Marilyn's POV
Teacher Joey took a moment to familiarize himself with Lynn's background, including the textbooks he had previously used, elective subjects, learning progress, strengths, and weaknesses.
It was clear that bringing Lynn to meet Teacher Joey was not a mere formality, as I wanted him to make the most of his time, unlike other privileged children.
We engaged in a conversation for over twenty minutes, and as we prepared to leave, Teacher Joey retrieved a set of papers from the neatly stacked pile on his desk and handed them to Lynn.
He said, "Take these papers home and complete them. Allocate 120 minutes for each subject and approach them as you would in an actual exam. Once you're finished, take photos of your answers and send them to me. I will arrange for the respective subject teachers to review and grade them, providing us with an initial assessment of your abilities."
Lynn accepted the papers and exchanged contact information with Teacher Joey.
Throughout the conversation, I remained silent, only rising from my seat once the discussion between the teacher and student had concluded. We bid farewell to Dr. Glu once again, expressing our gratitude, before leaving the school together.
The school was conveniently located just two or three kilometers away from our home.
Upon returning home and finishing our dinner, Lynn retrieved the papers and quietly began working on them. Aware of the need for a quiet environment, I took my laptop from the table and stealthily retreated to my room.
Initially, I had some concerns about Lynn's ability to keep up with the pace of his studies, but now it seemed that my worries were unfounded.
Lynn's POV
It was already midnight by the time I finished writing the two exam papers, with over ten minutes to spare before the set time. I stretched my neck from side to side, hearing a satisfying crack in my bones. Suddenly, I remembered something and turned my head to look behind me, only to find the sofa empty. Marilyn had already left the living room.
I turned back around and sat quietly for a while, my eyes cast downward as I contemplated something.
After completing my bedtime routine, I lay in bed, but sleep eluded me. I had completed two exam papers within four hours, and my mind was unusually active. At that moment, my thoughts were consumed by the mention of a person named "Lucas" by Dr. Glu and Marilyn earlier that day.
During my time at Red Moonpack, Marilyn had never introduced me to any relatives or friends. She only provided me with her own phone number, the maid's number, and her assistant's number.
Despite living together, I suddenly realized how little I knew about Marilyn.
I didn't even know her age this year.
And this person named "Lucas" seemed to have a significant connection with her...
Raising my arm, I rested it on my forehead, remaining awake for half an hour. Then, I picked up my phone from the bedside table. Opening the browser, I typed "Marilyn" into the search bar.
The search results were limited, mostly revolving around news of Marilyn's mother's recent passing in the past three months.
Keywords such as "Lanta family" and "deceased" filled my screen. I scrolled down, quickly skimming through a few sensationalized or false articles.
Suddenly, a wave of realization washed over me, and I halted my finger's movement, aware that I was intruding on Marilyn's privacy in a rather disturbing manner.
A wave of shame gripped my heart, causing my brows to furrow. I was about to close the browser, but a bold red headline caught my eye: "Red Moonpack Alpha Lucas Calls Off Engagement with Fiancée Marilyn Lanta, Turns to Silver Moonpack Alliance Due to Love and Hatred..."
The news had been published a year ago, back when I was just starting to explore the online world and was still unfamiliar with the attention-seeking tactics used by tabloids. My finger hesitated over the headline, shocked by the mention of "fiancée," leaving me momentarily frozen.
In the end, I chose not to click and delve into the detailed content. My mind absentmindedly closed the browser, and I set my phone aside, slowly rising from the bed.
As a teenager who hadn't even reached the age of nineteen, the concept of engagement felt like a distant future, something reserved for the latter part of my life. But for Marilyn, it was different.
Suddenly, I realized how young and immature I was, still in the midst of physical and emotional growth. In Marilyn's eyes, I might have been nothing more than a child who had yet to fully mature.
For some reason, this realization filled me with an overwhelming sense of sadness.
In the quiet of the midnight hour, I leaned against the headboard, feeling a piercing ache deep within me.
Waves of anxiety and restless thoughts tugged at my chest, my heart throbbing in sync with my rapidly spinning mind.
I found myself lost in scattered thoughts, my gaze fixed on the wall that connected to Marilyn's bedroom. It took me a moment to snap back to reality when I heard the faint sound of the door lock turning.
In the house, it was just Marilyn and me, so there was no mistaking who stood outside the door. The door swung open almost soundlessly, allowing the gentle moonlight to spill into the room—a reminder that I had forgotten to lock it.
I reached out and flicked on the light, my gaze fixed on Marilyn as she stood at the entrance, dressed in a flowing white nightgown. The person who had occupied my thoughts mere moments ago now stood before me. I pressed my lips together, as if on the verge of calling her "sis…," but in an instant, I realized the weight of that term and swallowed it back, acknowledging the disparity in our ages.
Marilyn appeared to be sleepwalking, her feet bare, gliding softly across the light gray floor, her gaze focused as she made her way toward me on the bed.
Having been startled by her sleepwalking before, when she sometimes reached for me unexpectedly, I instinctively raised my hand in a defensive gesture and leaned back slightly.
However, this time Marilyn didn't approach me aggressively. Before I could react further, she lifted the covers that lay over my waist and gracefully climbed into bed. Her presence was calm, her arm draping across my waist. While I remained frozen, Marilyn nestled herself beside me, closing her eyes as if peacefully asleep.
I sat on the bed, closer to the door, and as Marilyn settled down, she pressed herself gently against me, seeking warmth. Her hands and feet felt cold from the air conditioning, and she unconsciously inched closer.
Her cheek, barely concealed by her thin sleepwear, rested against my thigh. My breath caught, and my body tensed, unsure how to respond.
I widened my eyes, gazing at Marilyn with a mix of anxiety and bewilderment. A rush of blood colored my face, and my hand froze mid-air, as if I were a statue engulfed in flames.
My heart pounded uncontrollably beneath my chest, "thump, thump," as though a distant bell tolled deep within me, reverberating through my eardrums.
I never expected Marilyn to join me in bed, let alone in such close proximity.
I turned my head away, forcing myself to look elsewhere. Yet the soft light outlined the delicate curve of her jaw and the faint vein on her neck. Despite my effort, I could not resist turning my gaze back to her peaceful sleeping face.
My lashes trembled as I blinked, ashamed of lingering over her vulnerability yet unable to look away. My ears burned faintly with embarrassment.
"Sister..." I whispered, but the sound dissolved into the quiet night, receiving no response.
My inner wolf stirred restlessly, yet I remained silent.
I clenched my fists, then slowly relaxed them. Tentatively, I reached out to adjust Marilyn's arm for comfort, but my hand froze unsure where to place it.
Finally, I rested my fingers lightly on her forearm, which lay over my waist.
"Sister..." I whispered again, gently nudging her.
"Mmm..." Marilyn murmured in sleep, barely moving, holding onto me as if instinctively.
A surge of emotions overwhelmed me. My body stiffened, and I quickly withdrew my hand, heart racing.
Several strands of her hair fell across her shoulders. I stared for a moment, then picked up my phone, switched it to silent camera mode, and captured a photo of the lone strand of golden hair, leaving her face and body untouched.
The photograph was ethereal, with only the subtle wisp of hair in the corner of the frame. Only I would ever know its owner.
I set the phone aside and gently adjusted the covers over Marilyn, refraining from disturbing her peaceful slumber.