Xander's POV
The mansion was quiet in a way that felt almost unnatural.
Not peaceful.
Just… empty.
Morning light filtered softly through the tall windows of the Vale mansion, slipping past heavy velvet curtains and stretching across the polished marble floor. In a house this large, silence never felt comforting. Most mornings began long before anyone else woke up, and today was no different. The halls were still empty when Alexander slipped quietly down the staircase and turned toward a narrow corridor most people rarely used.
At the end of it was a small room.
Not part of the grand design of the mansion. Not marble, not polished, not decorated to impress guests.
Just a room.
Xander pushed the door open and stepped inside. The faint scent of paint lingered in the air. Several canvases leaned against the wall, some finished, others abandoned halfway through. A wooden desk sat near the window, scattered with brushes, charcoal pencils, and tubes of acrylic paint squeezed from overuse. It was messy. Which meant it was the only place in the house that actually felt real. The only room that felt like it belonged to him.
Xander picked up a brush and dipped it into dark blue paint. The canvas in front of him already held the rough outline of a city skyline, tall buildings stretching toward a pale gray sky. But the lines were uneven, restless, like the artist couldn't quite decide what the painting wanted to become. He dragged the brush across the surface, adding another layer of shadow.
Paint had a strange way of silencing the noise in his head. When he worked like this, the expectations disappeared. No competitions. No perfect grades. No family name weighing on his shoulders.
Just color.
Just movement.
Just breathing.
He worked for almost an hour before the first sounds of the house waking up drifted down the hallway. Footsteps. A distant door closing. Somewhere in the kitchen, dishes clinked. Xander set the brush down and wiped his hands on an old rag before stepping back to study the canvas.
He tilted his head slightly as he studied the skyline. Something about it still felt wrong. Too perfect. Cities were never perfect. He dipped the brush into darker paint and dragged a thin line across the sky, breaking the neat pattern of buildings. Still unfinished. But then again, most things were.
"You know," a voice said softly, "one day someone's going to see these."
Xander didn't look back.
"They're not meant to be seen."
She stepped closer and gently brushed invisible dust from his shoulder.
"That's a shame," she murmured.
"Hmm."
"Be ready. Your luggage will be in your room any moment."
He smiled at that.
"Thanks, Aunt Mae."
He washed the paint from his hands in the small sink, though faint smudges still clung to his fingers. The smell of acrylic lingered stubbornly on his skin. He didn't bother trying to hide it. No one except Aunt Mae ever came here anyway.
He stepped back into the hallway, quietly shutting the door, and froze. Standing near the staircase was Ronald, his personal bodyguard. Silent, still, but alert. His eyes followed Xander like a shadow, and just the sight of him added a strange weight to the morning air.
"Ahh, it's you," Xander said, hand to his heart.
"I got scared for a moment."
"Sorry about that, young master. Good morning."
"It's okay, it was nothing."
By the time he reached his bedroom again, the mansion had begun to stir. He had barely adjusted his tie when his door suddenly flew open.
"XANNY!"
A small blur launched into him. Arabelle wrapped both arms around his waist like she had no intention of letting go.
"You're late," she declared seriously.
Xander blinked down at her.
"Late for what exactly?"
"Morning hug."
Behind her, another small figure appeared in the doorway. Julian leaned against the frame with his arms crossed.
"You skipped yesterday," he added.
Xander sighed dramatically.
"Well," he said, crouching down to their height, "clearly I've committed an unforgivable offense."
"So… how will I be punished?" Xander asked, crouching down to their height.
"100 hugs!" Arabelle declared.
The twins immediately attacked him in a hug. Arabelle paused suddenly, wrinkling her nose.
"You smell weird."
Xander smirked.
"That's paint."
"Okay," Arabelle said slowly, like she wasn't completely convinced.
Arabelle grabbed his face suddenly.
"Did you dream about dragons?"
Xander blinked.
"No, I didn't dream about dragons."
Julian shook his head like a disappointed professor.
"You should. Dragons are cool."
Xander paused. Before he could answer, Aunt Mae's voice came from the hallway.
"And what exactly is happening here?"
She stood with her hands on her hips, trying—and failing—to look stern. The twins immediately scrambled away.
"Breakfast!" Arabelle shouted, racing down the hall. Julian followed but stopped long enough to tug on Xander's sleeve.
"You'll come home early today, right?" The question hit harder than it should have. Promises were dangerous things in the Vale household.
Xander forced a small smile and ruffled his hair.
"I'll try."
Julian seemed satisfied with that answer and ran after his sister.
Aunt Mae remained in the doorway, watching Xander carefully.
"You didn't sleep again," she said quietly.
"I slept," Xander replied, a little too quickly.
Mae gave him a look—the kind that had raised him almost as much as his parents had.
"How many hours?" she asked quietly.
Xander straightened his shirt.
"What?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"You know what I'm talking about, Xander. Don't pretend."
He sighed softly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I'm fine, Mae."
For a moment, he almost told her. Almost. Instead he smiled.
"Maybe five or six."
She didn't look convinced, but she let it go for now.
"Your parents are waiting," she said finally.
Xander straightened slightly, the familiar weight settling back onto his shoulders.
"Right," he murmured.
The dining room smelled faintly of black coffee and freshly toasted bread. His father sat at the head of the table, already reading something on his tablet, his glasses resting low on his nose. His mother stirred her coffee slowly, her movements precise and elegant.
Marcus Vale didn't look up right away.
When he did, it was brief.
"You're late."
Xander glanced at the clock.
Seven-thirty exactly.
"I'll leave earlier tomorrow."
Marcus nodded once, satisfied, and returned to reading.
"Good morning, Alexander," she said.
"Good morning."
"The mathematics competition is today," his father said without looking up from the tablet.
"Yes."
"You will win."
Xander paused before answering. "I'll try."
His father lowered the paper slightly. "You don't try, Alexander. You succeed."
Across the table, Arabelle and Julian were whispering over their cereal like two conspirators. Julian suddenly looked up.
"Xanny, will you come to my school play next week?"
Silence spread across the table. Even the twins seemed to realize they had asked the wrong question. His mother finally glanced at him.
"Alexander has responsibilities."
Julian's excitement dimmed. Xander felt something tighten in his chest.
"I'll be there," he said. His father didn't look up from the tablet.
After breakfast, Xander grabbed his bag and stepped toward the hallway. Ronald was waiting near the staircase, motionless but alert, his eyes following Xander like a shadow. Together, they walked to the driveway.
Outside, the morning air felt cooler. The black car waited at the end of the driveway. Gilbert stood beside it.
"Morning, Mr. Vale."
"Morning, Gilbert."
Ronald opened the back door, and Xander slid inside the back seat, loosening his tie slightly. Outside, Gilbert gave a nod of greeting, an acquaintance's respect shared silently between the two men. Ronald slid into the passenger seat.
The gates opened slowly as the car pulled onto the road.
Gilbert adjusted the mirror slightly.
"Big day today, young master?"
"Something like that."
"You look tired."
Xander gave a small shrug. "I'll be fine."
A glance passed between Gilbert and Ronald, who shook his head. The city stretched awake around them. For a moment, all that could be heard was the quiet hum of the engine.
Xander leaned forward slightly.
"How's your daughter?"
Gilbert glanced at him in the mirror, surprised.
"Lily?"
"Yeah."
"She's good," Gilbert said with a small smile. "Started soccer this week. Thinks she's going to the World Cup."
Xander chuckled. "That's a solid plan."
Gilbert hesitated before adding, "She asked if you'd come watch a game sometime."
Xander looked out the window as the city woke up around them. The city buzzed past, unaware of the Vale boy in its midst.
"Tell Lily I'll do my best," he said softly, knowing the word 'try' was the only promise he could give.
"How about your mom, Ronald?" Xander asked.
"She's getting better now," Ronald replied quietly, eyes forward on the road, ever vigilant.
The words lingered in the quiet car.
They pulled up to the school gates a few minutes later. Students were already gathering outside.
"Have a good day, Mr. Vale," said Gilbert.
"You too, Gilbert."
Ronald opened the door. Xander stepped out of the car and immediately felt the familiar shift.
Shoulders straight. Expression calm. Mask sliding perfectly into place. Confident. Untouchable. Perfect.
School was already buzzing when he arrived. Students clustered in familiar groups across the courtyard, voices overlapping in a chaotic chorus of gossip, laughter, and complaints about homework. The moment Xander stepped through the gates, a few heads turned. It always happened. Not because he tried to stand out. Quite the opposite. His uniform was perfectly ordinary, his expression calm, his posture relaxed.
But reputation has gravity. People noticed. A few classmates greeted him on his way through the hall.
"Morning, Xander."
"Did you finish the physics assignment?"
"Hey, are you still coming to debate practice later?"
He answered each one politely, the practiced rhythm of someone who had learned exactly how much friendliness to give without letting anyone too close.
By the time he reached his locker, the hallway had already begun to thin as the first bell approached. Xander opened the metal door, slipped a notebook inside, and paused. Something small caught his eye across the corridor. A boy leaning against the far wall, sleeves rolled halfway up his arms, talking animatedly with a friend. There was grease smudged faintly along his wrist, like he'd come straight from fixing something mechanical. Not exactly the usual crowd here.
The boy laughed at something, an easy, unfiltered sound that cut cleanly through the usual hallway chatter. For a moment, Xander found himself watching. Not in a dramatic way. Just the quiet curiosity of someone noticing a detail that didn't quite belong in the picture.
Then the bell rang. The hallway exploded back into motion as students hurried toward their classrooms. When Xander looked again, the boy was already gone. Strange. He shut his locker and headed toward class, the moment slipping away like it had never happened. But somewhere in the back of his mind, a small question lingered. And questions, once they appear, have a funny habit of refusing to disappear.
******
Hiii
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