.
"Mom! What are you doing?!" Amara pounded on the door, panic creeping into her voice.
"It's for your good, darling. Trust me."
Across the hall, Mrs. Knight did the same with Elias, ushering him into the same room and locking the door behind him with a chilling click.
Inside, Amara's eyes met Elias's across the room, a mix of shock, irritation, and something unspoken passing between them.
"Well, this is awkward," Elias muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Amara shot him a look. "You think?"
The two were trapped—forced by their mothers, caught in a room where words would fly sharper than any knife, and where secrets might just slip out.
Amara stared at the locked door like it had personally offended her.
"Oh, hell no," she muttered, walking up and yanking the handle. "Mum! Open this door! What is this—some medieval matchmaking?"
Silence.
Elias, hands in his pockets, leaned against the wall looking entirely unbothered. "You know yelling won't help, right?"
She turned slowly to him. "You're calm because you're used to this lunatic behavior. I'm not."
Amara stepped back and kicked the door with her barefoot. Bad idea.
"Yow!" she hissed, hopping on one foot.
Elias chuckled. "Really? You think your little chicken bones can break that door?"
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Chicken bones?"
"Delicate. Fragile. You know, like a stick that's never seen a gym—"
"Okay. Cool." She kicked off her slippers, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Come say that to my face."
Before Elias could blink, Amara launched toward him.
He darted around the coffee table. "Woah! Relax, Mighty Mouse!"
"Come here and let these chicken bones show you something!" she snapped, chasing him in circles.
"You're mad!" Elias laughed, barely dodging a throw pillow she lobbed at him.
Meanwhile, downstairs…
Mrs. Knight sipped tea and turned to Diana with a satisfied smirk. "See? Told you they just needed a push."
Diana smiled, clapping her hands together. "Perfect chemistry."
Back upstairs, Amara lunged again. Elias sidestepped — but this time, miscalculated. His foot caught the corner of the rug.
Gravity betrayed him.
He tumbled forward — and landed right on Amara, who yelped as they hit the floor in a tangled mess.
A heavy silence followed.
His face was inches from hers. Breath mingling. Her eyes wide. His hand braced beside her head.
"I—" Elias started, suddenly hyper-aware of how close her lips were.
"Get. Off. Me," she said, her voice low but not angry—more… startled.
He rolled off quickly, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck. "Well. That was… graceful."
Amara sat up too, hair messy, trying not to smile. "For someone dying, you move fast."
He blinked. "Wait—you know?"
She arched an eyebrow. "About the tumor? Please. I overheard your mum talking to someone."
Another pause. This one wasn't playful.
"You're not gonna make it weird now, are you?" Elias muttered.
"Depends. You gonna insult my bones again?" she asked.
And for a second, despite everything — the arranged marriage, the manipulation, the secrets — they both smiled.
Elias stood up first, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt like he'd just wrestled a bear.
Amara sat on the floor, arms crossed. "You know, for someone who acts like he's got a stick up his designer suit, you're surprisingly clumsy."
He raised a brow. "Wow. Big talk from someone who just got body-slammed by fate."
"You tripped, Elias."
"And you broke my fall. That's teamwork."
She scoffed, pushing herself up. "Your version of teamwork is falling on people like a wardrobe."
"Hey," he said, mock-offended, "at least wardrobes have structure."
Amara snorted. "Yeah, and splinters. Like your personality."
He clutched his chest like she'd just stabbed him. "Ouch. Right in the fragile male ego."
They both started laughing, the kind of laugh you don't mean to have in a situation that isn't supposed to be funny.
Then silence crept back in.
Amara walked to the tiny window and peeked out. "So… are we seriously stuck here? Like, all night?"
Elias shrugged. "If our lovely mothers have anything to do with it, probably. Bet they're downstairs doing a happy dance over their matchmaking mission."
"Oh, 100%," she said. "Diana's probably sipping wine saying 'Look at them bonding, so cute'."
He did an impression of Mrs. Knight. "'It's working perfectly, Diana. They'll fall in love and produce heirs by next Thursday.'"
Amara choked on her laugh. "Ew, why would you say heirs like that? You sound like an evil Victorian aunt."
He grinned. "I've been raised by one, remember?"
They stared at each other, amusement fading into something warmer.
Until Amara grabbed a throw pillow and smacked him with it.
He blinked. "What was that for?!"
"You jinxed it. We're gonna be here till morning now."
Elias picked up another pillow slowly, grinning. "So it's war, then."
Five minutes later, the room looked like a pillow massacre.
Downstairs, Diana and Mrs. Knight paused at the faint thuds and muffled laughter.
Mrs. Knight smiled smugly. "They're bonding."
Diana sipped her wine. "Or killing each other."
"Either way… progress."
Upstairs, things were mostly quiet—aside from the occasional thump, a suspicious squeal, and what sounded like an emotional pillow being abused.
But downstairs, Xavier's phone buzzed with a message.
Mrs. Knight: "They're getting along better than we hoped. Progress, finally."
He froze. They?
He called her.
"Mum. Who's getting along?"
"Your brother and Amara," she said lightly, like she was announcing a wedding cake delivery. "They're bonding. In the room."
"The… what room?" he asked, already standing up.
"The guest room."
"Together?"
"Yes, together. Alone. In the same airspace. You know, the basics of romantic tension."
Xavier didn't wait to hear another word. He stormed out of the car, up the stairs, and to the door. His fist banged against the wood like it owed him money.
"Open this door!" he yelled.
From inside, Amara flinched. "Wait… isn't that Xavier's voice?"
Elias raised an eyebrow. "Aww. You know my brother's voice by sound? So romantic. Are y'all secretly married or just emotionally synced?"
Amara rolled her eyes. "Me? In love with that stupid guy? Hell no. I have standards. Low ones, but still."
"Well," Elias said, leaning against the wall, "I think he likes you. Like, a lot."
"Oh shut up," she growled, lunging at him. "Come here, let me beat that nonsense out of you."
He laughed, dodged once—barely—then tripped over the corner of the rug. Again. Classic.
Amara, mid-jump, didn't have time to redirect. She ended up pinning him down—legs around his neck like she was trying out for Mortal Kombat.
"Are you trying to kill me?" he choked, dramatically flailing as she smirked.
"Just softening you up."
The door suddenly swung open.
Standing there was Xavier… mouth slightly open, staring at the tangled mess of limbs on the floor.
Diana, behind him, was smiling like she'd won the matchmaking Olympics.
Mrs. Knight, ever the drama queen, leaned in and stage-whispered to Elias: "Enjoy yourself, sweetheart. I want twins."
"IT'S NOT WHAT YOU THINK!" Elias and Amara shouted in unison.
Amara shoved him off. "Get off me, you moron!"
"Hey, you tackled me! That's on you!"
They scrambled to their feet like guilty kids caught sneaking out past curfew. Xavier turned and stormed off, fists clenched.
"Xavier—" Amara started.
Mrs. Knight held up a hand. "Let him go. He'll survive. Probably."
Diana smiled dreamily at Elias. "Such chemistry. I should've brought popcorn."
Then, as if nothing happened, both mothers shut the door again.
Click.
Locked.
Silence.
Amara slowly turned to Elias. "Look. What. You. Caused."
He opened his mouth. "I'm sor—"
"Shut up," she snapped, dragging a pillow dramatically over her face as she flopped onto the bed.
Elias sighed, staring at the ceiling. "Well… at least we know your legs are strong."
"Do you want me to murder you in your sleep?"
"…Not really."
The second Xavier got in his car, he slammed the door harder than necessary — like that was going to help unsee what he saw.
He didn't even start the engine right away. Just sat there, staring at the steering wheel like it personally betrayed him.
Elias and Amara. On the floor. Her leg literally wrapped around him like a UFC move gone romantic. Their moms clapping like it was a wedding rehearsal. What the hell.
He leaned back in his seat, dragging both hands down his face. "Wow," he muttered, laughing — not because it was funny. It was that bitter kind of laugh, the kind that hurts your chest a little.
He started the car. Drove.
But he didn't go home straight. Nah. Home meant questions. His dad asking about the district reports. His mom pretending she didn't just ruin his entire day with a lock-and-trap stunt.
So, he just… drove.
Rain started tapping the windshield like a sad little soundtrack to his misery. Of course it rained. As if heartbreak needed background music.
Pulling over near a quiet street, he finally parked. No lights. No sound. Just him and the hum of the engine.
"Why her?" he whispered to no one.
It wasn't like they were dating. Not really. She made that painfully clear the moment she cut him off after that kiss. But still. He knew her. He felt something. And seeing her like that with Elias — his own brother — it cracked something in him.
He remembered when they were younger. Elias always got the gold stars. The approval. The better district. The trust.
Now he gets the girl too?
Xavier clenched the steering wheel, knuckles pale. "I'm tired of being second."
Then, softer. Almost broken:
"I'm tired of not being enough."
He didn't cry — he wasn't built like that. But his eyes burned. And the silence in the car? It was deafening.
By the time Xavier made it home, the rain had stopped but his mood hadn't. He parked like a man possessed, slammed the car door (again — he was two for two now), and dragged himself up the steps.
The moment he opened the door, he was greeted by his father's voice.
"You're late. Again."
Xavier closed his eyes for a second. Perfect. Just perfect. He didn't even get the chance to breathe before walking into Round Two of Today's Emotional Breakdown.
His father stood by the fireplace, holding a glass of something expensive. Probably whiskey. Probably judgment.
"You went to the Knight estate, didn't you?" the man asked without looking up.
Xavier didn't answer. What was the point?
"Don't tell me you're still sniffing around that girl. Your brother's fiancée." He scoffed, then took a slow sip. "As if things weren't already embarrassing enough with your district underperforming."
And there it was. The dagger. Polished and thrown with perfect aim.
Xavier chuckled bitterly. "Nice to see you still think I'm the family clown."
His dad turned to him now, face hard like stone. "No, Xavier. Clowns entertain. You disappoint."
The words landed harder than expected. He wasn't even sure why. He'd heard worse. But maybe today — with Amara, with Elias, with the kiss video still living rent-free in everyone's head — maybe today it hurt more.
"I didn't choose to be born second," he muttered, voice low.
"No, but you sure as hell chose to stay second." His dad didn't even blink. "If you spent half the time focusing on business as you do chasing women who want nothing to do with you, maybe I wouldn't be ashamed to introduce you as my son."
Xavier stared at him, jaw clenched, throat burning.
Not because he wanted to cry.
But because it was true.
Because no matter what he did, it was never enough.
He turned without a word and walked upstairs — quietly, this time. No slamming doors. No muttered curses.
Just silence.
The kind that wraps around your neck and squeezes when no one's looking.