Maxwell stepped out of the Ferrari with practiced indifference, Linus the chauffeur quietly holding the door open. His mother and older sister, Melody, were already out, standing like figures from a paintingâpoised, regal, and every bit as intimidating as the grand occasion they had arrived for.
"Remember, Maxwell," his mother, Joan, said, her voice a smooth, deliberate warning. "I expect nothing but exemplary behavior tonight." Her eyes bore into him with the authority only one of Westview's top three most influential figures could command. Dressed in a sharp white suit with striking red heels, she exuded an aura of power. Her polished handbag, pristine and minimal, was a calculated accessoryâjust like her every move.
Melody, beside her, looked nothing short of angelic, though Maxwell knew the truth behind her facade. Her shimmering blue gown, slit daringly high, and waterfall of dark hair gave her an ethereal presence. She smiled sweetly, but Maxwell could sense the venom underneath.
"Yeah, make sure to tell your golden daughter that too," Maxwell muttered internally, but bit his tongue. The last thing he wanted tonight was to provoke his mother, who could turn a quiet glare into a living nightmare. Straightening his black suit, Maxwell let his face settle into its usual mask of mild irritation, though beneath it, pop music buzzed faintly from his wireless earplugs.
As they approached the entrance of the massive Zeus Tower, a skyscraper that seemed to pierce the starry night sky, Maxwell couldn't help but admire the cityscape above him. For all his complaints, nights like theseâlavish, extravagant, far beyond the grasp of most peopleâdid have their perks.
Once inside, the elevator whisked them upward, flanked by their silent bodyguards. Joan's voice cut through Maxwell's thoughts. "Max, those earplugs aren't good for you. You'll ruin your hearing."
Rolling his eyes, he retorted, "I'm 17, Mom. I think I can handle my hearing. And for the record, I didn't even want to come tonight."
She gave him a sharp, final glance, saying nothing more. And that was worse. Joan's silence always carried more weight than words, leaving Maxwell to stew in his uncertainty.
The elevator opened to reveal the grand hall. The sheer scale and opulence of the place was enough to make even his mother pause. Classical music filled the air as a live orchestra performed on stage, their notes weaving through the lively chatter of Westview's elite. Maxwell reluctantly removed his earplugs, allowing the rich melody to drown out his own thoughts for a moment. Rows of tables, each draped in fine linen and gold accents, were arranged in a circular pattern, directing all attention toward the stage. Hundreds of attendees, dressed in the height of fashion, were already seated, their conversations blending with the music in a hum of sophistication.
Maxwell's eyes scanned the crowd. He was searching for one person in particularâKillian Smith, the Mayor's son. The genius, the prodigy, the boy everyone wouldn't stop talking about. Maxwell had heard enough about him to be curious.
It didn't take long to spot him. Killian stood out, his custom-tailored suit gleaming under the chandeliers. Though they were the same age, Maxwell couldn't help but smirk at their physical differences. At five and a half feet, Maxwell was half a foot taller and considerably broader. Still, it wasn't the height that caught Maxwell's attentionâit was the tension. The way Killian carried himself, the sharpness in his eyes.
But someone else drew Maxwell's gazeâa boy standing next to Mr. Tony, another of Westview's power players. Dark skin, ebony hair, and an air of mystery surrounded the boy. Rumors followed him wherever he went. Supposedly, his moods could change the weather, storm clouds darkening with his anger. Maxwell didn't know if he believed the stories, but the boy's presence was undeniable. They locked eyes for a brief moment, the boy giving Maxwell a casual wink. Surprised, Maxwell found himself smiling before quickly looking away. "Embarrassing," he thought.
Melody noticed. "What's with you? Smiling, then scowling? You're acting weird." Her tone was half-concerned, half-judgmental. "You really should make more friends. This whole loner act isn't cute anymore."
Maxwell ignored her, his attention back on the crowd. He stood abruptly. "I'm going to the washroom," he muttered, not waiting for a response as he signaled to Charlie, one of the family's bodyguards, to follow.
As they walked through the hallways, Maxwell turned to Charlie. "So, what's this event really about?"
Charlie's deep voice rumbled in reply, "It's the state's annual celebration. They're showcasing the Mayor's son's invention tonightâa new supercar."
Cool," Maxwell responded flatly. "And how many times must I remind you? No 'Sir,' just Maxwell."
"My apologies, Sirâah, Maxwell," Charlie corrected himself, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice.
Maxwell rolled his eyes and chuckled under his breath. Just as Maxwell was about to make another comment, a sharp pain hit himâa sudden migraine, intense and blinding. He gripped his temples, swaying on his feet. Charlie was by his side in an instant, steadying him. These strange visions had been happening more frequently. They always felt like a warning, a glimpse of something about to unfold. This time, he saw a flash of Killianâangry, something broken.
When they reached the washroom, Maxwell found Killian already there. The Mayor's son was in the midst of a tirade, shouting at one of his aides while the shards of a shattered mirror littered the floor. Maxwell stood at the entrance, amused but unsurprised. Killian, the genius, throwing a tantrum.
"The mirror deserved better," Maxwell muttered, just loud enough to be heard.
Killian whirled around, his eyes narrowed. "Mind your own business."
Maxwell smirked. "I thought geniuses were supposed to create, not destroy." His words were sharp, intended to sting, and they did. Killian's fury flared, and in an instant, he shoved Maxwell backward.
Before Charlie could intervene, Maxwell stopped him with a gesture. "Let him," he whispered, intrigued by how far Killian would go.
Without warning, Killian's wrist flicked, the golden watch catching the light as he unleashed an electric blast. Maxwell's reflexes saved him from the first strike, but the second caught him off guard. Instinctively, he raised his hand, and to the shock of all present, the blast halted mid-air. With a mere push, Maxwell redirected the energy back towards Killian. But then, an unexpected protector emerged. Adams, the dark boy with the rumored powers, stepped in front of Killian, absorbing the blast without flinching. The room fell silent, the three boys and Charlie staring in disbelief. "So the whispers were true," Maxwell whispered, his newfound telekinetic ability momentarily forgotten.
Maxwell's heart raced, not from fear, but from the realization that there was far more to this boy than the rumors. He stared in awe as Adams casually diffused the situation. "So, the stories were true," Maxwell muttered under his breath.
Before anyone could say more, Mr. Tony burst into the room. "What's going on here?" His voice commanded attention, and the boys quickly fell into silence.
"Nothing," they chorused, all traces of the fight concealed.
Maxwell exchanged a glance with Charlie as they left the washroom. "Keep this between us," he said softly. "Mom doesn't need to know." Charlie nodded in silent agreement.
Back in the hall, Killian was on stage, unveiling his prized invention to thunderous applause. Maxwell watched from a distance, his fists clenched in silent defiance. The world might have been enamored with the genius, but to Maxwell, he was just another arrogant, entitled brat.
As the night drew to a close, Maxwell's thoughts lingered on the strange encounter. In his bed later that night, he couldn't shake the feeling that everything was about to change. He changed into his pyjamas, lounging in his bed, he began to read a story book; something to get his mind of the events with the Mayor's son.
He liked the silence of the night, he liked keeping to himself above all he liked his bed.
***
"You will not take my son!" she declared with fierce resolve, positioning Maxwell protectively behind her. The masked assailants, guns in hand, were met with her unyielding spirit. A struggle ensued, a desperate attempt to shield her child, until a deafening shot rang out. Maxwell's world shattered as his mother collapsed, a bullet lodged within her.
Kneeling beside her, Maxwell felt a surge of power as grief and rage intertwined. His eyes, glowing a fierce red, became the harbinger of vengeance. With a mere gesture, one assailant was hurled through the window, plummeting from the towering height. The remaining attackers recoiled in terror as Maxwell clasped his hands blood oozed out from their openings, horrid screams piercing the air, until silence claimed them.
Maxwell awoke with a start, the remnants of the nightmare lingering as the morning alarm signaled the start of a new day. It was 6 a.m., and the chilling realization that his dreams often mirrored reality weighed heavily on him. Shaking off the dread, he reached for his phone, only to find missed calls from an unknown number - Killian the annoying brat.