A Quiet Life Denied

Outside the college..

The sleek black Mercedes purred at the curb, its polished surface reflecting the fractured glow of the streetlights. Two SUVs bracketed it front and back, engines low and steady, forming a convoy that looked more like a political escort than a school pickup.

Celeste stood on the steps, earbuds still in, watching the driver stride forward with his usual practiced grace. He was tall, dark-suited, and always smiling in a way that seemed half-charm, half-profession.

"Good evening, my lady," he said warmly, opening the back door with a theatrical little bow. "How was your day?"

"It was fine," Celeste replied curtly. She stepped toward the car, chestnut hair swinging with the motion. Her eyes flicked toward him, irritation surfacing. "Do you really have to pick me up every day? I'm not a spoiled child."

The driver's smile never faltered. He closed the umbrella of rain-slick night air around her as she slid inside. "It is an order from your mother," he said gently, "and you know this isn't about pampering. This is about your safety."

Celeste sighed and folded her arms, leaning back into the soft leather. "Fine."

The driver inclined his head, voice soft as he closed the door. "Then I am grateful to serve you."

Outside, he lifted a walkie-talkie to his lips. "The young lady has entered the vehicle. Secure position."

Engines rumbled in response. The convoy pulled forward, the SUVs slotting neatly around the Mercedes like wolves guiding their pack.

Inside, Celeste stared at the passing city. Neon signs smeared across the tinted glass, blurring into ribbons of color. She pulled her hood over her head, earbuds slipping back in, drowning herself in music. The bass reverberated faintly through her ribs, enough to keep her tethered, but not enough to stop her eyes from sliding shut.

Sleep took her faster than she expected.

And in the space of a single breath, the world fell away.

The world was rain-soaked and gray, a bridge stretching into mist. At the far end stood a woman in a white dress. Her dark hair blew wild in the wind, her shoulders trembling as if under a weight too heavy to bear.

Victoria.

Celeste's chest tightened. "Mom?"

Victoria's eyes shimmered with tears. She turned, lips parting with words carried by the storm. "I'm sorry, my child."

Then she stepped off the edge.

"NOOOO!" Celeste screamed, bolting upright in her seat. Her eyes flew open, the last vestiges of the nightmare clinging to her like a shroud. Tears pricked at the edge of her vision, but she refused to let them fall.

"Are you alright, my lady?" the driver asked, his voice low with concern.

Celeste didn't answer. She shoved the door open before he could react, darting past the guards stationed at the entrance. Their crisp salutes blurred as she ran.

Inside. Into light. Into warmth.

She found her at once.

Victoria stood in the foyer, papers in hand, her sharp eyes flicking over the fine print as she instructed a staff member. Her voice was calm, clipped, professional.

Celeste crashed into her, arms wrapping tight. The file nearly slipped from her mother's grasp.

"Ah—" Victoria startled, then her tone melted into maternal concern. "Sweetheart? What's wrong?"

Celeste shook her head quickly, voice muffled against silk fabric. "Nothing. I just… wanted to hug you."

Victoria's stern composure cracked instantly. She softened, her hand rising to stroke Celeste's hair, her lips pressing a kiss to her temple. "We were only apart for a few hours, and you missed me this much?" Her voice dropped into that smitten, playful lilt reserved for no one else. "You're such a lovely daughter."

Celeste buried her face deeper, inhaling the faint scent of perfume and paper ink. For a moment, she was small again. Safe.

"Mom—can't breathe," she gasped eventually.

Victoria released her with a laugh. "Oh. Sorry, darling."

Celeste looked up, her eyes still faintly glassy. "Can I help you tonight? You're always busy… with everything. I want to do something too."

Victoria's brows lifted in pleasant surprise. Then she smiled, warm and mischievous. "Alright then. Let's make it a mother-daughter work night. But if we're working, we're also snacking. That's non-negotiable."

Celeste nodded quickly, relief warming her chest. "Deal."

The mansion lights glowed golden around them, chasing the dream's shadow to the edges of her mind.

But it didn't vanish. It lingered.

Elsewhere — The Café

The café was a neon-lit pocket of warmth against the cold city night. Fryer oil hung heavy in the air, mixing with the sharp tang of burnt coffee. Grease shimmered on every surface; ketchup bottles leaned half-empty on chipped laminate tables.

Maxim Petrova sat in the corner booth, hood pulled low, silver hair spilling in faint strands beneath the fabric. His green eyes scanned the room lazily, a predator watching prey in an empty field.

A waitress approached—young, apron dusted with flour, smile a little too nervous. "What can I get for you, sir?"

Maxim's lips curled, smooth and practiced. "A double cheeseburger. And a chocolate milkshake, extra thick."

The girl scribbled, nodded. "Right away."

Her shoes squeaked faintly as she hurried back. Maxim's eyes lingered on her retreating figure. His tongue pressed briefly against his teeth, a gesture both subtle and obscene.

"Six at best from the front," he murmured to himself. "But her back… ah, that's a ten."

He was enjoying the view but then.

The moment fractured with a shadow.

A man slid into the seat across from him without asking. Blonde hair, close-cropped beard, black coat still dripping from the rain. His presence carried weight—the kind of man used to being listened to.

"You're Maxim Petrova," the man said flatly.

Maxim didn't look impressed. He adjusted his hood slightly, a lazy tilt of his head. "And if I am?"

The stranger leaned forward, voice low. "Then I'll make this simple. I've heard rumors you're thinking about messing with the Ardent family. Don't. You just arrived in this city. You don't know what you're dealing with."

Maxim's gaze flicked lazily to the window. A black car idled at the curb outside. Through the glass, silhouettes moved—hard outlines of men holding rifles.

The stranger followed his gaze, lips curling into something between warning and threat. "See them? They're here to make sure you understand. Walk away now, and we won't have a problem."

The clatter of plates interrupted.

The waitress returned, setting down the burger and milkshake with a shy smile. "Here you go! Anything else I can get you?"

Maxim turned his attention to her, his expression brightening instantly. "Actually, yes." He leaned closer, voice soft and magnetic. "I've got a question. Are you a keyboard?"

The girl blinked, confused. "Um… excuse me?"

"Because," Maxim said smoothly, his eyes locking on hers, "you're exactly my type."

Color rose to her cheeks. She stammered, fumbling with her notepad. "Ah… Do you want my number"

"It seems I forgot My phone" Maxim said, while looking through his pockets.

Her hands patted her apron. "Oh—Should I write it down—"

Maxim smirked faintly. "Don't worry. I'll remember. A man would be ashamed to forget the number of a girl as pretty as you."

Her blush deepened. "My shift ends in fifteen minutes," she whispered, before darting away.

Maxim's smile lingered as he picked up the burger. He bit into it, grease dripping down his fingers. "Mmm. Not bad."

The stranger's patience cracked. His palm slammed against the table. "Are you ignoring me?"

Maxim chewed deliberately, swallowed, then looked him dead in the eye. "No. I heard you. Don't mess with the Ardent family." He licked grease from his thumb, voice dropping, sharp as broken glass. "But I don't respond well to threats."

Outside, gunfire erupted.

The windows rattled, a spray of blood splattering against the glass from within the SUV. Screams cut off abruptly. Smoke curled from shattered windshields. The black car was no longer filled with armed men. It was a coffin on wheels.

Inside the café, silence fell thick and sudden. The stranger's hand darted for his gun.

"Don't," Maxim said calmly. His other hand rested casually on his lap. His eyes glinted. "I've had a pistol pointed at your balls since the second you sat down. Move, and I'll redecorate the floor with you."

The blonde man froze, sweat trickling down his temple.

Maxim leaned forward, his smile widening—not charming this time, but sharp, wolfish. "Now. Since we're done with warnings… why don't you answer a few of mine?"

A/N

Thanks for reading the chapter! If you made it this far, please drop a comment—it means a lot to me.

XOXO