Three lectures later, the energy of Valcrest shifted. The lunch bell rang, echoing through the polished halls like a sigh of freedom—low, sweet, and a little rebellious.
Doors flung open. Laughter burst out in clusters. Conversations drifted on the air like bubbles—weekend plans, internship gossip, whispers of professors and parties. The cafeteria became a beacon, and students poured toward it in waves, hungry for more than food.
Among them walked Elizabeth Ashford and Sarah Smith.
Elizabeth's steps were poised, a quiet rhythm that barely kissed the ground. Her presence was still, like a reflection in undisturbed water. Sarah beside her was all thunder—heels clicking like firecrackers, curls bouncing, voice animated and unapologetically alive.
They grabbed their trays—grilled chicken, jasmine rice, cucumber salad—and made their way to the glass-walled corner. A secluded table that no one dared to claim.
It was theirs. Always had been.
The moment they sat, Sarah let out a dramatic groan and stabbed a cherry tomato like it owed her money.
"Three lectures on the first day?" she grumbled. "What is this, boot camp for future CEOs? My brain's still on vacation mode. I swear, if I hear the word 'synergy' one more time, I'm legally allowed to scream."
Elizabeth, calm as a winter morning, lifted her spoon with slow elegance. "You're the one who chose Business Strategy."
Sarah narrowed her eyes. "I was young and naïve. It was a moment of weakness."
Elizabeth's lips curled—just a little. The kind of almost-smile that made people look twice, unsure if they'd imagined it.
Sarah grinned like she'd won a prize. "See? There it is. That microscopic smile. I knew I could drag it out."
"Barely."
"Still counts." She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "So, tell me, Ms. Mysterious—why business?"
Elizabeth paused.
Her spoon hovered over her rice, eyes flicking to the sunlight that spilled across the table. The cafeteria noise—clattering trays, scattered laughter—dulled into the background.
"…So my father doesn't have to work so hard," she said, barely above a whisper.
Sarah's heart tugged. The answer wasn't textbook. It wasn't polished or planned. It was just real.
She didn't tease. Didn't prod. Just nodded softly, her gaze warm.
Sometimes, the strongest people say the softest truths.
The day crawled forward. Group assignments, attendance lists, course outlines that promised suffering. And finally, mercifully, the last lecture ended.
The university spilled open again. Students rushed out like champagne from an uncorked bottle.
Elizabeth walked calmly toward the gates, where her black car waited like a shadow from a dream. The driver opened the door. She stepped in.
Inside, the hum of the world dulled.
Outside, the city sparkled with life—neon signs, café lights, couples laughing beneath umbrellas. But inside the car, silence wrapped around her like a second skin.
She leaned against the window, her cheek resting against her hand.
Stillness.
Then, at a red light, another car slid to a gentle stop beside hers.
Inside it, a boy of twenty-one—brows furrowed in mild boredom, scrolling lazily through his phone—glanced up.
And everything paused.
His gaze landed on her.
The girl in the next car.
Her hair shimmered like frost in moonlight. Her skin pale, glowing soft beneath the city's lights. And her eyes… those quiet, haunting eyes…
They weren't looking at him. They were looking through everything. Past people, past places. Like she was waiting for someone who hadn't come. Like she already knew they wouldn't.
His heart stuttered.
He didn't know her name. Didn't know her story.
But something in him whispered—She's not like the rest.
Before he could process the thought, the light turned green.
Her car slipped away into the night.
But her eyes?They stayed.
A whisper in his chest.A song with no lyrics.A question he suddenly wanted to answer.
Elizabeth returned to the mansion. The silence met her at the door—soft, familiar, almost tender in its coldness.
Nanny Lucy greeted her with a smile, warm but tired.
"Your father left for a business trip last night," she said, smoothing Elizabeth's hair with a motherly touch. "He said he'll call when he lands."
Elizabeth nodded. Her throat felt too small to speak.
Dinner came and went—a quiet, elegant ritual. Silverware against porcelain, candlelight flickering above an empty chair across from her.
Too much space.Too few people.Too many shadows.
She changed into soft pajamas and wandered barefoot to the window, hugging her arms against the chill.
Outside, the moon hung low. Beautiful. Distant.
Just like everything else.
She crawled beneath her blanket, face turned to the ceiling where shadows moved like ghosts she knew too well.
And in the hush of that quiet mansion, with no one left to pretend for, she whispered—
"When will life stop feeling this lonely…?"
No one answered.
Only the night.
And eventually… sleep.