Chapter 2: New Beginnings

Present Day – Hammersmith, London

07:12 a.m.

The morning light was soft—too soft for the kind of weight sitting in her chest.

Alexis stirred beneath the cream cotton sheets, her lashes fluttering as the last remnants of the dream clung to her like morning fog. Her breaths came fast, uneven, as though she had been running... or fighting.

Her eyes blinked open slowly to the familiar sight of her childhood bedroom—walls painted in muted sage, a tall window cracked open just slightly to let the breeze in, the soft creak of floorboards in the hallway beyond. The shelves still held the books she loved in school, her old ballet shoes hung on a hook beside the door. Everything was safe.

But her body didn't feel safe.

Her heart pounded, and her throat was dry.

And her arm—

Alexis slowly sat up, pushing her tangled red hair back over her shoulder. She looked down at her right wrist, expecting it to be bare, normal. But her skin tingled. Burned, almost.

The memory was too vivid to have been just a dream.

She rubbed the spot absentmindedly, her fingers brushing over skin that wasn't bruised but felt as though it should be.

"You're not going to walk away from me, Alexis."

The words echoed again, as real as they had been that night.

She exhaled shakily and pressed her palm to her forehead, as if willing the memory to go back into the box she had sealed long ago.

It had been nearly two years. Two years since she walked away from Steve. Two years since her life in California crumbled under the weight of whispers, photos, and the crushing disappointment of betrayal. Her body might've left that place—but the fear, the shame, and the rage still followed her like shadows.

And sometimes, they followed her into sleep.

From downstairs, she heard the muffled clatter of a kettle being set on the stove. A soft reminder that life had moved on.

But Alexis hadn't. Not entirely.

Dining Area – Wood Residence, Hammersmith, London

07:38 a.m.

The scent of roasted tomatoes and grilled mushrooms filled the air, swirling together with the buttery warmth of toast and the sharp salt of fried bacon. Morning light spilled through the dining room window, painting soft golden stripes across the tiled floor.

At the head of the table sat a man in his mid-sixties—though one wouldn't guess it at first glance. He had the kind of presence that aged with grace: tall, trim, and immaculately put together even at breakfast. His skin was smooth with a few noble creases, and his jet-black hair had only begun to silver at the sides. A neatly pressed button-down peeked out from beneath his cardigan, the top button undone in quiet rebellion against formality.

He was laughing—genuinely, warmly—at something Clarisse had just said.

Clarisse Ann Martins, with her honey-blonde curls and relentless enthusiasm, sat diagonally across from him, waving her fork animatedly. "I'm serious, Uncle Ed! It's perfect. Alexis already has the qualifications, and her name still carries weight. One sit-down with the department head and boom! She's back in the game."

Edward Wood shook his head with amused fondness. "Clarisse, my dear, I admire your optimism—but don't you think she deserves a bit more time to rest first? She's only just come home."

Clarisse gave a dramatic sigh, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. "Rest is overrated. You know as well as I do that when Alexis sits still for too long, she starts chewing through her own thoughts."

Edward chuckled again, lifting his mug of black coffee. "Touché."

At that moment, footsteps padded down the staircase—slow, unhurried.

Alexis appeared at the doorway, her long red hair tangled slightly from sleep, tumbling past her shoulders and down the middle of her back. She wore a soft navy robe over a cotton tank and plaid pajama pants, the muted light catching on the curve of her cheekbone.

She looked like she was halfway between two worlds—still partially tethered to whatever dream she'd just awoken from.

Clarisse brightened immediately. "There she is! Our queen awakens."

Alexis offered a small, sleep-laced smile, walking toward the table.

"Morning," she murmured, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the top of her father's head.

"Morning, sweetheart," Edward replied, the affection in his voice quiet but unmistakable.

Alexis sat beside Clarisse and let her arms rest on the table, eyes still half-lidded with fatigue. "You two are plotting again, aren't you?"

"Always," Clarisse grinned, handing her a piece of toast. "But it's all in your favor."

Edward glanced sideways at his daughter, his expression softening. "How did you sleep?"

Alexis didn't answer right away. She ran a hand through her hair and looked down at the table, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not great."

Clarisse opened her mouth, but Edward gave a tiny shake of his head, silencing any immediate concern.

Instead, he reached over and placed a gentle hand on his daughter's.

"No rush," he said, his eyes meeting hers. "We're not going anywhere."

A quiet knock against the wooden frame signaled the entrance of Peter, the family's long-serving butler. Ever dignified in his crisp uniform, he stepped in with a tray and placed a steaming plate of breakfast in front of Alexis.

"Your usual, Miss Alexis," he said, voice low and unobtrusive.

"Thank you, Peter" Alexis murmured.

She picked up her fork but made no effort to eat. Instead, she slowly nudged one of the sausages with its prongs, watching it slide lazily across the plate before falling still again. The food was warm, rich, fragrant—but to Alexis, it might as well have been a painting.

Clarisse glanced at Edward, who returned the look. Something unspoken passed between them.

Then Clarisse leaned forward with barely concealed excitement.

"Sooooo," she started, drawing out the word in her signature conspiratorial tone, "friend—we've been plotting your comeback."

She gave her brows an exaggerated wiggle.

Alexis groaned softly and let her fork fall with a clink. "Clarisse, please. You promised me one week. Just one week of silence before you two started trying to make me employable again."

Clarisse waved a dismissive hand. "I never said silence. I said supportive environment."

Edward chuckled behind his mug. "And in this house, 'supportive' does occasionally involve scheming."

Alexis rubbed her face, smiling faintly despite herself. "What now? A publishing deal? A memoir? My own talk show?"

Edward set his coffee down, a little more serious now—but his tone remained gentle.

"No, nothing flashy. Just... an opening," he said, watching her closely. "A position, actually. At Auburn University."

Alexis blinked, her gaze drifting toward him. "Auburn? Isn't that the sister school of Saint Catherine?"

Clarisse perked up. "Indeed it is! Saint Catherine and Auburn have been academic partners for over a decade now. Exchange programs, shared conferences, the works."

Edward nodded. "And it just so happens the current dean at Auburn is an old friend of mine. We were roommates back at King's."

Clarisse leaned in with a grin. "Get this—there's been an opening in the Department of Literary Studies. Your exact specialty. The previous professor retired last term."

Alexis sat a little straighter, curiosity edging into her features, though fatigue still clung to her posture. "Wait... You're serious?"

"As a heart attack," Clarisse said. "And it's not just a random job. It's you. It has you written all over it."

Edward smiled, calm and confident. "I've already reached out. He remembers you from your journals, actually. He's read some of your published work. And he's very keen to meet you, should you be willing."

Alexis looked down at her untouched breakfast, her brows slightly furrowed.

Auburn. The name stirred something in her—curiosity, perhaps... and caution.

She drew in a slow breath. "That's... a lot."

Clarisse softened. "We know, Lex. You don't have to decide now. But it's something. Something new. And maybe... something better."

Edward added gently, "Just think about it. That's all we ask."

Alexis stared down at her plate, eyes tracing the rim of her toast, her fingers absently twisting the edge of her fork. A quiet stillness settled around the table—expectant, patient.

Then she shook her head slowly.

"I didn't come to the U.S. to get a position just because I'm the daughter of someone in the Ministry of Education," she said softly but firmly. "I wanted to make it on my own. To prove that I could earn everything without relying on family connections."

Her voice carried neither accusation nor bitterness—only a deep, weary conviction. It was a truth she had lived and fought for, and one she wasn't willing to compromise.

Edward's expression softened, a trace of pride and regret mingling in his eyes.

"I know that, Alexis. Always have."

Clarisse exchanged a look with Edward, both understanding the price of Alexis's fierce independence.

"I wanted to be recognized for my work, not my bloodline," Alexis continued, her fingers tightening around the teacup. "Every paper, every lecture, every student's respect—I wanted it to be because I deserved it, not because of who my father is."

Edward nodded slowly, his voice gentle. "And you earned it, every step of the way."

Alexis finally met his gaze, exhaustion and resolve mingling in her eyes. "Then it all fell apart... and it felt like none of that mattered anymore. Like I was just a name, a connection. Not the scholar I worked so hard to be."

Clarisse reached across and gave Alexis's arm a reassuring squeeze. "What happened wasn't your fault, Lex."

"I know," Alexis whispered, "but it still stings. Like I failed myself."

Edward leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "This offer from Auburn isn't a favor because of my position, Alexis. It's an opportunity based on your talent. The dean is a longtime friend, yes, but he's also read your work—and he wants you there because you're the right fit."

Alexis let the words settle, a tired smile slowly forming.

"I'm not saying no," she murmured. "Just... still healing."

Clarisse smiled warmly. "Then let's take it one step at a time. Maybe a walk in Ravenscourt Park to clear your head?"

Alexis glanced toward the window, where the soft London light was beginning to break through the clouds.

She nodded. "Yeah. That sounds good."

For the first time in weeks, the weight on her chest felt a little lighter.