Arriving at the prestigious private school, Aiden steps out of the car, the brisk morning air tinged with the scent of freshly cut grass and lingering anxiety.
As he walks down the hallway, he feels the weight of other students' gazes, their whispers trailing behind him like a persistent shadow. He ignores their stares, knowing too well what they're about.
"It's getting old now," he mutters under his breath, casting a glance back at a girl who is glaring at him with a mix of awe and disdain.
Her pale skin and dark hair mirror his own, but it's his striking silver pupils that hold their fascination—the first time many have seen such an unusual trait.
She turns away, her friends snickering softly, their icy demeanor a familiar sting. Aiden shakes his head, brushing off the encounter, and focusing instead on the day ahead.
Just then, a voice cuts through the air, crisp and cold. "Aiden, I'm guessing?"
Aiden turns slowly, his expression a mask of indifference. "And who are you?" he replies, his tone sharp.
"Come on, second cousin. Shouldn't you know about me?" Tate retorts, his glare unwavering as he sizes Aiden up.
"Maybe your dad forgot to mention his family—again," he adds, the jab laced with venom.
Aiden's smirk returns, icy and defiant. "If he forgot to tell me, then I guess you're irrelevant to my life."
"Now, if you'll excuse me," Aiden says, brushing past Tate as he strides toward his classroom, his shoulders squared and eyes fixed ahead.
Tate watches him go, a sly grin creeping onto his face.
"This should be fun, dear second cousin," he murmurs, the words dripping with malice.
As he walks down the hallway, other students glance between them, sensing the tension simmering in the air, an electric charge that promises conflict.
As the class hour drags on, Aiden does his best to ignore Tate, who sits uncomfortably close, his presence an unwelcome shadow at Aiden's desk.
"He's definitely after me," Aiden thinks, shooting a glare at Tate. Their eyes lock, and Tate responds with a faint, smug smile.
"Whatever. Best he stays away from me," Aiden mutters under his breath as the bell rings, signaling it's time to prepare for the sports competition.
In the male changing room, Aiden pulls off his shoes and reaches for his socks, the rough fabric brushing against his skin. "I hope that man doesn't show up," he says, bitterness lacing his words as he thinks of his father.
Or better yet—he pauses, his foot dropping from the table as the realization hits him.
"Micheal!" he exclaims, rifling through his bag for his phone. He quickly dials his father's assistant.
"Hey, I need you to keep my father busy. Prevent him from coming here," Aiden says, his voice cold and firm, a glare aimed at the floor as if it could ward off his father's presence.
"Young master, I'm sorry, but he's already here, waiting for the sports to begin," Micheal replies, glancing over at Zanier, who is mingling with other noble parents, including Latina and May.
"Alright, thanks anyway," Aiden says, frustration bubbling beneath the surface as he hangs up.
The thought of his father's eyes on him sends a chill down his spine.
"Looks like someone isn't cool with his father," Tate chimes in, his voice dripping with mockery and sarcasm.
Aiden turns his head sharply, fixing Tate with an icy stare.
"And why are you poking your nose where it doesn't belong?" he shoots back, the air thick with tension.
Aiden's sharp retort hangs in the air, but Tate doesn't seem fazed. Instead, he leans against a locker with a smug grin, clearly enjoying the tension.
"Just making an observation, cousin," Tate replies coolly, folding his arms. "Seems like daddy issues run in the family."
Aiden clenches his fists but decides not to engage further. He's not going to let Tate get under his skin, especially not today.
He stuffs his phone into his bag and finishes getting dressed, pulling on his athletic uniform with swift, practiced movements.
The fabric feels tight against his skin, but he's too focused on the upcoming competition to care.
In the changing room, the other boys are buzzing with energy, some discussing strategy, others joking around to relieve the tension.
Aiden notices a few of them stealing glances at him and Tate, sensing the unspoken hostility between the two.
"Let's go," Aiden mutters to himself, mentally shaking off the encounter.
He heads toward the exit, eager to focus on the one thing that always takes his mind off family drama: winning.
Stepping outside, the midday sun beats down on the sprawling field. The school's private stadium is packed with students, teachers, and noble families seated in the stands.
Aiden glances toward the noble parents' section and immediately spots his father—Zanier, sitting stiffly beside May and Latina. His father's sharp eyes are scanning the field, likely looking for him.
Aiden's stomach twists, but he forces his gaze away, focusing instead on the competition. His team gathers around him, wearing matching uniforms emblazoned with the school's crest. The weight of leadership rests on his shoulders, but this is where he thrives.
"Alright, team," Aiden says, his voice steady and commanding.
"This is our moment. We've trained hard, and today we're going to show everyone why we're the best."
His teammates nod in agreement, their nervous energy palpable. The sports coordinator blows the whistle, signaling the start of the event.
The first activity is a relay race, and Aiden is anchoring his team.
As they line up, Aiden stretches his legs, the tension in his muscles easing as he focuses on the race ahead.
He feels Tate's eyes on him from the other team's lineup, and for a split second, their gazes meet. Tate smirks, clearly relishing the chance to compete against him.
"This should be fun," Tate mouths silently.
Aiden ignores him. The whistle blows, and the first runners take off, their feet pounding the track.
The roar of the crowd fills the air, but Aiden blocks it all out, focusing on his breathing, his pulse, and the baton he'll soon have to grab.
One by one, the runners pass the baton, the race neck-and-neck between Aiden's team and Tate's. As his teammate approaches, Aiden's heart races, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The baton slaps into his hand, cold and firm, and he takes off like a bullet.
The wind rushes against his face as his legs pump with everything he has. He can feel Tate closing in from behind, but Aiden pushes harder, his determination burning in his chest.
He's not just running to win—he's running to prove to himself, and maybe even to his father, that he doesn't need anyone's approval to succeed.
The finish line looms ahead, and with one final burst of speed, Aiden crosses it just moments before Tate.
The crowd erupts in cheers, but Aiden barely hears it. He slows to a stop, panting heavily, his heart pounding with victory.
He looks back at Tate, who is glaring at him, breathing just as hard.
"Good race," Aiden says, more to himself than to Tate.
Tate's scowl deepens, but Aiden turns away, walking toward his team as they celebrate their win.
Few minutes later, the cool water from his face with his sleeve. The chill of the water had helped calm his nerves, but as he opened the door, a sense of unease settled over him.
He felt it before he saw it—a heavy, oppressive gaze bearing down on him. His heartbeat quickened.
Standing just outside, blocking the hallway like a brick wall, was a towering man in a tailored suit.
His broad shoulders and the clenched fists at his sides gave off a menacing aura.
Aiden's pulse throbbed in his ears, but he quickly masked his fear with the same icy, detached expression he always used to guard himself.
"Excuse me," Aiden said, his voice cold, almost dismissive as he looked up at the man.
He didn't flinch, even though he felt the man's intense glare like a weight pressing on his chest.
His words, though firm, seemed to bounce off the man like they were nothing more than whispers.
"Seriously, can't he hear me?" Aiden thought, irritation creeping into his mind.
The man wasn't budging, and Aiden's usual cool demeanor wasn't working in his favor. He subtly shifted his stance, trying to gauge a way around him.
Just then, the man's hand twitched, and Aiden's heart skipped a beat as the guy's massive arm began to rise.
Panic flashed through him. The intent was clear—this wasn't some casual confrontation. The hand was coming for him.
But before it could reach him, a voice rang out from behind the man.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Aiden's body loosened in immediate relief. That voice—it was Micheal.