(3rd POV – Mikaela Banes)
The next morning, Mikaela Banes jolted awake as her alarm clock went off, the obnoxious beep-beep-beep drilling straight into her skull.
"Ughhhh…" she groaned, half-dead, blindly grabbing a pillow and hurling it toward the nightstand. "Shut uuup—"
Thump.
She smiled faintly, still buried under her blanket. Victory.
…Then she realized the alarm was still ringing.
Mikaela cracked one eye open and saw the pillow lying uselessly on the floor, nowhere near the alarm clock.
She miss the shot.
The clock itself sat there, untouched, still screaming like it had a personal vendetta against her.
"…You have got to be kidding me."
With another miserable groan, she pushed herself upright, hair sticking out in every direction, eyes half-lidded like she hadn't slept in three days—even though she definitely had. She slapped the alarm clock with more force than necessary, finally shutting it up.
She sat there for a moment, staring into space, clearly reconsidering every life choice that had led her to waking up this early.
"Why is morning always so aggressive…" she muttered.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Mikaela stretched lazily, bones popping as she yawned wide. She glanced at the window, sunlight already pouring in like it was proud of itself for existing.
"Yeah, yeah. You win," she sighed at the morning itself.
Dragging herself to her feet, she shuffled toward the bathroom, feet heavy, posture sloppy—moving with all the enthusiasm of someone who absolutely did not ask to be conscious today.
After a quick shower, Mikaela changed into something simple and casual—an orange cropped tank top that showed her midriff and navel, paired with short denim jeans. She kept her makeup light, just enough to look presentable. Grabbing a slice of bread, she spread peanut butter on it and ate in a hurry, already thinking about school.
With her bag in hand, she was just about to head out when she suddenly stopped.
Something lay on the floor near the door.
A white envelope.
She frowned slightly and bent down to pick it up. "Hmm? What's this?" Mikaela muttered. It looked familiar—like something she had meant to check last night but completely forgot about.
Her eyes narrowed as she noticed the formal design.
"…A wedding invitation?" she said softly, confused. Who do I even know that's getting married?
She opened the envelope.
The moment she read the name inside, her fingers began to tremble.
Her heartbeat spiked, loud in her ears.
"…Allen…" she whispered.
For a brief second, her mind went completely blank. Then her vision blurred, and her breath caught painfully in her throat.
"No… no…" she murmured, her voice shaking.
Tears welled up despite her trying to hold them back. One drop fell onto the invitation, smudging the paper slightly. She hurriedly wiped at her eyes, but it didn't help—another tear slipped free.
"…Nine days…" she whispered weakly as she read the date.
What Mikaela didn't realize—what she didn't see—was the rest of the letter. She hadn't read it all the way through. In her mind, there was no need to. She already knew who Allen was going to marry.
Raviel.
Of course it was Raviel.
And she did. She is right, even if only half right. What she didn't know—what hadn't even crossed her mind—was that Raviel wasn't the only one Allen was marrying.
Her knees felt unsteady as the reality settled in. Allen was really getting married.
Not someday.
Not eventually.
Nine days.
"Why, Allen… why?" Mikaela muttered, her voice breaking. "Why didn't you even talk to me about this first?" There was irritation in her tone now, but it was thin—barely holding together over the hurt beneath it.
She clenched the invitation tightly in her hand, the paper crumpling under her grip. Her chest ached as she struggled to breathe normally, each inhale feeling heavier than the last. The room felt unbearably quiet, like everything around her had frozen just to force her to face this moment.
Her thoughts spiraled out of control—overlapping, clashing, refusing to settle. Anger. Frustration. Disappointment. And beneath it all, a deep, aching heartbreak she couldn't ignore no matter how hard she tried.
Mikaela stared down at the invitation, her vision still blurred.
Right now, everything inside her felt tangled and broken—and she didn't know which feeling hurt the most.
After crying for what felt like far too long, Mikaela finally forced herself to stand up. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, sniffing hard as if that alone could pull her back together.
"I–I need to talk to him," she said out loud, her voice unsteady but determined. "Yeah… you need to talk to him, Mikaela." She nodded to herself, as if agreeing with an invisible listener in the room.
She looked down at the invitation again, then let out a small, shaky laugh.
"Yeah… this is probably a joke, right?" she said, forcing a giggle that sounded a little too hollow. "There's no way this is real. Haha… yeah. Totally fake."
She hugged the paper to her chest, fingers gripping it a little too tightly.
"…He wouldn't do that without telling me," she whispered, as if repeating it enough times might make it true. "He wouldn't."
Her laughter came again, softer this time, almost fragile. It didn't quite reach her eyes.
Mikaela took a deep breath, then another, steadying herself. Whatever this was—mistake, misunderstanding, or something worse—she wasn't going to sit here and guess.
She grabbed her bag, shoved the invitation inside, and headed for the door.
"I'll just hear it from him directly," she muttered. "That's all. Just a talk."
Was she being dramatic?
Overthinking things?
…Maybe.
Or maybe her heart already knew something her mind was still refusing to accept.
Either way, one thing was clear.
Mikaela wasn't going to ignore this.
Not now.
Not when it hurt this much.
After finishing her crying and grabbing her jacket, Mikaela finally left the apartment and headed for school.
She got into the Mustang GT parked outside—the one Allen had bought her as a birthday present. The engine roared to life the moment she turned the key, its familiar sound doing little to calm the storm in her chest.
As she drove, memories she usually kept buried began to surface.
She had met Allen when she was eleven years old.
Back then, she'd been dragged into a car theft case—not because she wanted to steal, but because her father had no one else to leave her with. He couldn't afford a babysitter, couldn't afford much of anything. So she stayed with him, even when he did things he shouldn't have.
That night, everything went wrong.
The stolen car crashed.
In the chaos, her father had pushed her out first—made sure she was safe—then ran when he heard the police sirens getting closer. He didn't look back. He didn't explain. He just disappeared into the darkness.
She remembered standing there, shaking, surrounded by flashing red and blue lights.
The police detained her for hours.
Question after question.
Who stole the car?
Where is your father?
Who helped him?
And every time, she gave the same answer.
"I don't know."
Not because she didn't—but because she couldn't betray him.
He was all she had left.
Her mother had run away long before that, unable to handle poverty, unable to live with a husband who survived on illegal work and bad decisions. She left without looking back, leaving Mikaela with nothing but a broken home and a father barely holding things together.
So when the police finally let her go—scared, shaken, and exhausted—Mikaela truly believed that was the end of everything.
And then Allen appeared.
He hadn't looked at her like a criminal.
He hadn't looked at her like a problem.
He withdrew the car theft charges, saving her from having a criminal record.
And he even offered to become her guardian.
Her anchor.
The one adult who stayed.
The one who protected her, gave her stability, a home, a future.
Allen had become family to her. He was the one who had taken care of her all this time, and she didn't want to lose him.
And now—
Her hands tightened around the steering wheel as the Mustang sped down the road.
"…And now you're getting married," she whispered bitterly to the empty car, the wedding invitation still fresh in her mind, almost too unreal to believe.
The thought made her chest ache all over again.
She didn't know what hurt more—
that he was getting married…
or that she hadn't heard it from him first.
The school building finally came into view, but Mikaela didn't feel any closer to calm.
If anything, the questions in her heart were only getting louder.
She wasn't truly angry about Allen getting married.
She was just afraid—afraid that after he married, he would leave her, just like her father had.
To live with another woman.
After all, Allen wasn't her biological family.
And that truth alone was enough to make Mikaela feel scared, sad, angry… and jealous.
At first, she had moved out of Allen's house on purpose.
She was jealous—jealous of Raviel, the woman who had become Allen's girlfriend.
She knew what she was doing.
She believed that if she ran away or left that house, Allen would come after her.
Just like before.
Just like he always did.
And she was convinced he would eventually choose her—leaving his woman behind, the same way he had left others in the past.
After all, she knew Allen well enough to believe he was a playboy.
A man who never stayed with anyone for too long.
So she was certain that sooner or later, Allen would get bored of Raviel too.
But this time… she was wrong.
Months passed after she left.
And Allen stopped looking for her.
Completely.
That alone had shaken her more than she wanted to admit.
And now—
this wedding invitation had finally forced her to face the truth.
Mikaela realized that she liked Allen.
No—she had liked him for a long time.
Even though their ages were only a few years apart,
even though she had tried to deny it,
even though she had convinced herself it was just attachment—
Her heart had already made its choice.
When Mikaela stepped out of her car, she didn't waste a single second. She shut the door, slung her bag over her shoulder, and headed straight toward the school building with her usual confident stride.
As expected, heads immediately turned.
A few guys nudged each other.
Some stared a little too long.
Others were bold enough to actually try.
"Hey, Mikaela," one random guy called out, flashing what he clearly thought was a charming smile. "So, uh… are you busy tonight? 'Cause if you're free, maybe we could—"
He didn't get to finish.
"Shut up! Get lost, loser!" Mikaela snapped sharply, her voice echoing just enough to draw attention.
She didn't even slow down.
She walked past him, grabbed her books from her locker, and went straight into the classroom without looking back.
The guy froze in place, face burning red as nearby students burst out laughing. A few even pointed. He muttered something under his breath and quickly disappeared down the hallway.
Mikaela, meanwhile, dropped into her seat, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Not long after, the classroom door opened again.
Allen walked in—calm, composed, carrying himself with that same effortless confidence—followed by Castoria.
Mikaela immediately noticed her.
She knew exactly who Castoria was. A classmate. Raviel's sister.
And that alone was enough to make something twist unpleasantly in her chest.
She looked away, irritation flickering in her eyes, forcing herself to breathe.
Not now.
She wanted to talk to Allen—needed to—but she knew better than to do it during class. She'd have to wait. Just a little longer.
Allen stepped up to the front of the room and closed the book he hadn't really been using anyway.
"Okay," he said, tapping the desk lightly. "Small change of plans."
A few students who had already started complaining stopped mid-groan and looked up.
Some of the girls, meanwhile, were far more focused on Allen himself—leaning forward, whispering to each other, while trying to flirt with Allen, clearly trying to catch his attention.
After all, Allen was easily the most handsome teacher in the school.
And the fact that he was a teacher didn't seem to discourage anyone. If anything, it made things worse.
Allen, however, didn't react at all.
He'd seen it a hundred times before—and treated it exactly the same way every time: complete indifference.
"The assignment I mentioned earlier," he continued, "isn't just a regular one."
He paused, letting his gaze move calmly across the room.
"This will be your final project for the semester."
The classroom immediately erupted.
"Wait, seriously?"
"A final project?"
"History?"
Allen raised one hand, and the noise slowly died down.
"Relax. Listen first before you panic," he said casually.
"You won't be writing about ancient wars or long-dead kingdoms."
He turned to the board and wrote in large, clear letters:
FINAL PROJECT:
THE HISTORY OF YOUR OWN FAMILY
The room shifted.
Some students exchanged curious looks.
Others stiffened uncomfortably.
"You'll be researching your own family," Allen explained.
"Parents. Grandparents. Where they came from. The choices they made. The mistakes. The things that never show up in textbooks."
Sam raised his hand hesitantly.
"Uh… sir," he said, mostly to get attention—especially Mikaela's—"what if someone's family is just… normal?"
Mikaela didn't even look at him.
Allen smiled faintly.
"There's no such thing as a 'normal' family," he replied, meeting Sam's eyes directly.
"Only stories that haven't been told yet."
Mikaela's fingers tightened against the edge of her desk.
Family history…?
Allen's voice lowered slightly.
"And no," he added, "this isn't about making your family look impressive."
He tapped the board once.
"It's about honesty."
The room fell quiet.
"You can write about difficult things," he continued.
"People who left. Bad decisions. Choices that destroyed lives… or saved them."
His gaze shifted—briefly, almost imperceptibly—toward Mikaela.
Just for a second.
But it was enough to make her throat tighten.
"Your grade," Allen went on as if nothing had happened,
"won't be based on how pretty your story is."
A faint smile crossed his lips.
"It'll be based on how well you understand why your family became what it is today."
Sam swallowed.
"And… if we find something we don't like?"
Allen shrugged.
"That's history too."
The bell rang.
Students immediately bolted for the door, eager to escape. Allen shook his head lightly but began packing up his things as well, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
He was just about to leave when—
"Allen?" Mikaela called out, stepping toward him.
He paused.
"Hm, Miss Barnes," Allen said calmly. "Didn't I tell you not to call me Allen while we're at school?"
"I know," Mikaela replied, nodding slightly. Her eyes were glossy now. "But… can we talk for a moment?"
Allen studied her expression and immediately understood something was wrong. He nodded.
"Of course," he said gently. "Come on. Let's talk in my office."
And with that, he turned and led Mikaela toward his private room.