The front door closed with a dull thud behind Levi, and the quiet hum of the mansion returned—brief, like the calm between thunder and lightning.
Upstairs, the door to Sarah Edwards' bedroom flew open.
"Where is that useless boy?" Sarah's voice boomed through the second-floor corridor, sharp and cold as broken glass. She descended the staircase in her silk robe, her heels clicking on the steps with rhythmic fury. Her face was drawn tight, her jaw clenched, eyes scanning the sitting room like a hawk in search of prey.
"Where is Levi?" she barked.
June Edwards, curled in the far corner of the living room with a book, looked up. Her chestnut hair fell over one eye, and she tucked it behind her ear nervously. "He… he went out," she said softly. "I think he had classes today."
Gianna rolled her eyes from the opposite couch, legs crossed lazily, still scrolling through her phone. "No, he didn't."
Sarah turned sharply. "What?"
"One of my friends is in his program at Eagleside," Gianna continued with a mocking smile. "They don't have class till five today. So… unless he's starting a career as a street sweeper, I don't know where he's running off to."
Sarah's hands balled into fists. "That boy—! He thinks he can walk in and out of this house like it's a damn hostel. I told him—I told him!—if he leaves without finishing the chores again, he'll be out for good!"
"Maybe you should finally follow through," Gianna said with a shrug, not looking up from her phone. "It's not like he contributes anything."
June stood now, voice firmer than before. "He does everything in this house, Gianna. He cleans your shoes, irons your dresses, he—"
"Please," Gianna cut her off, smirking. "I don't need a Levi Defense Squad this morning."
June turned toward her mother. "He's just trying his best, Mom. Maybe he did have something important to do."
Sarah's lip curled. "Important? He's a freeloader. A stray we decided to feed out of pity. And he repays us by disappearing the second I turn my back?"
June leaned her head back dramatically. "Mom, calm down. If you throw him out, just be ready to explain it to Dad when he gets back. You know how he feels about causing drama."
Sarah's expression faltered for a moment. Her fingers twitched.
Jimmie Edwards. The name alone dulled her fury—slightly. He was powerful, respected, and careful about the image of the Edwards family. He tolerated Levi in his way—quiet, distant, but never cruel. And Sarah knew if she made a spectacle, Jimmie would intervene… and not on her side.
Still, her pride flared.
"Fine," she snapped, spinning on her heel. "But I swear, if he disrespects me one more time—" Her voice dropped to mutters as she stormed back up the stairs, words bitter and barely coherent. "Ungrateful… like he owns the place… filthy little—"
Her door slammed.
Silence returned to the living room. Gianna was back on her phone. June sat down again, lips pressed in a tight line, heart fluttering with quiet worry.
Because whatever Levi was doing that morning… it mattered.
And in this house, anything that mattered made people angry.
Oakland Mail Services Main Office towered above the streets of Chicago like a monument carved for royalty. The building shimmered beneath the gray sky, all black steel and polished glass, its edges too perfect, its silence too clean. It was the kind of place Levi had only seen from a distance—never up close, never with purpose.
He stepped up to the main gate, heart steady but cautious. He kept his eyes on the golden crest embedded above the archway, the emblem of power and wealth. His breath rose in faint clouds, and his worn shoes tapped gently against the marble steps leading to the gate.
Two guards in jet-black uniforms were stationed at the entrance. They spotted him before he could even say a word.
One of them, a tall man with a buzzcut and narrowed eyes, stepped forward. His lips curled into something close to amusement.
"You lost, kid?" he asked, folding his arms.
"No, sir," Levi said evenly. "I'm here to pick up a package. It was marked as confidential—"
The second guard, younger, with sharp cheekbones and a smirk already forming, let out a short, mocking laugh. "A package? Here?" He looked Levi up and down. "In those clothes?"
Levi blinked. "I was told to ask for Martin Hale. He called me yesterday."
Buzzcut chuckled and shook his head. "Look, I don't know who you're trying to fool, but people don't walk into Oakland Mail Services wearing clearance-rack jeans and shoes held together with hope."
The younger one laughed harder now, turning toward the few people passing by. "Hey, we've got a comedian here. Says he's got a package inside. Must be made of gold!"
A few heads turned. People began slowing down.
"Sir, I'm not here to cause any trouble," Levi said, trying to keep his voice calm, even as heat rose to his face. "I got a call. They said it was urgent. I just want to speak to the person who called me."
"You got a call?" the buzzcut repeated, tilting his head with mock interest. "Well, we didn't. So how about you turn around and head back to… wherever you came from?"
"I'm telling you the truth," Levi said, taking a single step forward.
The younger guard raised a hand against his chest, firmly. "You don't belong here. This place is for high-level, confidential transactions. People worth something. Not—" his eyes flicked over Levi's jacket, "—people who look like they live in alleyways."
That's when the crowd started gathering.
Phones were raised. Whispers fluttered like leaves in the wind.
"Who is he?"
"Probably homeless."
"Trying to fake his way into the office…"
"This is why they need better screening."
Levi stood still, his shoulders straight, but inside, his stomach churned.
He had done nothing wrong. All he wanted was to pick up a package. Why were these people so quick to humiliate him?
"I don't want a scene," he said, louder now, speaking past the guards to the crowd. "I'm just trying to collect what was sent to me. That's all."
More laughter erupted.
"Did he say sent to him?"
"He probably forged the call."
"What a joke."
Then a new voice cut through the noise.
"What's going on here?"
A man in a fitted blue blazer and a trimmed gray beard approached from the side entrance, ID badge glinting. He held a tablet in one hand, glancing between Levi and the guards.
"Sir," the buzzcut said quickly, "we're handling it. Just a confused walk-in trying to stir up some attention."
The supervisor's eyes landed on Levi, narrowed with mild disgust. "Is that so?" He gave Levi a once-over. "You think we're some kind of charity?"
Levi's mouth parted, but no words came.
The man shook his head. "Get him out of here. We don't have time for street kids playing pretend."
Levi's fists clenched at his sides. Not because of anger—but because of how hard he was trying not to show it.
Every eye was on him. Every phone was still raised. The world was laughing again.
And all he had done was show up.
Why are they like this? he thought, heart sinking.
Why are people so fast to judge what they don't understand?
He stood frozen for a few moments. The sidewalk, the tower, the sky above—all felt a little too heavy.
Then he took out his phone. He was done with all the drama.