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Fifty Nine
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2026-02-27 07:30:583rd Person’s POV
The house was too big for one person. Too clean, too polished, and too quiet. It stood like a museum of wealth, the kind of place people admired from the outside but would never feel at home in. Every surface gleamed, every picture frame hung perfectly straight, and yet there was no warmth anywhere, just the faint hum of the air conditioning and the echo of footsteps on marble floors.Frank dropped his duffel bag by the staircase, the sound too loud in the s
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My Enemy [BL] One Fifteen
I pulled the curtain shut as quietly as I could, trying not to slam it into him. "Shh! Just... just hide!" I hissed, pressing myself against the wall, hoping they wouldn’t notice.Frank blinked at me, still baffled. "Hide? Atlas... are you scared of them?"I waved a hand vaguely, forcing a laugh even though my heart was racing. "No! Not scared. I just... don’t want to deal with their nonsense right now, okay?"He raised an eyebrow, but a grin crept onto his face. "Ah, so it’s panic-mode, not fear. Got it."I wanted to playfully smack him for teasing me, but then I realized just how close we were in the cramped stall. My chest was almost pressed against his, and the warm scent of him hit me all at once woodsy cologne, soap, and a hint of Frank’s natural musk and my face heated immediately."Okay... maybe we’re a little too close," I murmured, trying to step back, but the small space and his broad frame meant there wasn’t much room to maneuver.Before I could move any further, his hands
My Enemy [BL] One Fourteen
Frank and I wandered into one of the quieter boutiques, hands intertwining as we strolled between the racks. This place felt way more peaceful than the others, soft lighting, warm beige walls, and gentle music playing like a soothing lullaby, especially after the whirlwind Millie had put us through.I let my fingers glide over sequined hems and silky fabrics while Frank casually browsed through a row of suits, still holding my hand and tracing lazy circles over my knuckles with his thumb."So," he said, glancing down at me with that easy smile of his, "how many winter balls have you actually been to? You don’t seem like the type who’d go every year."I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "Just once. And that was ages ago."He stopped, looking genuinely surprised. "Only once? Why’s that?"I shrugged lightly, glancing at the rows of dresses, hoping one of them would somehow provide the answer I needed. "I never really felt like I fit in. Everyone else seemed so polished and confident, lik
My Enemy [BL] One Thirteen
Atlas’s POVMeanwhile, across town, the mall buzzed like its own little universe filled with early-evening chatter, glowing under festive lights, and carrying the sweet, warm scent of cinnamon pretzels wafting through every time someone opened the food court doors.Millie marched ahead, her determination evident as she stormed through one boutique after another, more like a warrior preparing for battle than a girl just trying to pick a winter ball dress. She dragged Tori, Frank, and me along, moving from rack to rack like the perfect dress was hiding just out of sight.Millie held up a short, shimmering blue dress, studied it like it was a precious artifact, and then put it back with a sigh straight from her soul. "Nope. Too sparkly. I’d look like a disco ball in this. Not happening."Tori, already struggling with the pile of dresses Millie had dismissed, let out an exasperated groan. "Millie, come on! They all look amazing on you. Literally every dress you’ve tried on since school en
My Enemy [BL] One Twelve
Rowan stood there, his back slightly turned to his father. The words Roderick had just spoken hung in the air like stubborn dust. A twist of emotions danced in his chest...guilt, frustration, longing. Such a tangled mix he often struggled to tell one from the other. Taking a slow breath, he finally turned to Roderick again, though his gaze didn’t quite meet his father’s eyes."I get it," Rowan said softly, his voice steady yet heavy. "I’m not... angry about it anymore. Not like I used to be." He paused, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I just... had a lot going on back then. Things I couldn’t explain to anyone."Roderick raised an eyebrow gently. "I know."Rowan let out a quiet laugh that lacked any real humor. "Yeah, well... I was a dick. Especially when you first married Rita. I didn’t make things easy for you." His gaze dropped to the floor again. "So... I’m sorry. For all of that."His apology felt clumsy and rushed, like he wasn’t quite sure how to say what he needed to s
My Enemy [BL] One Eleven
Rowan stood there for a moment, letting his gaze wander over the study the shelves filled with leather-bound books, framed certificates from years ago, the faint smell of whiskey and old wood mingling together in a strangely comforting way. Watching his father lean back in his chair, speaking in that calm, steady way, something tightened in Rowan’s chest.There were times, scattered and rare, when he remembered why people admired Roderick Harrigan. He was controlled, generous when he felt like it, endlessly composed—a man who carried himself like he understood responsibility better than most. And despite the silence that hung between them like a wall neither knew how to break, Rowan couldn’t picture this man being involved in his mother’s death.He had spent years suspecting it anyway because the case had closed too quickly, because no one questioned anything, because everyone had just moved on while he felt stuck, but right now, sitting across from Roderick, that theory seemed almost
My Enemy [BL] One Ten
After school, the Oakfield mansion had a quiet vibe, almost like it was wrapped in that late-afternoon stillness that settled in before the staff started their evening tasks. Rowan made his way to Atlas’s room first, hoping to push away the thoughts that had been circling in his mind all day.He opened the door and peeked in, but there was no sign of him. His notebooks was open on the bed, a novel catching the soft light from the window, but Atlas himself was missing.He hung around for a moment, taking in the scattered pencils and his soft cardigan draped over a chair, then gently backed out and closed the door behind him. If Atlas wasn’t upstairs, he was likely with his mom in the conservatory or maybe running an errand somewhere on the estate. Either way, the stillness felt heavy, nudging him toward the one room he usually tried to avoid unless he really had to go in.He made his way downstairs, the polished wooden steps creaking quietly underfoot, and headed toward his father’s st
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