Chapter 3: Broken Record
The morning sun was an insistent intruder, its bright, sharp rays cutting through the floor-to-ceiling windows and falling directly across Isadora's face. She stirred, burrowing deeper into the pillow, the warmth a pleasant contrast to the room's cool air. For a single, blissful moment, she was suspended in peace, unaware of where she was or why.
Then, consciousness returned like a slap.
Her eyes flew open. The high, coffered ceiling and grey walls were a stark reminder. The Walker mansion. Panic, cold and immediate, seized her. "Oh my god, what's the time?"
She scrambled for her phone, knocking it off the nightstand in her haste. Snatching it from the plush carpet, she saw the screen lit up with a string of notifications: 10:07 AM. 5 Missed Calls from Lena.
"I'm late, I'm so late!" she hissed into the silent room.
She launched herself from the bed, the previous night's exhaustion replaced by a surge of adrenaline. Her suitcase lay open on a low bench, a sad collection of her old life in this pristine new one. She grabbed the first things her hands touched a pair of reliable black jeans and a simple white crop top. Dressing in a frantic whirl, she then dashed into the bathroom, her breath catching for a second at its sheer size all marble and chrome before the urgency of the moment pushed her forward. The shower was a rushed, functional affair.
Within ten minutes, she was presentable: sandals on her feet, her hair twisted into a messy but charming bun, a quick swipe of lip gloss, and a pair of small gold hoops in her ears. She slung her backpack over one shoulder and flew down the grand, floating staircase, her footsteps echoing in the vast foyer.
Below, the house was a hive of quiet, efficient activity. A maid was meticulously polishing the already-gleaming banister, while another vacuumed the far end of the living area with a whisper-quiet machine. Isadora made a beeline for the towering front door, her escape nearly complete.
"Miss Isadora?"
She froze, her hand inches from the polished brass handle. Turning, she saw Mr. Charles, standing as impeccably as he had the night before, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Good morning, Mr. Charles," she said, her voice breathless.
"Good morning, Miss," he replied, his tone even. "Are you going out already?"
"Yes, I'm so late for school. I have to run."
His eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly. "I see. However, you should not leave with an empty stomach. Mrs. Luna has prepared breakfast. There is more than enough food in this house."
The kindness in his words was unexpected, a small crack in the fortress's wall. "Thank you, Mr. Charles, that's very kind, but I'm sorry, I really can't. Could you just point me to the nearest bus stop?"
Now, Mr. Charles looked almost pained. He glanced down at her sandals, then back to her face. "Miss, the nearest bus stop is an hour's walk from here. The terrain is… not suited for a hurried walk in those shoes." He straightened his posture. "Allowing the driver to take you is not an imposition; it is what he is meant to do. It is his job."
Isadora shook her head, the instinct to refuse help, born from a lifetime of being a burden in her own home, was strong. "No, really, I don't think that's a good idea. I'll be fine."
"Miss Isadora, please," Mr. Charles said, his voice firm yet gentle. "Let him take you."
As if on cue, Jane entered the living room, holding a brown paper bag and a reusable travel mug. "My mom said that since you wouldn't eat, you should at least have something to take with you." She offered a warm smile. "And please, Miss, let the driver take you. I've already fetched him. He's waiting at the front entrance."
Jane walked out towards the foyer. Isadora stood, overwhelmed by the dual assault of practical help and genuine concern. She had expected coldness, not this. "Thank you," she said, her voice soft with emotion, directed at both Charles and the space where Jane had been. "Thank you both."
She pushed the heavy door open and stepped outside. There, idling in the circular driveway, was the same Rolls-Royce from the night before. The driver, Samuel, stood beside it.
"Good morning, Miss Isadora," he said, opening the rear door.
"Good morning," she replied, sliding into the familiar leather interior. The scent of the car clean and expensive was already becoming a part of her new reality.
As they pulled away from the mansion, her phone buzzed again. This time, she answered immediately.
"Isa! Where are you? I've been calling all morning! I was worried! Are you alright? Is everything okay over there?" Lena's voice was a torrent of anxious energy.
"Yes, I'm fine, I'm fine!" Isadora reassured her, pressing the phone to her ear. "I just slept too much. I'm late, but I'm on my way now. I'll be there in a few minutes."
Hearing that she was safe, Lena's tension visibly deflated through the phone line. "Okay, good. Just… call me if anything happens. And please, pick up your phone!"
"I will, I'm sorry," Isadora said, a genuine smile finally touching her lips. She ended the call just as the car slowed to a stop.
She looked up, and her breath hitched. They were idling right in front of the main gates of Brick University. She had never told Samuel where she went to school. But of course, she reasoned, a slight chill running down her spine, it's the only major university in the city. It wouldn't be hard to deduce. She pushed the unease aside, deciding not to dwell on the implications of his knowledge.
"Thank you, Samuel," she said as he opened her door.
"Of course, Miss. Have a good day."
She hurried through the gates, grateful her lateness meant fewer students were milling around to witness her arrival in a vehicle that screamed of a world she didn't belong to. She power-walked across the sun-drenched quad, heading toward the humanities building. As she cut through a row of parked cars, a movement caught her eye.
There, tucked between a jeep and a sedan, a couple was locked in a passionate embrace, completely oblivious to the world, sucking on each other's faces with a fervor that made Isadora's cheeks heat. She made a face of mock disgust and quickly averted her eyes, breaking into a light run.
She spotted Lena before she reached the classroom door. Her best friend was pacing, her brow furrowed with worry. The moment Lena saw her, she stopped, and her face melted into a look of pure relief.
"Isa!"
They closed the distance between them and hugged each other tightly, a silent promise of solidarity in the middle of the chaotic morning.