Theo Frost - POV
I was a bright kid. Annoyingly bright, according to my cousins.
The type who ran around barefoot in the garden, climbed mango trees with scraped knees, and proudly declared myself 'future king of the neighbourhood.'
My mother always said having an only child turned the entire Frost family into fools.
"Everyone spoils you rotten" she complained while pinching my cheek, "you need siblings to fight with."
I used to laugh at that.
I didn't know she was cursing me.
That morning was just like any other.
Sunlight filtered through my curtains, birds chirped obnoxiously loudly, and I woke up tangled in my blanket like a sea creature.
I rolled over, shoved the blanket off me, and stretched with a groan.
"Theooo! Breakfast! Stop rolling like a panda and come down!" My mom's voice carried from downstairs.
"I'm coming, Mom!" I yelled back, even though I absolutely was not coming.
I hopped off my bed and shuffled to the bathroom, grabbing my toothbrush on autopilot. My bed hair stuck up like I'd fought a tornado in my sleep.
As I squeezed toothpaste onto my brush, I caught my reflection in the mirror.
A small boy with wide eyes, cheeks still round from childhood, hair sticking up like a dandelion.
I never had a reason back then to sigh at myself. But for some reason, I did.
Something like a tiny whisper in my chest: Enjoy it while it lasts.
Where was I?
Right.
My life-before everything flipped.
I began brushing aggressively, foam forming at the corners of my mouth as childhood memories came rushing back.
Everything changed when my father's sister-my aunt Maya-decided to adopt a child.
She and Uncle Rowan lived right next door. Their backyard connected to ours through a small wooden gate my dad built so I could run in and out freely. It was convenient back then because I practically spent half my life at their place.
Aunt Maya always wanted a child, but she couldn't conceive. I never really understood what that meant at age nine. I only knew that whenever adults talked about it, they lowered their voices and patted her hand.
Then one day, everything changed.
I still remember it clearly-like it's permanently stitched into my brain.
The car pulled up in front of their house, and I raced out of mine barefoot, excitement buzzing through my veins.
"Aunt Maya! Uncle Rowan!" I yelled, waving both arms like an idiot.
They stepped out first, looking tired but smiling softly.
And then-
He stepped out.
A small boy. My height. Maybe even my exact age.
His hair was dark, almost black.
His skin looked like it hadn't seen enough sunlight. And his eyes...
His eyes were deep, unreadable, too calm for a child.
He held Aunt Maya's hand, not hiding behind her like shy kids do, but standing beside her as if he belonged nowhere and everywhere at once.
I didn't know anything about him then. Not his name. Not his past.
Not the fact that one day, he would become my husband-or that he would ruin my definition of freedom forever.
Back then, I just thought-"I'm getting a brother."
I ran up to him, grinning from ear to ear. "Hi! I'm Theo! What's your name?"
He stared at me.
Not shy.
Not confused.
Just... staring.
Aunt Maya lifted their joined hands slightly. "This is Jace," she said gently. "Jace Halden."
I beamed at him. "Jace! Nice to meet you! Do you like toy cars? Or Lego? Or cricket? You can play with me anytime!"
Still nothing.
That poker face didn't move an inch.
His eyes flickered over my face, slow and observing, almost like he was memorising me.
Then he looked at my hand-still outstretched for a handshake-and didn't take it.
I remember my smile twitching.
Adults always say children don't notice things. But I did. I noticed everything.
That was the moment I first realized-
We probably weren't going to get along.
Still, I tried.
My nine-year-old brain refused to accept defeat.
"You can come to my room later," I added, trying one more time. "I'll show you my cool robot collection.'
His head tilted slightly. Like he was... studying me.
Then he said, in a quiet, breath-soft voice: "...Okay." Just one word. A whisper.
And somehow, it felt like he'd handed me a puzzle I wasn't ready to solve.
Aunt Maya chuckled and ruffled my hair. "Theo, sweetheart, why don't you help us carry some of the bags inside?"
"Okay!" I puffed up. "I'm strong!"
That made Uncle Rowan snort. "Sure you are, champ."
I grabbed one of the smaller bags-Jace's, apparently. It was light but neat, the zipper perfectly closed, the contents arranged as if he organized them himself.
I glanced at him. He was watching me carry it.
Still no expression.
Just... watching.
And I didn't know why, but a shiver crawled up my spine.
Not fear. Just something... foreign.
Later that day, while the adults unpacked his things, I tried again.
I invited him to play.
He said no.
I asked if he liked cartoons.
He shrugged.
I tried showing him my favourite toy car. He held it delicately, stared at it, then handed it back without a word.
It frustrated me. It confused me. It made me feel-small.
But Jace didn't ignore me completely. He followed me with his eyes. Everywhere. Every second.
Whenever I shifted, he shifted his gaze.
Whenever I left the room, he turned his head.
Whenever I entered, his eyes snapped instantly to me.
Like a shadow. Like a silhouette stitched to my ankles.
At nine, I didn't know what obsession looked like. So I mistook it for coldness.
And maybe...It was easier that way.
Mom called me back home that evening. "Theo! Dinner!"
"Coming!" I shouted and stood up quickly.
As I turned to leave the room, I caught a glimpse of Jace again.
He was still seated on the floor, knees tucked against his chest, hands resting neatly. His expression still unreadable.
But there was something in his eyes now.
Not emptiness. Not coldness.
Something warmer. Something sharper.
Something that would one day swallow my entire world.
I just didn't know it yet.
"Goodnight, Jace," I said, trying to be polite.
For a moment, his fingers twitched.
Almost like he wanted to reach for me.
"...Goodnight, Theo." Quiet. Soft. His voice warmed the room in a strange way. I left. I didn't look back.
If I had, maybe I would've noticed that he was smiling-
just a little,
just enough,
and not in a way a child should smile.