Chapter One
Carl woke up with a dry throat and a stiff neck. His room was a mess — clothes on the floor, controller tangled in its own cord, and the TV screen still dimly glowing from the night before. He shifted under the sheets, then finally sat up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.
Yesterday had been his birthday.
No calls. No messages. Not even a passing word from his parents.
He'd spent the entire evening drowning in video games and energy drinks, not because he was excited, but because there was nothing else to do. He was eighteen now — officially an adult, though he didn't feel any different.
Dragging himself into the bathroom, he paused at the mirror. His reflection stared back: pale skin, thick dark lashes, and curly brown hair that stuck in awkward directions. He ran his fingers through it and sighed. He had gotten thinner again — the outline of his ribs a little sharper each time he undressed. Skipping meals had become a habit.
He turned on the shower.
By the time he stepped out, steam fogged the mirror, and the cold marble floor made him shiver. Back in his room, the scent of lemon polish hit him first.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," came a soft voice.
Carl glanced up to see Ma'am Grozel, tidying the space like she always did when she was around. She was short, brown-skinned, her hair tied under a scarf, and her voice had the exact mix of kindness and authority he grew up with. More mother than his own.
"How are we feeling this morning?" she asked with a warm smile.
"Good," Carl muttered, towel still around his shoulders.
His school uniform — perfectly pressed — was already laid out on the bed. She handed him a small, wrapped box.
"Happy birthday, sweetheart. I'm sorry I wasn't around yesterday."
He blinked. Then smiled, quietly surprised. "You remembered."
"I would never forget," she said, gently. "Open it."
Inside was a bracelet — simple, leather-bound, with a small silver cross at its center.
"I know it's not much," she added quickly, "but I made it myself."
Carl didn't speak. He just reached forward and hugged her — arms wrapping around her small frame like it was the only warmth he had left in the world.
She had been working for his family long before he was born. And even though she wasn't paid to care, she always did.
"Now go," she said, straightening up, brushing imaginary lint off his shirt. "You don't want to be late. And don't you dare skip meals again. Now that I'm back, I won't allow it."
Carl picked up the uniform and gave her a rare, soft smile. "Yes, ma'am."
In the bathroom, on a shelf near the sink, sat a dusty photo frame. Carl glanced at it as he changed — a picture of him and his parents when he was five. His curls were the same as now, wild and soft, identical to his mother's. But his sharp jaw and deep-set eyes were all from his father.
Once dressed, he made his way downstairs. The mansion was silent as always — too many rooms, too many walls, and never enough voices. The long dining table was set, like it always was, with more food than one person could possibly eat. Some days, he didn't touch it at all. The staff would either clear it away or do whatever they did with it. He never asked.
But now that Grozel was back, there'd be no skipping.
He filled his plate with toast, eggs, a bit of fruit — just enough to stop her from nagging. After eating in silence, he stood, grabbed his school bag, and stepped outside.
The black car was already waiting. The chauffeur didn't speak as Carl slid into the back seat.
As the gates opened and the mansion faded behind him, Carl looked down at his wrist. The bracelet glinted faintly in the morning sun. He ran his thumb over the little cross.
At least someone had remembered.
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St. Augustine's Missionary Academy was as old as the town itself — brick buildings weathered by time, ivy creeping along the chapel walls, and rules stricter than a military base. It was known for its high standards, spotless uniforms, and students who either succeeded... or broke.
Carl Hale had just resumed his senior year.
His last year.
He walked through the gates in silence, his uniform crisp, shoes polished, tie perfectly knotted. Teachers flanked the school entrance, calling out students who dared to break dress code. Wrinkled shirts. Untucked blouses. Missing badges.
Carl strolled right past them. No one said a word.
They never did.
Inside the courtyard, the usual chaos of the first day resumed — students greeting each other, catching up, giggling nervously. But Carl moved like a ghost through them, quiet and detached. No one tried to talk to him. Some turned to whisper as he passed. Arrogant. Rich kid. Think he's better than everyone else.
Carl heard it all, but he didn't care.
They didn't know him.
He lined up at the back of the assembly hall, arms crossed. The morning bell rang, and the students fell into a tense hush as Sister Magdalene walked up to the podium.
The head of the school.
The iron hand beneath the holy veil.
Her black habit swept behind her like a warning. The students secretly called her The Iron Veil — never to her face, of course.
She cleared her throat and began her usual sermon on purity, discipline, excellence, and how dating was absolutely forbidden.
Carl barely listened.
Then, his eyes moved — unintentionally — to the front row.
Theo Salazar.
Sun-kissed skin. Sharp cheekbones. Expressive brown eyes that always smiled — even when they didn't mean it. He was the school's golden boy. Smart, charming, kind to everyone. Teachers adored him. Students clung to him.
Carl... just stared.
He'd found himself watching Theo more often than he cared to admit. In class. In the library. Walking the halls. Never from up close. He'd never spoken to him. Theo's friendliness made Carl feel like a spotlight was shining on something he wanted to keep hidden.
As if sensing the gaze, Theo looked up.
Carl immediately looked away.
The assembly ended with a shared "Amen," and the students dispersed into their classrooms. Carl took his usual seat by the window, pulled out his notebook, and laid his head on the desk.
Then — a tap on his shoulder.
He looked up, slowly.
Standing in front of the class was Mr. Robert Ashton, their literature teacher.
He was young — unusually so for St. Augustine's, where most staff were either over sixty or nuns. Tall, lean, with broad shoulders and a voice like velvet. He wore glasses, but they didn't dull the intensity of his eyes. His shirt sleeves were rolled up just slightly, collar a bit loose — enough to make Sister Magdalene twitch, Carl suspected.
He was, objectively, attractive. And all the girls in school knew it.
Even the boys noticed.
Carl... definitely noticed.
"Are you alright, Mr. Hale?" Robert asked, his tone casual but direct. "Or am I boring you already?"
Carl blinked, shook his head silently.
"Good. See me after class."
A few giggles spread across the room. Carl felt heat rise to his ears. He shifted in his seat as the teacher walked to the front and began the lesson. From the corner of his eye, he caught Theo turning to glance at him.
He didn't look back.