After changing out of her embroidered skirt and puffed-sleeve blouse into a comfortable hoodie dress, Blair blended into the crowd of students heading home. The paper bags in her hands—one containing her elegant gown and the other her shoes—felt unnaturally heavy, the weight magnified by her tired, worn-out body. Each step seemed to sap what little energy she had left, the exhaustion of the long day pressing down on her like an invisible burden.

  Just as she stepped through the exit, Ezra emerged from the shadows, the soft glow of a nearby lamp illuminating the chiseled contours of his face. His sharp jawline and striking features, typically so composed, now bore an air of quiet sorrow. His piercing blue eyes seemed to carry the weight of unspoken emotions, their depth obscured by a heaviness that mirrored the subtle droop of his shoulders. The way he stood—still and watchful—gave him the appearance of someone adrift, yearning for something just beyond his grasp.

  “Blair,” he called, his voice cutting through the stillness like a chord struck on her piano.

  She froze mid-step, her weary legs momentarily immobilized as his voice echoed in her ears. However, she did not turn around. Instead, she deliberately ignored him, maintaining a stony expression as she tightened her grip on the paper bags and took another step forward. She pretended not to hear him, blending seamlessly into the stream of students moving past the gate. The muffled conversations and shuffling footsteps surrounding her became her shield, her cover, as she fought the instinct to glance back.

  “Blair,” he repeated, his tone now desperate and broken, as if he were begging her for just a moment of her time. “Please, let’s talk.”

  She paused once more, her breath catching as she weighed the decision to respond. Her fingers clenched tightly around the paper bags, her knuckles whitening from the strain. She bit her lip, stifling the surge of emotions that threatened to break free. At last, she turned slightly, her voice low and icy.

  “We have nothing to discuss—”

  Before she could finish, the low rumble of an engine interrupted her words. A sleek black 1967 Impala rolled up beside her. The car came to a smooth stop, and the driver’s side window lowered to reveal Spencer, his sharp eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and something more urgent.

  “You have some explaining to do regarding your performance today, little wicked,” he said, his voice calm yet urgent, the curious edge in his tone underscored by something far more serious.

  “Get in!”

  Before Blair could react, Ezra’s voice broke through, low and simmering with barely contained anger.

  “Where do you think you’re taking my fiancée, Mr. Brooks?” He asked sharply, his voice laced with anger as he stepped forward, clearly intent on preventing Blair from getting into the car.

  Spencer didn’t even flinch. Instead, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “And why should I answer you? I have business with her, not you,” he drawled, leaning back slightly in his seat, his smirk turning razor-sharp.

  Ezra’s jaw tightened as he stepped closer, his eyes locking onto Blair as if silently pleading with her.

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Ezra,” she said, her tone calm yet firm, leaving no room for argument.

  Without waiting for his response, she walked past him.

  Spencer watched her approach, his smirk softening a bit as he leaned over to open the passenger door. “Wise choice,” he remarked as she settled into the seat.

  He glanced at him through the window, his smirk returning in full force. “See? She knows her priorities.”

  With a soft click, he closed the passenger door, and Blair fastened her seatbelt, her gaze fixed ahead. The car surged forward, leaving Ezra behind, his expression a tumult of anger and helplessness illuminated by the pale glow of the streetlights.

  .....

  As soon as Spencer stepped inside the apartment, exuding the confidence of someone who owned the place, Chuchu froze. The kitten’s fur bristled, puffing up like a frightened porcupine. A low, sharp hiss escaped its throat, the sound more defiant than its trembling body suggested. Its wide, fearful eyes locked onto Spencer, glinting with an almost primal wariness, as though it sensed a far greater predator.

  The kitten crouched low, its tiny muscles taut with the instinct to pounce, yet paralyzed by an overwhelming fear. It edged toward Blair, its tail lashing nervously behind it, never breaking its wary gaze from Spencer. Chuchu emitted another growl-like hiss, its mouth curling back to reveal tiny teeth, but the sound wavered with unease.

  Spencer raised an eyebrow, his sharp gaze fixed on the trembling kitten. A slow, mocking smile spread across his face as he crouched slightly, lowering himself to the cat’s level. “How terrifying,” he drawled. “Boo...” The single word was soft yet carried a chilling edge, intended to scare the small creature.

  Chuchu hissed once more, its small body trembling as it clung to Blair’s leg like a frightened yet determined guardian. Spencer’s smirk lingered for a moment before fading as his attention shifted. His sharp eyes focused entirely on her, and a simmering anger replaced the amusement in his expression.

  “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

  The atmosphere in the apartment shifted instantly, the tension becoming almost suffocating. “That song you sang today—are you out of your mind? You practically announced to the world that you regained your memory.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Blair stiffened, her fingers instinctively tightening around the kitten. She opened her mouth to respond, but Spencer continued. His voice grew sharper, the words laced with frustration and urgency. “Do you really think they won’t notice?” He gestured vaguely, as if the unnamed threat required no introduction. “You’re practically handing the Abyssal Void the confirmation they’ve been waiting for.”

  “What do you think the meaning of the song is, Spencer?” she asked, her voice steady yet sharp. She stepped closer, her amber gaze piercing and locked onto his. “How did you know what it meant when not even my family—or Ezra—understood it?”

  Spencer froze mid-thought. For a moment, his confident smirk and the sharpness of his demeanor faltered.

  Her lips curled into a smile—not one of amusement, but of triumph tinged with bitterness. Then, without warning, she laughed. The sound wasn’t joyful; it was sharp, almost manic, echoing in the confined space of her apartment. Even Chuchu, still nestled in her arms, flinched at her demeanor.

  “You don’t realize it, do you?” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “I did that as a gamble.”

  She stepped closer, her laughter fading into a wry smile. “Given the number of enemies I have and the precariousness of my current situation, I have no choice but to play smart. The song?” Her fingers gestured loosely, as if it were obvious. “It’s a roll of the dice, Spencer. As the saying goes, ‘You have to risk the nice bait to catch the big fish.’ And trust me, I calculated every angle before taking that risk.”

  “You couldn’t possibly count how many fish I caught today.” A sly grin curved her lips. “But you know what?” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

  “You’re the biggest fish of them all.”

  She straightened, a smirk fully blossoming on her face as she crossed her arms and tilted her head with mock innocence. “I didn’t expect to reel in a shark, but hey, here you are.”

  Spencer stood still, his sharp hazel eyes narrowing ever so slightly. His mind whirled as he processed the unexpected depth of her calculated strategy. He had always perceived her as reckless, overly careless, and almost too transparent, like an open book that anyone could read. However, as the pieces fall into place, he realized she was far more cunning than he had given her credit for. She had used the chaos and vulnerability as a fa?ade, creating a perfect trap for those who underestimated her.

  A slight, almost imperceptible flutter of unease stirred in his stomach—like the sensation of a butterfly’s wings brushing against the edge of his thoughts. He could feel it, that prickling sense of being manipulated, even as he tried to convince himself that he had the upper hand. Her words, her laughter, her smile—all of it was a meticulously crafted performance.

  Blair Wilson wasn’t merely surviving; she was skillfully navigating the game. He had unwittingly walked into her carefully laid trap, and she had orchestrated the entire encounter, her finger delicately dangling from the bait.

  Spencer smirked, though bitterness tinged his expression. He should have known better than to underestimate her. “Well, well…” he muttered, his voice infused with both admiration and exasperation. “I hope you truly understand the game you are playing.”

  She let out a hollow, humorless laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. However, as she straightened her back, a transformation took place. Her expression hardened, and her voice, though quiet, resonated with a steely resolve. “If you want a clue about what you’re searching for, fine,” she said, her tone unwavering and deliberate. “Listen carefully to what I remember.”

  She took a deep breath before unraveling fragments of her past. She recounted everything she remembered, from what she overheard of her parents’ conversation and what she learned about their relationship from Nathaly, to her last memory of desperately trying to open the car as it sank into the lake—the cold water flooding in, the heavy silence broken only by her own terrified screams.

  When she finished, her chest heaved as if the memories had physically drained her. Spencer, leaning casually against the window frame, arched an eyebrow, his expression unreadable except for the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “So,” he said, his tone maddeningly nonchalant, “is this story meant to give me a clue about the USB? Or am I just the lucky guy you pick to vent to?”

  An unbidden laugh escaped her lips at his response, as though she were pleased with her own audacity for sharing an irrelevant story. For a moment, the atmosphere in the room felt lighter. She shook her head, wiping away the stubborn tears that clung to her lashes. “Honestly, it’s impossible to remember everything; it’s been too long. But if I were you, I’d start searching the depths of the lake. I faintly recall holding something small while trying to escape from my captors.”

  He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with feigned seriousness. “No,” he replied flatly, crossing his arms. “Fortunately, I’m not you. One existential crisis is already overcrowding this room. Add another, and we’d likely have to hire a therapist—for your cat’s mental well-being.”

  As if on cue, Chuchu tilted its head, wearing an expression of exaggerated concern. Its wide, round eyes glistened with a puppy-like worry, as if silently asking if she was okay.

  She narrowed her eyes at him, unimpressed by his quip, though a flicker of amusement danced across her lips. Cradling Chuchu closer, she absently stroked the kitten’s soft fur while taking a steadying breath.

  “The story I shared may seem irrelevant to you,” she began, her voice steady and deliberate. “But for me, it had proven something—something significant.”

  He tilted his head, observing her intently, his feigned seriousness giving way to genuine curiosity. “Oh? And what exactly did it prove?”

  She met his gaze, her amber eyes glinting with an intensity that matched her determination. “You are neither one of the Abyssal Void nor a member of the Port family, as I had previously suspected.” She paused, tightening her grip on Chuchu slightly, as if to ground herself. “This suggests that perhaps, just perhaps, I still have hope for survival.”

  His smirk faded completely, replaced by a rare seriousness that softened his sharp features. Then, with a voice low but steady, he asked, “With everything you’ve remembered—everything you’ve lost, and everyone who’s turned their back on you—how can you still want to live your life?”

  Her grip on her kitten loosened slightly as she took a deep breath, her amber eyes softening as they reflected the dim light from the window. “I was happy with my perfect life before,” she began, her voice steady yet tinged with bittersweet nostalgia. “Living under the Wilson name, with all its wealth and power, as their ideal little princess—it felt like I have a perfect life. Back then, I envisioned living a long life, just to maintain that existence.”

  She paused, her lips pressing into a thin line before she continued, her tone growing firmer. “But after everything that’s happened—the mockery, the insults, the unfairness that descended upon me when I fell from grace—it felt like a slap in the face. Knowing that my family might genuinely be happier without me, that they even considered aborting me before I was born… it crushed me.”

  She turned back to him, her gaze steady and filled with an inner light that seemed unbreakable. “But do you know what I discovered?” she asked, her voice gaining strength. “Life is life, regardless of someone’s status. It doesn’t matter if you’re a princess, a beggar, or someone like me now. Despite everything, life is beautiful, and it’s mine.”

  Her smile widened, radiant and filled with a hope that seemed almost defiant. “As long as I breathe, that’s enough reason to be happy about,” she said, her amber eyes glowing with an unyielding light. “I will live for myself, no matter what.”