Chapter One: Three Bs and a stranger

Her POV:

I opened the envelope like it might explode.

B.

B.

B.

I blinked. Twice.

Then once more. But it didn't change.

Just three bold, indifferent letters staring up at me like they owned my future.

I didn't cry. I didn't scream. My fingers just went numb, trembling around the edges of the paper.

Across from me, my brother Elias sighed—loud enough for me to hear, quiet enough to still sound disappointed. He didn't even bother asking how I felt. Just glanced at the paper, shook his head, and leaned back into the sofa like he'd expected it.

My father, who had been standing by the doorway, folded his arms, said absolutely nothing, and walked straight back into his room.

The door closed like a full stop.

No one said "it's okay."

No one said "you tried."

Just silence, and me standing there, holding the death certificate of every dream I had written in the corners of my notebooks.

—

Dinner came with an unfamiliar kind of tension.

Mama walked into my room around 7pm holding a beige dress I didn't even remember owning.

"Wear this. Tie your hair up, please. Be decent."

Be decent?

I didn't even know what I was anymore.

When I walked into the dining room, I froze.

There were unfamiliar faces.

Men in suits. A woman with her hair tied neatly, soft pearls around her neck. All sitting like this was just another Tuesday. Kiyan's family. Calm. Composed. Expectant.

And in the middle of them — him.

Kiyan Alaric Rhodes.

Tall. Built like a statue from some forgotten time. Broad shoulders, rolled sleeves, the kind of presence that doesn't ask for attention but owns the whole room anyway. I have known him since kindegarden, not really interacted. He has been my senior and I don't think he has noticed me much (probably) and here he was

He didn't look up.

Didn't flinch.

Just kept eating. Like this was normal. Like I wasn't the girl being dropped into this chaos with zero warning.

My father and his — both seated at the heads of the table — were already mid-discussion. Something about responsibilities. Families. Agreements.

And I — I was just standing there, frozen in a dress I didn't choose, in a life I didn't recognize.

"Sit," my mother whispered.

I did. Mechanically. Right across from him.

His mother nodded politely. His younger sister (I assumed) looked away awkwardly. And him? He didn't even glance at me.

I stared at my plate.

My hands clenched around the fork, holding onto whatever shred of stability I had left.

That's when my father spoke, clear and cold:

"You're getting married."

My fork slipped from my fingers and hit the plate with a loud clatter.

I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't even look up.

My hands started shaking under the table.

It wasn't a tremble—it was a full-blown earthquake inside me, breaking everything I'd spent years building.

My sister, Isla, touched my shoulder gently, trying to pull me out of it.

But I couldn't look at her.

Couldn't look at him.

Couldn't look at anything but the pieces of my plate I hadn't even started eating.

"Just because I didn't get A's?"

"Just because I wasn't perfect?"

"Just because you're tired of investing in me?"

The thoughts came one after the other, crashing into me like waves, each one heavier than the last.

I saw every dream vanish like fog in heat — the university brochures under my bed, the Pinterest boards labeled "Future Me", the apartment wishlist I hadn't shown anyone.

Gone.

After dinner, my father didn't say another word.

Just stood up, gave me a single glance — not angry, not loving, just final — and walked away.

"Obey your mother," was all he said.

Mama didn't defend me.

She just looked at me with the same sad, useless eyes she always had. As if pity would fix anything.

I wanted to scream. To ask why. To yell this isn't fair.

But all I did was walk back to my room, quietly.

And write.

Because if I don't put this down somewhere, I might actually explode.

⸻

I didn't say a word.

I didn't even cry.

I just got up from the table, slow and steady, and walked back to my room like I was made of nothing.

Once inside, I locked the door, dropped the dress onto the floor, and stood in front of the mirror.

Barefoot.

Breathless.

Broken.

I looked at myself like I didn't recognize the girl staring back.

This wasn't the version of me I planned to become.

Not the one who wanted to travel.

Not the one who wanted her own apartment, her own career, her own name.

No — this girl in the mirror was what they made me.

A disappointment. A duty. A problem to hand off like a package they didn't know what to do with.

And for the first time in my life... I felt it.

Not sadness.

Not shame.

Rage.

Quiet. Cold. Sharp.

I pressed my hand against the glass, breathing shallowly.

"I'll get them back," I whispered.

"For every dream they crushed. Every word they didn't say. Every time they made me feel small."

The mirror didn't flinch. Neither did I.

I pressed harder.

Until my palm ached.

Until I could feel the sting crawl up my arm.

Until I remembered what it felt like to hurt myself before they could.

Not to bleed. Not to cry.

Just enough to remind myself.

I stood there in front of the mirror, staring into the eyes of someone I barely recognized anymore.

And the worst part?

This isn't new.

This isn't shocking.

This is just another chapter in the story I've never been allowed to write.

You don't scream in a house like mine.

You don't cry.

You don't ask why.

You stay silent.

You flinch quietly when he raises his voice.

You run when you hear the footsteps getting faster.

You cover the bruises with sleeves and the truth with silence.

My father never had to say "I'm disappointed."

He just had to look.

Or worse... act.

I've seen my mother crumpled on the floor, lip bleeding, hand shielding her head, whispering "It's okay, it was my fault."

And me?

I stood in the hallway. Frozen. Always frozen.

My brothers learned early — Elias especially.

If you speak too loud, you bleed.

If you disobey, you suffer.

If you question him, you're the reason the family is falling apart.

So we just stopped speaking.

And now I wonder if that's why none of them looked at me tonight.

Not one of them said, "She doesn't want this."

Not one of them said, "Let her choose."

Because no one in this house was ever allowed to choose anything.

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