The morning sun streamed through the glass walls of the mansion's east wing, casting golden shadows over Marie's breakfast table. The housekeeper had just cleared the dishes when a knock echoed at the door.
"Marcella," Marie greeted, eyebrows lifting. "So early?"
Marcella stepped inside with her usual grace, her lips painted with what Marie now recognized as a rehearsed smile. "Good morning, Mom. I hope I'm not intruding."
Marie gestured for her to sit. "You know you're always welcome."
Marcella took the seat across from her, perfectly poised. "I wanted to talk to you… about Zelda."
Marie's gaze sharpened. "Is something wrong?"
"No, not wrong. Just… difficult." Marcella clasped her hands like a martyr in a painting. "She's been so distant lately. I tried suggesting we room together for the semester, just to be close — help her adjust. But she refused me. Coldly."
Marie frowned. "She's been through a lot this summer. The accident. The tension in the house. She's just protecting her space."
Marcella sighed. "I get that. I do. But she shouldn't shut out people who care. She's still part of this family, right? You said we're like sisters."
Marie paused, that motherly protectiveness flaring in her chest.
Marcella leaned in. "Maybe… if you talked to her? Gently. She listens to you."
Before Marie could answer, a voice cut across the room like a blade.
"She doesn't need to listen to anyone trying to manipulate her."
They both turned.
Ryan. Standing at the threshold, arms folded, calm but coiled like a storm waiting to break.
"Ryan," Marie said carefully.
He didn't even look at Marcella. "Zelda's boundaries aren't up for negotiation."
Marcella stood. "I didn't mean—"
"You never mean anything, do you?" Ryan's voice was quiet, but it vibrated with something sharp. "You just suggested. Smile. Slide your words in like knives wrapped in silk."
Marie blinked.
Marcella's expression flickered. "I was only trying to help."
"Good," Ryan said. "Help by staying out of her way."
He turned to his mother, voice softening just enough. "Let her rest, Mom. Please. No roommates. No drama."
Marie hesitated… then nodded. "I'll trust her judgment."
Marcella gave a polite smile. "Of course."
But her eyes? Fire.
---
Later that afternoon, Zelda stood in front of a dressing mirror in a boutique Marie had insisted they visit.
"I don't know why you insist on neutral tones," Marie said, flipping through a rack. "You're too pale for all this beige. Try something with presence."
Zelda sighed. "Presence is exhausting."
She stepped out of the fitting room in a dusty blue two-piece set and turned to examine the fit. Sleek. Clean. Easy to move in. She liked it.
She stepped back—and bumped straight into someone behind her.
"Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry—!"
A flurry of curly hair, bracelets, and tote bags full of sketchbooks tumbled backward. The girl caught herself just in time, laughing as she straightened up.
"I swear I wasn't spying! I just saw the same set and thought, 'Yes, main character moment.' Didn't mean to crash into you."
Zelda blinked.
The girl extended a hand. "Ariyah. Architecture major. Back pain survivor. Full-time caffeine addict."
Zelda took her hand, amused. "Zelda. Same major. Minimal caffeine. Occasional back pain."
Ariyah grinned. "Oh, thank God. I thought I'd be the only one sketching until 2 a.m. and crying over CAD errors."
Marie watched them from a distance, arms folded, suspicious.
Ariyah leaned in conspiratorially. "Your mom?"
Zelda nodded. "Yes."
"She doesn't like me."
Zelda smiled. "She doesn't like anyone until they're background-checked."
Ariyah laughed again. "Tell her I'm clean. Broke, but clean."
"Good to know."
They tried on a few more pieces together — Ariyah talking the entire time, Zelda laughing more than she expected. It felt like oxygen.
Not performance. Not tension. Not control.
Just someone being… real.
Outside, as Marie paid for the clothes, Zelda turned to Ariyah. "You should text me. Maybe we can work on that Gothic redesign together?"
Ariyah lit up. "Seriously? I'd love that."
They exchanged numbers. No pressure. No pretenses.
As they walked out, Marie leaned in. "Be careful who you trust, Zelda."
Zelda didn't answer.
But inside, she already knew:
This girl wasn't a threat.
She was a beginning.
---
That night, back at the mansion, Zelda sat curled in the oversized chair in her room, flipping through her new planner. She'd scribbled notes beside her course schedule — project deadlines, studio hours, group meetings. Every page promised noise and structure, exactly what she needed.
Marie knocked and peeked in. "Can I come in?"
Zelda nodded. "Sure."
Marie stepped inside, carrying a tray with tea and shortbread. "I thought we could talk."
Zelda blinked. "About what?"
"Marcella."
Zelda stiffened but said nothing.
Marie placed the tray down and sat beside her. "She means well, in her own way. But I know she isn't easy."
"She's not hard to understand," Zelda said calmly. "She wants things. That's all."
Marie stirred her tea. "She asked me to convince you to be her roommate."
Zelda gave a dry chuckle. "Of course she did."
"I didn't say yes," Marie added.
Zelda looked at her.
"I trust you to know what's best for yourself," Marie said. "Even if it's not easy to watch."
Zelda softened, leaned into her mom's shoulder.
"Thank you."
Marie brushed her hair gently. "Ryan made his opinion very clear, too."
Zelda smiled. "That sounds like him."
They sat in silence for a moment. Then Zelda whispered, "I met someone today."
Marie raised a brow. "Oh?"
"A girl. Ariyah. From my department. She's... different."
"Different how?"
"She talks a lot. Don't try to impress. Just... exists."
Marie gave a careful nod. "And she's not from a family like ours."
"No. Not even close."
Marie sipped her tea. "That could be good for you."
Zelda blinked. "Really?"
"You've spent too long navigating masks. Maybe someone with none is exactly what you need."
Zelda thought of Ariyah's crooked grin and overflowing tote bag.
"Maybe," she whispered.
Marie smiled softly. "Just don't forget who you are."
Zelda nodded, but her mind was elsewhere.
She was building something this year. Not a house. Not a model.
A life.