The scent of freshly cooked food filled the house as I stepped inside, a comforting yet distant reminder of routine. My stomach rumbled, but the unease from earlier still clung to me like a second skin.
Something still felt… off.
I entered the dining room to find my family already seated at the long wooden table. My father, always composed and commanding, sat at the head. My mother, the picture of grace, delicately cut her food into precise bites. Across from them, my brothers—Samuel and Kendrick—sat opposite each other, both absorbed in their meals. Ruth, my sister, idly tapped her nails against her plate, barely eating.
The clinking of silverware filled the space as I pulled out a chair.
"Good evening," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet.
Kendrick's sharp gaze lifted instantly, locking onto mine. He didn't have to say a word—I already knew what he was thinking.
"I went to Mia's house," I said before he could ask.
His jaw tightened, disapproval flickering in his eyes.
"You never listen to my warnings, do you?" he muttered.
"I—"
"You never even gave her a reason to, did you?" Samuel cut in smoothly, a smirk playing at his lips.
I turned to him, momentarily caught off guard. Samuel and I never got along, yet this time, he seemed… oddly agreeable. And he wasn't wrong. Kendrick had told me to stay away from Mia countless times, but he never explained why. His hatred for her was intense—almost personal.
"I was just bored at home," I said, attempting to downplay it.
"You could've gone to Dad's office instead," Kendrick countered, glancing at our father. "Right, sir?"
Dad chuckled, his voice warm. "Of course, my dear. You're welcome anytime. But wouldn't that be boring too? Going out with your friends is good for you."
Kendrick scoffed under his breath and looked away. He wanted to argue—I could feel it—but he held his tongue.
I exhaled softly. Conversations like these always left me feeling like I was missing a piece of a puzzle—something important, just out of reach.
Mom, sensing the tension, turned to Kendrick. "Do you need more food?"
"No, I'm fine," he muttered, pushing back his chair and standing.
Samuel smirked. "Spending time with family for once? That's rare."
Kendrick shot him a look but didn't respond.
Dad leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. "I assume you've reconsidered the job offer?"
"Wrong," Kendrick said flatly. "Good night."
Without another word, he strode off.
I quickly finished my meal and followed him.
---
Kendrick's room was dimly lit, the soft glow from his laptop screen casting shifting shadows on the walls. He sat at his desk, typing something when I knocked.
He didn't answer.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"If you're here to convince me, save your breath and leave," he said, still focused on his screen. "If it's something else, then sit."
He pulled out a chair beside him, but I ignored it. Instead, I sat on the floor.
Kendrick sighed and finally turned his head toward me. His expression darkened as his gaze dropped to my ankle.
"What happened?" His voice was sharp, demanding.
Before I could answer, he knelt in front of me, gently lifting my leg onto his lap. His fingers traced the scar, his touch both careful and assessing.
"It's nothing—"
"Hold on." He cut me off and, without hesitation, lifted me effortlessly, setting me on the bed.
I huffed. "Kendrick, I'm not a child—"
"Shut up and explain."
"How am I supposed to do both?" I muttered.
He shot me a sharp glare.
I sighed, relenting. "It's about my dream. It felt… too real."
Kendrick's body went rigid. "Was that why you went to Mia's house?"
I nodded.
His jaw tightened. His grip on my ankle wasn't painful, but there was a controlled intensity in the way he held it.
"Stay away from Mia, Matilda," he said.
I frowned. "Kendrick—"
"She's not a good friend," he cut in, his voice firm. But there was something else beneath it—something hesitant.
"She's…" He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Never mind."
I studied his face, noting the flicker of conflict in his eyes.
Just as I was about to press him further, he suddenly pinched my cheek.
"Go to bed, Bedbug."
I swatted his hand away. "You're annoying."
He smirked. "I know."
I turned toward the door—only to find our father standing there, watching us.
Kendrick's expression changed instantly, hardening.
I swallowed. I had forgotten to lock the door when I entered.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to Kendrick.
He didn't acknowledge it, turning back to his laptop.
Dad stepped inside, his voice calm yet firm. "He's right, darling. Go to sleep."
I frowned. "Dad, Mia's my best friend. Why does Kendrick keep saying—"
"Good night, Matilda," he said, leaving no room for argument.
I hesitated before finally getting up. "Good night."
As I left the room, I felt the weight of their stares on my back.
---
The room was heavy with silence after I left.
Dad stood near the door, his gaze still fixed on Kendrick.
"Don't build a bond that won't last, Kendrick," he said quietly.
Kendrick's fingers tapped against his laptop absently. "Then I'll enjoy it while it lasts."
Dad sighed. "Just think about it."
Kendrick finally turned, locking eyes with him. "I need to shower. I'm feeling sleepy."
Without another word, he walked toward the bathroom.
Dad lingered for a moment, as if wanting to say more, but then simply turned and left.
Kendrick locked the door behind him, standing still for a moment.
Then, he slowly walked back to his desk and sat down.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but he didn't type.
Instead, he stared at the screen—his mind elsewhere.