Philip's POV
Two hours since Ostian left, and I still hadn't moved. I sat frozen, staring at nothing, feeling... what? Devastation? No... It wasn't like I wanted to go with him. God knows I was happy to see him walk out of my life. But our home-that's what wouldn't settle in. He sold it, just like that, without so much as a conversation. This place wasn't just four walls and a roof. It was where I could still feel her-my mom. Every memories I had of her, everything she was to me, lived in this house. It was our harbor. And Ostian-he just tossed it off like it meant nothing. I bet he talked to Niraya before making the decision, He always did. But not to me? I didn't even get a heads-up?
I knew from the start that this house wasn't mine to fight for. Ostian had lived here long before my mom and I moved in-back when he was with Niraya's mother. Something about losing her in an accident, though I never got the full story. When he was ready to move on, he did so with my mom, and they fell in love. I didn't mind it-we felt like a family. For a while, it felt like we had everything. We were happy. Until we weren't.
My mom got sick-cancer-and she withered away right in front of me, and I had no clue. Ostian kept it all from me. Every time I asked about her, he fed me some excuse: work trips, visits to my grandmother's. I believed him. And then, one day, they came home, faces wet with tears, and sat me down for some pathetic family meeting. That's when my family told me she was gone. Just like that. Gone. Six months of constant lies from Ostian, and suddenly she was dead?
To this day, I still can't wrap my head around it. I asked him why-why didn't they tell me? Why didn't I get to say goodbye? He said it was my mom's choice, that she wanted to protect me. Protect me? From what? They left me in the dark, and then dropped it on me like a bomb. No explanation could ever make that right.
And sometimes, I can't help but feel like Ostian is living in some twisted déjà vu. losing two women he loved-first Niraya's mom, then mine. It feels like more than bad luck, almost like some curse hanging over him. Because it sure as hell doesn't feel like a coincidence.
I finally stood up from the couch, taking in the destruction I'd caused. Chairs overturned, glass shattered, the room looking as torn apart as I felt inside. I didn't care. I made my way to my room, the only place that still felt like mine. The walls were filled with pictures of her, of us-moments frozen in time. I glanced at the small pot of her ashes on the table beside my bed. I've kept them for four years now. Everyone fought me on it-family, friends,at least when I had one-they wanted me to let her go. But I couldn't. I wouldn't.
A part of me, deep down, maybe kept her as a punishment. It's twisted, I know, but I couldn't help it. It was like I wanted her to stay confined, like she couldn't just leave me like that. How could she make people lie to me like that? But at the same time, I wanted her close. I needed her here, near me, even in death. I guess I thought if I held on tight enough, she'd understand she couldn't just disappear from my life so easily.
So what now? Do I start packing? The fuck is riff by the way? I sat on the edge of my bed, staring down at the plane ticket in my hand. "Boston," I whispered. Ostian said I'd be staying with someone connected to the North family. Of course, it's always them. He's been obsessed with that family for as long as I can remember. So was my mom. I never understood it. They worshiped them like gods. I never cared. All I knew was that they had generational wealth, more money than they could spend in a lifetime. But I couldn't give two fucks about any of that. Mom and Ostian bent over backward for them, practically kissed the ground they walked on. Even Niraya. It was pathetic. I could never bring myself to do that. I don't bow to anyone. But now, what? Ostian's trying to force me to do the same? Shipping me across the country like I'm just some problem he's washing his hands of? To fucking Boston?
The anger twisted in my gut, but it was the emptiness beneath it that scared me more. The realization that, once again, I had no say. Just like with my mom. Just like when they lied to me about her sickness, keeping me in the dark. And now Ostian's doing it again
I squeezed the ticket in my hand, my grip tightening until the paper crumpled under my fingers. I didn't have to go. I didn't have to follow his plan or live under someone else's roof. I could just leave, find my own path. But then what? What were my chances out there? I wasn't stupid. I'd seen what happened to kids who tried to make it on their own. Living on the streets, scraping by-there was nothing romantic or freeing about it. And the system? Not happening. Not because I was afraid of the cops or being punished-I didn't give a damn about that. It was the confinement, the idea of being locked into a life I had no control over. That's what got to me. Ending up in the system, being herded like cattle, shoved into foster care, or worse-juvie. The idea of living my last months before turning eighteen in a place like that made my skin crawl.
This house, for all its ghosts, was still my only home. It was all I'd ever known. And now, Ostian was taking even that away from me.
Boston. I whispered the name again, letting it roll off my tongue, but it didn't feel right. It felt like defeat. I stared at the ticket, knowing I'd already lost. Ostian had cornered me I realize again, just like he always did. He knew how to hit where it hurt. he was stripping away every piece of her I had left.
I took a deep breath and stood up, For the last time, I walked through the house, every step slower than the last. I went through each room, taking in every inch of it, letting the memories flood back. The living room, where we used to sit together and laugh at those old, cheesy movies. The kitchen, where she'd hum while she cooked, filling the space with warmth. The backyard, where she'd watch me play from the porch, her smile bright under the sunlight. Every room held a piece of her, and I tried to hold onto them as tight as I could.
I walked back to my room, standing in the doorway, staring at the walls filled with pictures and the pot of her ashes. This was it. I knew that once I walked out, I'd never be coming back. This was the end.
And somehow, I wasn't ready to let go. But I had no choice.
_____________________
Morning came, and it was time for the dreaded trip. I had packed my bags the night before, stuffing in everything I could. There was no one to say goodbye to not that there ever was. I knew people in town who'd probably celebrate to see me gone. Hell, they'd throw a party if I vanished altogether.
Stepping outside, I took one last look at the house. "Fuck Ostian," I muttered under my breath before climbing into the ride I'd ordered. The car ride to the airport was a blur; and I mostly slept through the plane ride, trying to forget where I was heading.
When I arrived in Boston, it hit me. I had no idea where I was supposed to go. As if on cue, my phone buzzed with a message from Ostian, containing the address of where to go. I hauled down a ride, jumped in and showed said address to the driver, he meticulously read, then gave me a look, his brow furrowing with doubt. "You sure that's where you're going?" he asked, sounding hesitant.
"Yeah," I replied coldly. "Is there a problem?"
He shook his head, mumbling something under his breath that I didn't care to decipher. I turned to look out the window. Boston, huh. This city already felt like a joke.
After a while, we finally pulled up in front of the place. A mansion. No, not just a mansion-this place screamed wealth. The kind of money that makes people untouchable. The gate towered above me, tall and imposing, wrapped in black iron that was too polished to seem real. Beyond it, the estate sprawled out like something out of a billionaire's fantasy. Lush, perfectly manicured lawns, towering trees lining the driveway, and a fountain in the center that looked more like it belonged in a palace than a house. The house itself was massive, with sprawling wings, high windows, and stone walls that made it look like a fortress. Every inch of it screamed power, luxury, and old money.
I stepped out of the car, feeling small against the grandeur in front of me. The fuck is this place? I scanned the gate and found a small intercom. I pressed the button, waiting impatiently for a response.
"Hello?" a voice crackled through.
"Is this a Riff's place?" I asked, barely hiding my boredom.
"Sorry, could you repeat that?" the woman on the other end sounded confused.
I sighed. "the fuck is Riff in here."
"What's your name, sir?" she asked politely.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, already frustrated. "Philip," I responded.
"Philip what?" she pressed.
I groaned. Was she really going to make me say Ostian's last name right now? "Idris," I muttered, cringing as the word left my mouth.
With a click, the gate slowly opened. "Motherfucker," I whispered under my breath, stepping forward into this absurd, oversized world.
I walked for what felt like an eternity before I finally reached the entrance. This place didn't make sense, it was just too massive. After a moment of hesitation, I found the doorbell and rang it. A man in his mid-30s, built like a damn tank, opened the door. His frame dwarfed mine-I wasn't small, but he had the kind of muscle that made you look twice. Is he riff?
"Come in," he said, his voice as solid as he was.
I stepped inside, and it hit me all at once-the scale, the wealth. The floor beneath me was polished marble, gleaming under the soft light of chandeliers that dripped from the ceiling like they belonged in a royal ballroom. The walls were lined with art I couldn't care less about, but I knew they cost a fortune. Even the air here felt different, colder, cleaner-like the entire place was sealed off from anything remotely human.
I made my way to the couch and sank into it. The cushions were plush, swallowing me in their softness, and across from me, the man took a seat, his eyes steady on me.
"My name is Ayon," he said, his voice steady, professional. "I understand you're Mr. Riff's guest.
I guess he's not riff I thought.
'" I hope your journey wasn't too stressful. I'd show you to your room right away, but first, there's a matter of protocol we need to address."
He glanced at my bags, "I need to search your belongings. It's standard procedure here."
I stared at him, my expression blank. "No," I said simply, no rise in my tone, no anger. Just a flat refusal.
Ayon didn't blink. "I get that this might feel invasive," he said, maintaining his professional calm. "But it's important. It's for your safety, as well as ours. Let me do my job, and we can move on."
He was watching me, waiting for something, maybe a reaction. But I just sat there, letting the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable for him.
"Fine. Do what you need to do," I finally said dryly
He took my suitcase and started unpacking. My whole life fit into one box and a backpack. How depressing. After a few minutes, he finished with the suitcase and turned to my backpack.
"Your backpack," he said, holding out his hand.
That was a step too far. "Not happening," I said. My voice flat but firm. That was not going to happen. There was a limit. There had to be. I mean the fuck is this place! I mentally said.
"Why are you going through my things?" I asked, my voice calm but cutting. "Is this some kind of prison?"
"Protocol," he replied flatly.
"What kind of twisted protocol is that?" I continued, my tone cold. "How messed up do you have to be to search someone's belongings in their own home?"
"Your backpack, please," he said again.
"Not happening ," I repeated.
He sighed, holding my gaze for a moment before speaking. "Can you unpack it yourself, then? I just need to see what's inside. I won't touch anything."
I paused, considering it. Whatever I need to get the fuck out of here before either of us ends up with a bruised face.
"Fine." I unzipped my bag and pulled out my mom's ash pot, holding it up. "Now that you've seen it, are we done?"
He glanced at it, his face unreadable. "What's that?"
"None of your business."
"Open it," he said quietly.
What the fuck is wrong with this dude? I locked eyes with him, staring him down without flinching. I tilted my head slightly, daring him try something stupid. "No," I said, voice low and unwavering.
He gave a slight nod, "Okay... but at least tell me what's inside."
"My mom's ashes," I said, without hesitation.
His eyes widened. "You can't have that here."
"Why not?
He further explained that this is personal, and that this isn't my home.
"At least we both agree on some thing," I added coldly. "Hell, this isn't even a home. Doesn't feel like one-
He cleared his throat before responding. "There are places for that, places to keep ashes of loved ones. You should consider that."
I raised an eyebrow. "Then I guess you'll drive me to one, right now."
He hesitated, then nodded in agreement. I didn't have much on me, but enough to cover whatever space was needed.
He didn't say much after that. He just nodded and motioned for me to follow. We got in the car, the ride silent except for the hum of the engine. He took me to a place, one of those memorial gardens, where they stored people's ashes. The entire time, he barely looked at me. I don't know if he felt guilty or if he just didn't want to get involved, but I didn't care.
We handled the details quickly. I found a small spot in a quiet section of the memorial, paid what I needed to, and that was it. I left my mom there, tucked away in a marble wall with her name carved on a tiny plaque. Simple. Cold. Done.
The drive back to the mansion was just as silent. When arrived, he led me inside without a word, straight up the massive staircase. The hallway stretched on forever, every door as pristine and cold as the rest of the place. I followed behind him, my footsteps barely making a sound on the plush carpet.
We finally stopped at a door "This is your room," Ayon said, opening one of the large wooden doors. Here's he gave me a card. If you need anything call that number. I took the card.
I stepped inside, and the room hit me like a slap in the face. It was massive, easily three times the size of anything I'd ever had before. The walls were a soft gray, the bed king-sized and covered in layers of blankets and pillows. A large window took up most of one wall, overlooking the manicured grounds outside. The furniture-dark wood, sleek, and expensive-looked untouched. There was a walk-in closet, a bathroom bigger than some apartments, and a small sitting area with a couch and a TV mounted on the wall.
I didn't say anything. Didn't need to. I just walked to the bed and collapsed face-first into it, the mattress so soft it felt like I was sinking into nothing. For the first time in a long time, I let myself relax.
Sleep came fast, pulling me under before I even had time to think.