It was 10 AM, and the sun was blazing bright outside, its rays almost aggressive in their intensity. But Philip was still lying motionless in his bed, staring at nothing.
A whole week had passed since Derrick's funeral, and Philip was already back in Manhattan, but he hadn't really returned at all—not mentally.
He lay sprawled in his bed as the yellow beam of sunlight seeped stubbornly through the gaps in his curtains, cutting across the dark room in golden strips. But he wasn't planning to get up anytime soon, maybe not at all today.
Derrick's funeral had been held in Connecticut, where the Belmont estate resided on a quiet piece of land surrounded by old trees.
Although not financially massive like the Whitmores, the Belmont estate was a real estate firm with decent holdings. So their house was a charming little mansion, and it had a private family burial ground behind it, tucked away among the gardens.
Derrick was the only son of the Belmont family, which meant Ava Belmont was now the newly appointed heir to the family business, whether she wanted it or not.
And with their well-known connection to the Whitmore family, the death of the Belmont family heir had made the news across several outlets.
Of course, the news of Philip completely lashing out on reporters outside Mayo Clinic never came out—not a single mention anywhere.
It had all been taken care of swiftly by Lucas, and the hospital staff member who had allegedly tipped off the news had been identified, reported, and fired altogether, probably blacklisted too.
A small, intimate group of people, including the Whitmore family and most of the Belmont family members, had gathered to attend the funeral on that gray, drizzly afternoon.
Derrick's parents had repeatedly thanked Philip for everything he'd done for Derrick, their voices thick with grief and gratitude.
They'd even asked Philip to stay at their home for a few more days, to rest and remember. But he'd refused as politely as he could, saying he would visit again another time, though he didn't know if he meant it.
After Philip went home to Manhattan, he'd immediately locked himself up in his room for an entire week and only ventured out briefly to grab food from the kitchen before retreating again.
*Knock knock.*
"Philip, are you awake?" Lucas called from outside the door, his voice muffled but concerned. There was no response from inside, just heavy silence.
"..."
"Your parents are worried about your well-being. They're both on business trips right now and are really hoping you'll pick up their calls."
"There are also several emails that came for you. Your college started three days ago, and they sent a formal notice regarding your reason for absence."
Lucas paused and waited for any kind of response—a grunt, a shuffling sound, anything. After a long moment of nothing, he sighed and left, his footsteps fading down the hallway.
Philip stayed perfectly still in his bed, his eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling like it held answers.
He held his breath and listened to his own heartbeat thumping in his ears until he couldn't hold it anymore. Then he finally sat up, gasping slightly.
He'd either been listening to songs on repeat or reading novels to escape in the passing days, so he genuinely had no idea what messages he'd been getting on his phone, which sat untouched on his nightstand.
After a long pause of internal debate and consideration, he finally dragged himself out of bed and walked over to his desk. He picked up his phone and turned it on with shaking fingers.
As soon as the screen lit up, stacks upon stacks of notifications popped up one after another, flooding the screen.
There were a few missed calls from his parents from this morning, their names appearing multiple times.
An email from his college, exactly like Lucas had mentioned, but Philip didn't open it, not ready to face that reality yet.
A few messages on WeChat from people he vaguely knew—these were mostly Derrick's friends, people he'd met after hanging out with Derrick over the years but didn't know well personally.
Philip scrolled past most of them without reading, not thinking much of them, and was about to turn his phone off once more and retreat back to bed.
Just then, he saw Derrick's name suddenly pop up on the screen.
There was a message sent to him, sitting there unread.
It was dated October 12th—which was the day right after Derrick's passing.
Seeing his message appear all of a sudden, like a ghost reaching out from beyond, almost made Philip forget how to breathe. He choked on air.
With hands trembling and mixed emotions swirling violently in his chest, he quickly tapped to open it.
There was a long paragraph of nothing but text messages, line after line filling the screen.
"Hey man, I don't know when you'll get this message, but I'll probably be dead when you do. I asked one of the staff to send it after I died, or else I might just die of embarrassment haha." The message started with that typical Derrick humor, even at the end.
The message went on for several more paragraphs, saying how he didn't like Philip when they first met—how Philip had been an insufferable brat. How he grew to genuinely like him as time passed and they became real friends. And how he would never meet another person quite like Philip ever again, for better or worse.
Philip read all of this with a heavy heart that felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, but he didn't cry. His eyes just slowly traced down the passage without showing any outward emotions, though his jaw clenched.
As he read each word carefully, he thought about how Derrick must have felt when he wrote this, lying in that hospital bed.
Was he sad?
Was he scared of what was coming?
Probably both. Philip could tell it from the way certain sentences were phrased, the pauses where Derrick must have stopped typing.
"And our friends,"
"Though you may think of them as just acquaintances you made through me, I think you'll actually get along well with them if you give them a chance."
"I know you'll make more friends besides them."
"Thinking back, I feel like I was in the way of you meeting new people without either of us even knowing it."
"After all, you couldn't do anything without me, let alone make new friends on your own."
"And with that, I wish for my death not to affect you in the future. That would make me a bad friend..."
"I hope my absence can give you the peace my presence couldn't."
"Live a life I couldn't."
Philip's eyes were welling up with tears without him even noticing it happening, the words blurring on the screen.
He stared at that last sentence and paused on it, reading it over and over until his phone screen eventually turned black from inactivity, reflecting his own face with tears silently streaming down his cheeks.
'That bastard, acting all cool at the end. Who does he think he's fooling?' Philip thought bitterly, his throat tight.
After a few long minutes of just staring blankly at the wall in complete silence, letting the words sink in, he finally sat up straight and started undressing himself, readying himself for a bath.
'You think I need you to be worried about me even after you're gone?'
'Don't flatter yourself. I *will* live on with my life even if you don't say it, you...'
'You didn't have to say it,' Philip thought to himself as he picked up his phone again and scrolled to call Lucas.
*Ring ring.*
"Hello, Philip?"
"Are you feeling better?" Lucas picked up immediately and quickly questioned, his voice hopeful but cautious.
"Get the plane ready. I'm going to attend my class," Philip said firmly as he wrapped a towel around his waist and headed into the bathroom with purpose in his steps for the first time in a week.
Lucas wasn't expecting Philip's response at all and actually shouted in joy on the other end, his relief obvious. He told Philip he would get everything prepared in ten minutes tops, maybe even five.
Ashford Global was a collection of different prestigious colleges all located together in England, United Kingdom, forming a massive academic city.
From Manhattan, it would take about seven hours flying over the Atlantic Ocean to reach there, even if they went on Philip's family's private plane.
After about ten minutes, Philip emerged from his room fully dressed and looking like a different person.
He wore a sharp three-piece navy suit, polished Oxford shoes that clicked against the marble floor, a silk tie in a subtle pattern, and elegant silver cufflinks.
As soon as Philip announced he was going to England, the entire household turned into organized chaos.
He'd announced it on such short notice that the staff had virtually no time for proper preparation.
Philip was going to stay in England for four whole years, except for holiday vacations, so they needed to make absolutely sure he was properly prepared.
Although it wasn't too impossibly hard a task for a household with their resources.
Most of the things he'd need—like clothes, textbooks, and other daily necessities—would be shipped there or bought locally.
They were frantically making calls to local agents who were already stationed in England to prepare everything beforehand, coordinating like a military operation.
"Let us depart. Your flight is ready to take off," Lucas said as he walked up to Philip with a tablet in hand, looking professional and relieved.
Lucas didn't know what exactly had changed Philip's mind so suddenly and shifted his entire conviction, but he wasn't trying to pry into it.
He was just genuinely happy that Philip could take this step forward and move on with his life, even if it was painful.
"Let's go," Philip said simply, his voice steady.
With his perfectly tailored suit matching his now-tall, lean figure, Philip looked dignified and commanding.
He had a high fade French crop haircut that emphasized his features, a well-defined jawline that had finally emerged over the years, and a slightly raised chin that gave him natural confidence.
His brows furrowed just a bit even when his face was relaxed, giving him an even more domineering, intense presence.
He was truly a striking sight to behold—completely transformed from the boy he used to be.
Philip and Lucas both got into the sleek black car with Lucas at the front, driving smoothly.
The Whitmore family owned a private jet, which they kept in a private hangar at a nearby airport that was only a short, convenient drive from their Manhattan home.
"I've informed the institute about your attendance, and they said you could start classes from tomorrow morning," Lucas began as they drove towards the airport.
"Since our hotel is quite far from the main campus, I figured you'd want a closer place. So I went ahead and rented out a luxury apartment near the campus, about five minutes walking distance."
"It's an 1850 square foot apartment on the second floor, four bedrooms, a private mini bar, with a magnificent view overlooking the campus," Lucas continued enthusiastically, but Philip suddenly interjected.
"I want to stay in a hostel dorm," Philip said calmly as he stared out the window at the city passing by.
Lucas stopped mid-sentence, his mouth literally hanging open. He definitely didn't expect Philip to make such an unusual request.
After a short, awkward pause, Lucas continued carefully.
"But Philip, there's no hostel dorm specifically for the elites, not to mention the high-class students," Lucas said with a genuinely puzzled expression, glancing at Philip in the rearview mirror.
Ashford Global was a united corporation of institutes founded in the year 2011, funded by multiple powerful corporations pooling resources.
Several different colleges for different academic departments were built inside the sprawling campus, and admission to it was notoriously fierce and competitive.
Different people from vastly different backgrounds gathered from all over the world to study here—it was truly international.
After years of undergoing different social changes and power dynamics, the students had created an unspoken but rigidly followed hierarchy among themselves.
Students who came from financially stable households, but weren't overly wealthy, were called middle class—your average doctor's or lawyer's kid.
Promising students with high intellect who enrolled through merit-based scholarships were initially called the lower class, but that term was later changed to the "normal class" after complaints.
Students with genuinely rich backgrounds who didn't have to worry about money at all were simply called high-class—trust fund kids, basically.
And among the high class, there were a select few students who were categorized as "elite" even among the already wealthy high class.
These were mostly second-generation heirs of big-name families and major corporations, usually from the very families who had funded the institute's creation.
Philip was absolutely one such elite.
Being the only heir to the Whitmore family, which owned multiple five-star luxury hotels across the globe, massive real estate holdings, and entire commercial towers in major cities—
Plus, they had private international banks, powerful investment firms, and successful hedge funds. Their multiple interlocking businesses put their name out as one of the most influential families in the entire world.
Still, over seventy percent of students who enrolled at Ashford were middle class and normal class.
Most of them were scholarship students who'd worked incredibly hard to get there.
The sheer amount of talented, driven graduates pumping out of Ashford every year was one of the main reasons it had made its name as one of the absolute best university colleges in the world.