**THIRD POV**
Ha!
Trevour exhaled, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he finally staggered through the front door after a long, grueling day at school. The weight of the world seemed to lift a little as he stepped into the familiar chaos of home, he was ready to rest his weary body. However, before he could do that, there were a few necessary chores to tackle. With a resigned grunt, he headed to the small study nook by the entrance, intending to clear up some paperwork and manage a few outstanding payments that had been gnawing at his conscience.
As he rifled through the stack of documents sprawled across the cluttered desk, he muttered to himself, "It's a good thing they didn't come," referring to his family who had initial wanted to fly over in the morning before the change of plans . "We wouldn't have been able to go out and enjoy ourselves anyway." Trevour's mind drifted momentarily to the teasing and jibes that seemed to follow him like a shadow. It was exhausting, especially when every day felt like a battle against a tide of ridicule and misunderstanding.
"Those idiots at school just keep giving me a hard time," he groaned, shaking his head as if attempting to physically discard the negativity.
"Finally, my body can rest..." Trevour began to dream of sinking into the comfort of his bed, of the warm embrace of sleep filling him like a cocoon.
Growl!
The sound broke his reverie.
"...."
Trevour's expression shifted to one of annoyance as he remembered he hadn't eaten all day. The sheer busy-ness of his schedule had pushed hunger far into the back of his mind
A mistake he often made.
Knock knock!
"Who is there?" Trevour called out, groggily pulling himself out of his thoughts.
"It's me, sir!" a young feminine voice responded from behind his room door. It belonged to the family maid, a bright but timid girl who had been working for his uncle since before Trevour was born. "Sir Mike requested you should come down to join the rest of the family for dinner."
"Oh..er....you can tell him I already ate before coming," he attempted to brush her off, hoping to avoid the family dinner altogether.
But she pressed on, her voice almost convincing him to give in. "He insists, sir."
Great! Trevour mouthed silently, frustration flaring up within him as he threw his hands in the air. He would much rather avoid dinner with his uncle's family, especially given the animosity directed towards him by his aunt Miranda. She didn't care much for their family.. his family...and it showed. Trevour had long stopped trying to win her approval. Every family gathering felt like navigating a minefield, with Miranda waiting to strike at any moment.
Sigh.
Growl!
His stomach growled once more, now louder and more demanding, pulling him out from his spiraling thoughts of indignation. Embarrassed by the noise, he resolved to freshen up and accept his fate tonight. This was a risk worth taking, he reasoned...if not for his uncle, then for the sake of his raging stomach. He could not allow himself to go to sleep hungry.
Reluctantly, he instructed the maid to let his uncle know he would be down soon. He quickly stripped off his school clothes and headed for the shower, hoping that the hot water would wash away the day's stress as well as the foul smell of sweat and exhaustion.
Minutes passed, and he emerged from the shower, rubbing his hair dry with a towel. He pulled on his pajama pants and a simple t-shirt, not bothering to change into anything more presentable; he didn't want to keep his uncle waiting any longer.
With a sense of impending dread, he descended the staircase. The aroma of dinner wafted through the air, teasing his senses and reminding him of his earlier hunger. He walked into the dining room, and the sight that met him made his heart sink...a whole house of family members sat at the large dining table, faces turning to him in acknowledgment.
"Erm... good evening," he mumbled, glancing around as he made his way to the only empty seat at the far end of the table.
"Took you long enough," a sharp voice sliced through the ambient noise, cutting straight to his core. It was immediately identifiable; it was undoubtedly Aunt Miranda, her disdain palpable in the air.
Sighing quietly under his breath, he replied, "Sorry, aunty. It won't happen again."
"Of course, that's what you say every damn time, you wimp," she shot back, her words laced with venom.
"Melinda!" Uncle Mike interjected, his voice booming like thunder and reverberating off the walls, coming to Trevour's defense. "That's enough! Give the poor boy a break....now let's eat."
If only you could see me as more than just a poor boy… Trevour thought, wanting to scream the words but knowing better than to say anything out loud. Silence wrapped around the table, thick and suffocating, broken only by the occasional clang of cutlery and muffled whispers.
As dinner went on, Trevour forced himself to chew and praise the meal, though every bite felt like swallowing a stone. The clattering of dishes, the stiff smiles, and the judgment woven into the air made the atmosphere unbearable. He longed to escape, to retreat back to the solitude and familiarity of his room, but he felt pinned to his seat by an invisible force.
When dessert finally came to an end, Trevour offered his thanks with all the enthusiasm he could muster before excusing himself. He nearly broke into a sprint as he left the dining room,
Ha!
Once he shut his bedroom door behind him, he hit the bed with a forceful thump, the hand falling behind his head as he let out a long breath of relief. The reprieve was blissful, the gentle hum of the night wrapping around him like a warm blanket. His thoughts drifted into the depths of his mind, spiraling into the quiet comfort of sleep.
...
At the dinner table, after Trevour's hasty exit, the tension hung heavy in the air like a storm cloud ready to burst.
"...you couldn't give the poor guy a break," Uncle Mike's voice rang out, casual despite the underlying tension. He waved away the maids, dismissing them.
"Not my problem," Miranda retorted sharply, her eyes glinting with a mischievous light. "He makes me treat him that way when he doesn't do things right."
"Hmmm... if you say so…" Mike said, swirling the wine in his glass as he downed it in one fell swoop. His expression hardened, a shadow passing over his features, revealing glimpses of a darkness hidden beneath.
...
A few hours later, as the night deepened and the serene winds whispered through the open windows, the atmosphere shifted drastically. The curtains billowed gently as a chill crept through the mansion, accompanied by the glowing, ethereal light of the round blue moon that bathed everything in a silver sheen.
Inside Trevour's room, the calmness quickly turned to chaos as his phone began to ring.
Ring ring! Ring ring!
Stirring from under the covers, Trevour groggily reached out to the bedside table, fumbling for his phone. "Yes... who is this?" he mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep.
"Erm, am I reaching Trevour Wiston?" a female voice, professional but tinged with urgency, floated through the line, pulling him from the drowsiness that had begun to settle like a fog in his mind.
"...yes... who is this?" Trevour responded, clarity slowly dawning on him as he sensed something was wrong.
"It's about your family," the voice continued, and a chill raced down his spine.
"My what?!"
Trevour shot up in bed, his heart slamming against his ribs as panic washed over him. "What is it about my family?!"
"This may be hard for you, Mr. Trevour… but…" There was a strained pause, and he could hear the steady intake of breath on the other end. "Your family boarded a private jet, but... thirty minutes after takeoff, both jet engines failed… and… we are deeply sorry…"
Blank!
His world crumbled around him, and the phone slipped from his trembling fingers, falling to the ground with a soft thud. The overwhelming rush of horror engulfed him, trapping him in an immovable state. The stale scent of something dark and bitter invaded his senses, almost like iron...often associated with blood. His heart raced as though a thousand horses thundered through his chest, and he could feel the ground beneath him trembling.
His blood pressure spiked, and time seemed to elongate..In an instant, his vision blurred, and before he knew it, he fainted, collapsing to the floor.
Bam! He hit the cold ground hard!
The once gentle breeze of the night morphed into something sinister, creepy even, as it flowed through the house. The curtains flared wildly, and the window rattled from the sudden gust, as if the very essence of horror was trying to break free from the gates of hell.
Suffocating coldness swallowed him alive, terror wrapping around his heart like vines.
The moon's glow illuminated something on the desk....a fancy piece of paper, pristine and untouched amid the chaos. It was his diploma, a symbol of hope, achievement, and a future that now seemed as distant as the stars.
No longer just a piece of paper
It became a haunting reminder of everything he had lost and everything that lay ahead.