The sky was still tinged with the faint glow of dawn when Owen moved around his room with quiet purpose. The city outside was just beginning to stir—hovercars gliding along elevated streets, neon advertisements flickering to life on skyscraper facades, and the faint hum of drones delivering early-morning packages to their destinations. But inside the sleek, minimalist apartment, the only sound was the soft rustle of clothes as Owen packed his bag.
Mehrin watched him from the doorway, her long skirt swaying slightly as she stood with her hands folded, a gentle yet observant expression on her face. Her auburn hair caught the faint morning light, glinting like copper threads, and her posture, straight yet relaxed, carried the quiet authority she had always possessed. She waited silently for a moment before speaking.
"Where are you going so early in the morning?" Her voice was calm, tinged with curiosity, but underlined with care.
Owen zipped the last compartment of his bag, slinging it over his shoulder with practiced ease. "School is reopening in four days," he said, his tone calm, measured. "Before that, I thought of staying at Dad's place for a few days. It'll help me refresh my mind."
Mehrin nodded slowly, her face softening. "Go," she said, her voice gentle yet firm. "I've never stopped you. We may be divorced, but he is still your father. I respect your feelings."
Owen gave her a faint smile, a mix of gratitude and affection in his eyes. "When I come back, I'll call you. Please send the driver then."
"Alright," Mehrin said softly, reaching up to smooth the corner of his hair. "Bye."
"Bye, Mom," he replied, his voice quieter now, almost reflective.
The car ride was smooth, the streets quiet at this hour. Owen sat in the backseat, gazing out at the futuristic skyline of 2042 Europe. The elevated roads twisted like ribbons of light, and holographic billboards flickered images of luxury products, artificial intelligence assistants, and futuristic fashion lines. The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of ozone and newly cleaned streets. After an hour or two, the vehicle pulled up to the Finn estate, a gleaming modern mansion with glass facades and perfectly trimmed gardens.
As soon as Owen stepped out, he saw Anne and Oliver standing near the front entrance, waiting to greet him. Anne rushed forward first, her steps quick and precise, and hugged Owen warmly. "Welcome, son. Please come inside. You've grown so much." Her eyes sparkled with feigned warmth, and her perfume—a mix of jasmine and musk—lingered in the air.
Oliver followed, his smile steady and proud. "Yes, my son has come to meet his family today. I'm very happy."
Owen nodded politely and turned to the driver. "Please take the luggage inside," he said calmly.
Anne hesitated, glancing at the luggage and then back at Owen. "Owen, please forgive us. We don't have a personal guard or driver. Otherwise, you wouldn't have needed to bring one."
Owen shrugged lightly, his expression neutral. "It's okay. I understand," he said politely, stepping past them into the grand foyer of the mansion.
The interior of the house was immaculately designed. High ceilings stretched over polished marble floors, accented with minimalist European furniture and holographic displays embedded in the walls. The staircase spiraled upwards, leading to the private quarters, while the large windows offered a panoramic view of the city below. Owen's steps were quick as he headed upstairs, the soft hum of the smart home system filling the silence. Once inside his room, he immediately turned on his digital gaming system. Bright holographic projections exploded around him—cities, creatures, and futuristic landscapes. His hands moved with precision, interacting with a world that was vibrant, alive, and thrillingly digital.
His phone buzzed on the side table, interrupting the immersion. He tore his eyes away from the game and answered. "Hello?"
"Have you reached?" Mehrin's voice asked, soft but firm.
"Yes, Mom," Owen replied.
"Then why didn't you call earlier?"
"I just arrived," he said, keeping his voice neutral.
"Alright," Mehrin said. "Don't forget to have breakfast on time."
"Yes, Mom," he replied. Then, after a pause, he added, "I wanted to ask you something."
"Tell me," Mehrin said, attentive.
"The extra sports fees need to be paid," Owen said cautiously, aware that this might provoke a slight reaction.
"That's fine," Mehrin replied calmly. "You and I will go to school together and I'll pay it."
Owen hesitated. "No, Mom. I want to go with Dad and pay the fees with him," he said, firm in his decision.
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. Then Mehrin's voice returned, calm but laced with subtle irony. "Okay. I'll transfer the money to your account. Take your dad as your… maid and pay the fees."
She ended the call, leaving Owen staring at the phone for a moment, a faint smile tugging at his lips before he set it down and turned to face the game again.
Not long after, Anne's voice echoed from downstairs. "Owen! Come down for breakfast."
"Yes, coming," Owen called back, switching off the holographic interface and heading toward the dining room.
At the table, the breakfast spread was elaborate—freshly baked bread, fruits, eggs cooked to perfection, and steaming cups of juice. Anne placed the plates in front of him with an exaggerated smile.
"Here, eat properly," she said.
"Yes," Owen replied politely, though his mind was elsewhere.
After a moment, Anne spoke casually, leaning slightly closer as if to strike a conversation. "So… is your mother still the owner of her company?"
"Yes," Owen said, glancing down at his plate.
"This year, her profit was very high," Anne continued, her tone dripping with subtle disdain. "She's planning to start another company."
Owen looked up at her, his eyebrows raising slightly. He sensed a sharpness in her tone.
Anne scoffed quietly. "What's the use of so much money when a person is so heartless?"
Owen froze, confused. "What do you mean by 'heartless'?" he asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and unease.
Anne leaned closer, her eyes cold and calculating. "Your mother… she killed your sister in her womb. That's why the divorce happened."
The words hit Owen like a thunderclap. His fork froze mid-air. For a moment, the world seemed to tilt, the polished dining room blurring at the edges. His mind went blank, trapped between disbelief and a truth he had never known.
He looked at Anne, searching for any sign of jest, but her expression was unnervingly serious. His stomach churned, a mix of horror, confusion, and betrayal. Years of memories—family trips, late-night talks with Mehrin, her laughter, her presence—flashed through his mind, and now they were tainted by a claim so grave that it was almost impossible to process.
"Wh-what…" Owen stammered, unable to finish his sentence.
Anne leaned back slightly, a satisfied smirk curling at the edge of her lips. "Don't look at me like that. You'll understand when you grow older. You're naive, living in her shadow, thinking she's perfect."
Owen's hands clenched into fists on the table. His chest felt heavy, as if every word Anne had uttered carried a physical weight. He remembered his mother's gentle voice, her protective nature, and now, confronted with this accusation, he didn't know what to believe.
"Why are you saying this?" he asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why now?"
Anne shrugged nonchalantly. "Because someone needs to tell you the truth. Your mother isn't what you think she is. She's heartless, calculating, and has built an empire on the ashes of what should have been your sister."
Owen's mind spun. He felt the air in the room tighten, the weight of the accusation pressing down on him from every direction. The polished floors, the gleaming table, the morning sun filtering through the windows—all of it seemed surreal, almost unreal.
A silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Owen struggled to find words, but none came. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for his glass of juice, the condensation slick against his fingers. The world seemed distant, blurred around the edges, like one of the virtual landscapes he had been immersed in just moments ago.
Anne watched him closely, her eyes cold and unwavering, savoring the chaos she had unleashed. Owen's usual calm, measured demeanor was cracking, revealing the raw vulnerability beneath.
And in that moment, Owen realized that the world he knew—the safe, predictable life with his mother—might not be as simple as he had believed. The truth, or at least what Anne claimed to be the truth, had shattered the morning, leaving a fissure in his mind and his heart that could not be easily mended.