1 ♥?Kiara
Wait… am I dead?
Because this place looks like heaven.
Endless flowers in every color. Towering fountains. Glass walls. An ocean view that belongs in a dream.
Oh God. I’m at Roy’s house.
Scratch that—his estate. Or fortress. Or something that makes a palace look like a rental.
Why did I say I’d walk from the gate?
Right. To prove I still had some autonomy after my emotional breakdown over a lost sock.
Two days ago, I called my billionaire genius brother, sobbing at 2 a.m. Next thing I knew, his private jet was rerouted to Delhi, India, alarming half my neighborhood and possibly killing two uncles from sheer shock.
Now I’m here. At his place in Beaufort, USA. Jet-lagged. Emotionally fried. Sleep-deprived to the point of psychosis.
And being followed by five staff members offering me lavender towels and quinoa-something I can’t pronounce.
I don’t even get a chance to process the last question aboutTomatokeftedes,because someone else is already adjusting the temperature in the room, and another staffmember is bringing out a tablet to go over my “daily schedule.”
A daily schedule?
Well, good luck managing this hurricane. My so-called “schedule” consists of endless hours of overthinking until my brain officially declares itself non-operational.
“Ma'am, here’s the warm water you requested.”
Yes, warm water is helpful…
“Ma'am, your lunch is ready…”
“I’m good,” I managed, clutching a glass of warm water someone handed me—bless them—and blindly following another into what I assumed was my room.
The moment I stepped in, I stopped.
Muted tones. Sheer curtains. Ocean breeze drifting in from a private balcony.
And silence. Real silence.
For the first time in months, I felt my breath go deep. My muscles unclench. The bed looked like it could swallow me whole.
I let it.
____________
There’s something magical about waking up from a nap that feels like it healed your soul. I stretched lazily; my muscles were thanking me for this unexpected moment of relaxation. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender and… vanilla. Oh, wait—that’s me.
The sun dips closer to the horizon, and for a moment, everything feels calm, still, and just… perfect. A world away from my dad’s cutting words, my stepmom’s constant disappointment, the anger of my ex-fiancé, and the shadows that still creep in from the night I don’t talk about—the one where I nearly didn’t make it back.But I madeit out. I always do.
So, here I am. Still breathing. Still standing. Or… lying down—but you get the point.
I’m a survivor. Life may throw its chaos. Sure, I stumble. A lot. Sometimes, I overthink, say the wrong things, or get caught in moments I don’t know how to handle. But that’s life, isn’t it? Messy, unpredictable, and full of surprises.
I picked up my phone—the single most irritating device ever invented—and stared at the screen. Twenty-nine missed calls and fifty-four messages, all from the world’s noisiest, most hilariously dramatic, and insanely talented best friend: Myra.
Where the hell are you?
