I was leaning against the armrest of the couch, phone in hand, scrolling past the same feed I'd seen a dozen times before. Zach's voice cut through the background noise.
"Pass it, Julian!" Zach shouted, leaning so far forward on the couch it was a miracle he didn't topple over.
"Relax, I've got this," Julian replied, his focus glued to the screen. He executed a neat pass, but it was intercepted instantly by Adrian.
"That's what happens when you trust Julian to do something," Owen said, smirking as his player dashed down the field.
"Hey, I'm carrying this team right now!" Julian shot back, hammering buttons to try and stop the counterattack.
"You're carrying them straight to a loss," Adrian quipped, effortlessly dribbling past defenders.
Zach groaned, gripping his controller like he could physically force his player to run faster. "Julian, what are you doing? Defend! He's heading straight for the goal!"
"I'm trying, okay?!" Julian yelled, frantically switching players. But it was no use. Adrian's player blasted the ball into the top corner of the net.
"GOAL!" Adrian shouted, throwing his hands up. "That's teamwork, baby!"
"Too easy," Owen added with a grin, leaning back on the couch like he hadn't just destroyed them.
Julian groaned, slumping against the couch. "This game's rigged. There's no way you should've made that shot."
"Yeah, blame the game," Owen said, shaking his head. "It's definitely not because you and Zach are terrible at defending."
Zach threw his controller down dramatically. "Alright, I'm done. We're heading out. We've been stuck in here all morning."
Adrian smirked, barely looking up as the match reset. "You're not losing again because you're quitting. Classic Zach."
"Better to quit than to watch you gloat for another hour," Zach muttered.
"Don't blame us because you picked Julian as your teammate," Owen said, dodging a pillow Zach threw at him.
"Hey!" Julian protested. "I'm the only reason we even scored once."
Adrian laughed softly. "Scored once? You mean the lucky tap-in after I tripped over the keeper?"
"Details," Julian said, waving him off.
Zach stretched, already reaching for his phone. "Come on, let's go. We'll figure it out on the way."
Owen was already grabbing his jacket. "Finally. Thought we were gonna waste the whole day inside."
Ethan, who had been quiet for most of it, stood up as well. Unlike the others, he didn't rush to leave—he was watching me.
"Daniel?" Zach called, looking over his shoulder.
I looked up from my phone. "Nah, I'm out today."
The group paused.
Julian raised an eyebrow. "What, big plans? Don't tell me Leah finally convinced you to start knitting or something."
"Or pottery," Adrian added with a smirk.
Zach groaned. "Man, you're passing up a good time for...what, a poetry date?"
Before I could respond, Ethan finally spoke.
"You're really skipping?" His voice was calm, not accusing, but there was something behind it. A casual question—on the surface, at least.
I barely glanced at the others before shifting my gaze to him.
"Relax," I said evenly, holding his gaze just a second longer than needed. "It's just Leah. Nothing to worry about."
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Alright."
That was it. No jokes, no further questioning. But I knew he wasn't entirely convinced.
"Alright, fine. Suit yourself," Zach said, waving me off as he headed for the door.
The rest followed, their voices fading as the front door shut behind them.
I exhaled quietly, leaning back before pulling out my phone.
"Leah, I need a favor."
"I've got somewhere to be today, and I don't want the guys tagging along. Can I say I'm with you?"
Her response came almost immediately.
"That's fine, but what's going on? Are you okay?"
A pang of guilt settled in. Leah had always been the type to worry, even when there wasn't a reason to.
"I'm good, I promise. Just something I need to handle on my own. I'll tell you everything later".
I locked my phone and stared at the ceiling for a moment before pushing myself off the bed.
Time to go
Scene: Arrival at Sterling Residence
The Sterling Residence loomed over the city like it owned the place—glass walls and sharp edges reflecting the dipping sun like it had something to prove. I walked in, my hoodie pulled up just enough to keep me unnoticed. The lobby was just as flashy as the outside—shiny marble floors, chandeliers dripping with wealth, and people who looked like they belonged in a magazine.
I didn't belong here, but that was nothing new.
The woman at the reception desk looked up, her eyes scanning me quickly before plastering on a professional smile. "Good evening," she said, her voice polished and detached. "How may I assist you?"
"I was called here by someone," I said, keeping it vague. I wasn't about to drop names when I didn't even know the name to drop.
She raised an eyebrow, her fingers pausing mid-typing. "Someone?"
Before I could answer, a man standing nearby stepped forward. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a suit that probably cost more than my rent. His eyes raked over me, and I could tell exactly what he was thinking: This kid? Seriously?
"You're here for Dane Mercer?" he said, his voice carrying a slight edge of disbelief.
I didn't respond immediately, just held his gaze. His expression flickered, like he was reevaluating whatever he'd assumed about me.
The receptionist cut in, her tone softening as she glanced at me again. "I think he's expecting a teenager. Are you the one?"
I nodded, keeping my hands stuffed in my hoodie pockets. "Yeah."
The man snorted but didn't say anything else. Instead, he jerked his head toward the elevator. "22nd floor. He's waiting."
I didn't thank him, didn't even look back as I walked toward the elevator. The ride up was quiet, the faint sound of classical music filling the space. My reflection stared back at me in the polished steel walls—messy hair, tired eyes, the same black hoodie I always wore. I didn't know who this Dane Mercer was or why he'd called me here, but I was already second-guessing my decision to show up.
The doors slid open, and I stepped out into a hallway so silent it felt like walking into a library. Suite 2207 was at the end, the door slightly ajar. I hesitated for a moment, then pushed it open.
The room was huge, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city below. Everything about it screamed power and wealth, from the sleek black furniture to the faint scent of expensive cologne in the air.
And then I saw him.
Dane Mercer was standing by the window, his back to me, the late afternoon light casting a long shadow across the floor. His hair was light pink, middle-parted, and somehow perfectly messy, like he'd just rolled out of bed and still managed to look polished. He turned when he heard the door close, his smile easy and practiced, like he'd been expecting me all along.
"So," he said, his voice smooth and conversational, "you're the Daniel, right?"
I didn't answer right away, taking a second to study him. He was tall, lean but not lanky, his posture relaxed but not lazy. His light-colored eyes seemed to miss nothing, even as he smiled like we were old friends.
"Yeah," I said finally, keeping my tone neutral. "That's me."
He chuckled, stepping away from the window. "I've heard a lot about you."
I didn't react, didn't give him anything to work with. Whatever he'd heard, it wasn't from me.
Dane gestured toward one of the leather chairs by the coffee table. "Sit," he said, still smiling. "Let's talk."
I stayed where I was. "I'd rather stand."
His smile didn't falter, but I noticed the way his eyes narrowed just slightly, like he was filing that response away for later. "Fair enough," he said, leaning casually against the back of the chair instead. "You're cautious. I like that."
"I'm here because I was told to be here," I said, my voice steady. "If this is about something I'm not interested in, I'll leave."
Dane tilted his head, his smile turning almost playful. "Oh, Daniel," he said softly. "You don't even know what you're walking into, do you?"
I blinked, caught completely off guard by his words. What was I walking into? The air in the room felt heavier, like I was standing on the edge of something far bigger than I could see. I swallowed hard, keeping my voice steady. "Please," I began, choosing my words carefully. "I'm only here so the problems following me won't escalate for me or the people around me."
Dane's smile widened, and before I could say more, he burst into laughter—loud, unrestrained, as if I'd just told him the best joke he'd heard all week. "I can't believe it," he said between laughs. "James picking fights with high schoolers?" He leaned back, shaking his head as if the thought amused him beyond measure.
I stood there, confused. Why was I even here if it was all just a joke to him? "Then… why did you call me here?" I asked, narrowing my eyes, trying to keep my frustration in check
Dane let his laughter subside, then looked at me with a strange mix of amusement and curiosity. "I heard you beat James in a fight," he said simply. "I wanted to meet you—thought you might want to join me." He paused, his eyes scanning me briefly. "But judging by the way you're holding yourself, I don't think you're interested."
Join him? What could someone like him possibly want with someone like me? I hesitated, doubts creeping in. "What kind of business would you have with a high schooler like me?" I asked, my tone cautious but firm.
Dane sighed, glancing upward as if gathering his thoughts. The movement drew attention to his strong, muscular neck, a sharp contrast to his otherwise relaxed demeanor. "You're really something, aren't you?" he said, shaking his head slightly. "When I heard you beat James, I pictured someone… different. But you? You're almost innocent."
His words hung in the air, leaving me unsure whether to feel insulted or relieved. Before I could reply, his tone shifted, growing more serious. "There's more to this world than you think, Daniel," he said, his voice steady and pointed. "And for you to ask what someone like you can do for me? That's… unexpected."
He smiled again, though this time it felt less playful and more like he was hiding something deeper. "You can go," he said abruptly, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm sorry for wasting your time. Calling you here when I could've just met you elsewhere—that's on me." He leaned forward slightly, his smile returning. "But before you leave, I have a few gifts for you and your four friends. Think of it as my way of saying thanks for coming all the way here."
His words stunned me. He knew exactly how many of us lived in the house. How? My chest tightened as I realized he wasn't bluffing. He really knew where we lived. I forced myself to stay calm, schooling my expression into something neutral. "I kindly reject. I can't take any of your gifts," I said firmly, trying not to sound too offended or alarmed.
Dane tilted his head, his smile unwavering. "You're getting them because James deserved the beating you gave him, and I don't want to feel guilty about dragging you here."
I hesitated, weighing my options. "Fine," I said finally, keeping my voice measured. "I'll take the gifts so this ends here. I don't want any more trouble because of my actions."
To my surprise, Dane laughed again, the sound echoing through the room. It wasn't mocking, but it still made my skin crawl. "I'm not like James, Daniel," he said, his tone almost teasing. "I don't fight with high schoolers. But I still can't believe James went that low."
I stiffened at his words, unsure whether I was more stunned by his assessment of James or the fact that he seemed to be enjoying himself so much. "You're no better than him," I said suddenly, the words spilling out before I could stop them. My voice was tinged with anger. "At least James stands for something he believes in. He earned my respect. You? You lured me here for no reason."
As soon as the words left my mouth, a wave of regret washed over me. I'd spoken too much, and for a brief moment, fear crept in. But Dane only smiled, calm as ever. "I'm the one sending you off with gifts," he said, leaning back in his chair. "He sent you home with wounds. I can't imagine you think he's better than me."
He chuckled lightly, shaking his head again. "Are you impressed by his large group of underlings? Wait until you see the people working under my command." His voice softened, but his gaze locked onto mine with unsettling precision.
I lowered my head slightly, trying to diffuse the tension. "I'm sorry," I muttered. "I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean it."
Dane waved a hand dismissively, still smiling. "Don't forget to take the gifts," he said. "If you leave them behind, they'll end up at your house anyway."
The elevator ride down was quiet, but my mind raced. Dane's words, his demeanor, his unsettling calmness—I couldn't place him. He'd avoided every provoking word I threw at him, either intentionally or naturally.
When the doors opened, the man I'd seen earlier stood there, holding several bags stuffed with luxury items—designer clothes, watches, and other flashy trappings of wealth. His calm, practiced smile didn't falter as he extended the bags toward me.
"There's enough for your other three friends too," he said smoothly, his words measured, almost rehearsed.
For a moment, I stood still, caught off guard. Ryan, Julian, and Logan. The names flickered in my mind. How far do they know about us? Unlike the rest of us, those three weren't even living in the same house; they had their own place, separate from everything that tied the rest of us together. It wasn't just surprising—it was unsettling.
I glanced at the bags, then at him, trying to read his expression. There was nothing there—just that same polite, unwavering smile. Did he mean for me to ask how he knew? Or was this some kind of flex? A reminder that people like him had eyes everywhere?
My fingers tightened around the straps of the bags as I took them without a word, the smooth leather cool under my grip. "Thanks," I said curtly, turning on my heel before he could respond.
As I stepped out of Sterling, the weight of the bags was nothing compared to the weight in my chest. My thoughts raced, trying to piece together what this all meant.
Is this how people like him operate? I wondered, glancing down at the opulent branding stamped across the bags. Or was this just another way to prove a point?
It was hard to tell if this was generosity, manipulation, or some strange combination of both. Either way, it left a bad taste in my mouth. Even as I walked, the unease settled deeper, like I'd stepped onto a chessboard without knowing the rules of the game.
Scene: Meet up With James
The evening air felt heavier than usual. The last traces of daylight stretched thin across the parking lot, casting long shadows between the cars. A few headlights flickered in the distance, but here, in this quiet space, it was just us.
James stood near the edge of the lot, his back straight, hands buried in his pockets. He wasn't leaning against anything, wasn't distracted. Just waiting.
Not in a casual way. Not in an I just happened to be here way.
No—he had been expecting.
And that's what threw me off.
James wasn't the kind of guy who waited for people. He did things on his own time, at his own pace. So, for him to be standing here like this… It meant he already knew.
Or at least, he had a pretty good idea.
I exhaled and kept walking. No point in dragging it out.
His gaze flickered over me—just for a second. Not in a questioning way, but in an assessing way. Like he was checking for something. Then, his eyes lowered slightly, catching on the bags in my hands.
"That was fast," he muttered.
I stopped a few feet in front of him, shifting my grip on the bags. "You knew, didn't you?"
James didn't answer immediately. He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he said, "I figured it was only a matter of time."
I exhaled. "And you didn't think to warn me?"
James let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't know when or how it would happen. But people like him? They notice people like you. And once they do, they don't just forget."
I swallowed. The way he said it made my stomach twist.
"I don't even know what he wants from me."
James scoffed lightly. "Yeah, you do."
His voice wasn't mocking. It wasn't accusing.
It was just a fact.
I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Because he was right.
Dane wouldn't waste time on someone he had no use for. If he was testing me, it meant he was looking for something. And if he told me to leave… it meant I either had it, or I didn't.
James must've noticed my silence because he sighed and took a step closer.
"Listen," he said, his voice quieter now. "I don't care what Dane saw in you. What I care about is that you don't get pulled into something you can't walk away from."
His words felt heavier than they should have.
I hesitated before speaking. "I want to know what I've walked into." My grip on the bags tightened. "And more than that—I want to know if I should trust you or Dane."
For the first time, James' expression shifted. It wasn't surprise. It wasn't anger. It was something else.
Like he had expected me to ask.
He ran a hand through his hair before letting out a slow breath. "It's not about trust." His voice was quieter now. "It's about knowing what someone stands for. Dane has his reasons for doing things. I have mine. And you?" He looked at me, his gaze sharp. "You need to figure out yours."
I clenched my jaw. "That's not an answer."
James exhaled, then walked over to the edge of the lot and sat on the hood of a nearby car. He didn't tell me to join him, but I did anyway.
For a while, he didn't say anything.
Then, finally, he muttered, "I used to think like you. That there was a right side to stand on."
I frowned. "And?"
James' jaw tightened. He looked away for a second before finally saying, "It started that day." His voice was quieter now, distant. "The day I saw him crying, sitting on a bench outside the ICU."
I turned slightly toward him, waiting.
James' voice was even, but there was something else beneath it.
"His head was buried in his lap, and he was crying like I'd never seen before. Just… sitting there. His shoulders were shaking, and the only sound in that hallway was him trying to hold back his breath."
I didn't interrupt.
I just listened.
I didn't know who the man in the ICU was. But for James to carry that memory like a scar… it meant everything I thought I knew about him wasn't the full picture.