Chapter 1
The funeral hall was bustling with the most influential faces in Moonlight City. Outside, the relentless pop of camera flashes marked every arrival, as reporters scrambled to capture the fall of a dynasty. The headlines were already written: Langford Heirs Lost in Tragic Getaway Plane Crash.
Adrian Langford stood in the far corner, a solitary island in the middle of the bustling room. His jaw was set so tight it ached, and his arms were crossed like a shield against the world. To the mourners, he was a tragic figure; to him, they were nothing but vultures in expensive suits, offering practiced nods and “polished” sympathy that felt like insults. He hadn’t shed a single tear since the news broke, not because he wasn’t grieving, but because the pain was so massive it had turned into a cold, hard stone in his chest.
Let them whisper, he thought, his eyes fixed on the cold marble floor. Let them pretend they care about anything other than the power vacuum my parents left behind.
Across the hall, Yvonne watched him, her chest tightening at the sight of how small he looked amidst the crowd. As the adopted daughter, she knew the weight of this family’s influence better than anyone, but seeing Adrian so utterly lost in his own “dark world” made her want to reach out. She took a half-step forward, but stopped. What could she possibly say? Words were empty air today, incapable of bridging the chasm that had opened up around him.
She glanced at the Langford elders. They stood at the center of the room, greeting guests with a composure that bordered on the unnatural. To the public, they were pillars of strength; only Yvonne could see the subtle tremors in their hands, the cracks in the masks they were forced to wear.
As the service drew to a close, the crowd finally began to thin. Mr. Langford stepped toward his grandson, his presence commanding the remaining air in the room.
“Adrian,” the grandfather’s voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. “You will be staying with us from now on.”
Adrian didn’t look up, his gaze remaining distant as if he were listening to a conversation happening in another room.
A movement at the edge of the hall caught Yvonne’s eye. Damien, Mr. Langford’s illegitimate son, was slipping toward the exit with his wife. He paused, a polite, “plastered” smile on his face as he bid the family a formal farewell. But as he turned to leave, his eyes flickered toward Adrian. There was no pity there—only a chilling spark of amusement that made Yvonne’s blood run cold.
The ride back to the mansion was suffocating. Yvonne sat next to Adrian in the back of the car, the silence between them thick enough to choke on. She cleared her throat, desperate to say anything to break the tension, but the lump in her throat reminded her that some grief is too loud for language. Adrian merely stared out the window, his reflection a ghost against the passing city lights.
When the imposing gates of the Langford mansion finally appeared, the house looked less like a home and more like a fortress.
“I’ll show him to his room,” Yvonne volunteered before the butler could step in. She led the way up the grand staircase, Adrian following behind her with the hollow-eyed obedience of a “meek lamb”.
The room was pristine; crisp sheets, heavy curtains, and a desk that looked far too organized for a seventeen-year-old boy. Yvonne hesitated at the threshold.
“This is it,” she said softly, her hand lingering on the doorframe.
He stepped past her without a word and closed the door. The distinct click of the lock echoed in the hallway, followed by a silence so profound it felt like a physical weight.
Yvonne stood there for a long moment, her hand resting against the wood. From inside, she heard it; the faint, muffled sounds of the dam finally breaking. A pang of sharp sadness hit her chest as she realized she was leaving him alone with a grief that was far too large for one room.
Retreating to her own room, she let the shower run hot, the steam filling the space until she was as soaked as if she’d been standing in the rain. She let herself cry then for her sister, for the secret snacks they used to share at night, and for the boy next door who had just become the center of her world.
“I can’t be weak,” she whispered to her reflection, wiping the steam from the mirror.
When the sun rose, Yvonne went down to have breakfast.
“Good morning,” she greeted the elders. She frowned when she noticed Adrian hasn’t come down. “I’ll go get Adrian,” she turned to go up.
“Let him be for now,” Mrs. Langford suggested.
She hesitantly returned to the dinning, the breakfast that morning was glum.
Yvonne made sure to take a tray of food up to him that morning knocked on his door before leaving for her school.
She was a finalist in the department of business development. She kept a low profile in school most people didn’t know she’s the adopted daughter of the mighty Langford’s family, so she had no one coming over to her to express their condolences which she was grateful for.
She got back home that evening to see the food she placed in front of Adrian’s door still there untouched. She took back the tray and brought a freshly cook meal, balancing it carefully as she climbed the marble staircase. The hallway was always cold and silent, her footsteps echoing faintly. She stood by his door, knocked softly, and waited.
But there was nothing.
Only the stillness pressing against the other side. “It’s lasagna, I know you enjoy it” she paused to get a reply but nothing. “I’ll leave it here, make sure to eat,” she said and dropped the food in front of his door.
This went on for two weeks, every time she would leave the tray by the door, whispering something small “Please eat a little,” or “It’s still warm.” When she came back later, the food was untouched. Not a spoon moved.
By the third week, worry started to gnaw at her. She had just returned from her university classes, her bag still slung over one shoulder. The mansion was quiet again, and she found herself standing before his door without thinking.
She knocked twice.
“Adrian?” she called softly. “It’s me.”
There was no reply.
She waited, biting her lip, her hand hovering uncertainly. Then, with a deep breath, she reached for the spare key hanging in the hallway cabinet and unlocked the door.
The room was dark, the curtains were drawn, the lights off except for the dull gray light sneaking through the fabric. She clapped twice for switch to turn on.
Adrian was seated on the floor beside the bed, his back against it, head bowed. His hair was messy, his eyes hollow like the world had taken everything from him and maybe it had.
Yvonne’s heart sank. She placed the tray on the table near him.
“You haven’t eaten anything in weeks. You’ll make yourself sick.”
He didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the floor.
She crouched beside him, keeping her voice gentle.
“I know it hurts, but starving yourself won’t…”
“Don’t,” he cut her off sharply, his voice hoarse. “Don’t act all caring.”
The sudden anger in his tone made her flinch, but she didn’t move.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” he continued, his voice breaking now. “To lose everyone and still have people tell you to just… move on. You don’t understand, Yvonne. So stop pretending you do.”
Her lips parted, but no words came out. Because he was right she didn’t know what it was like to lose parents in death.
But she knew what it was like to lose them by choice.
