CHAPTER IV: The Architect of Fate

“I did nothing wrong unlike SOME people.” “Who are you talking about?” “I think we both know who we are talking about here.” “I do not know who you were referring to.” “Oh yes you do.” “You stole my cookie!” “I got it first.” “I called dibs on it!” “So what?” “That was the last piece, and you ate it whole!”

“STOP! Can you guys stop!? It is just a stupid cookie, no need to fret your asses off!” Emmaline yelled, finally snapping.

It had been half an hour since our little chaos in the kitchen, and now we were in the living room, cuddled up in my enormous, ridiculously expensive sofa, watching a series called “Riverdale.” Haines and Claude had somehow managed to turn the last piece of a simple chocolate chip cookie—a batch I had just baked—into a diplomatic crisis. I swear, these two can be a pain in the ass, but that is what made our friendship not boring. Emmaline, on the other hand, is more of a serious one, a motherly figure of us four that could scold and lecture you for hours without a hassle. I, on the other hand, am in the middle—the instigator who now had to play mediator.

“Whatever,” Haines said with his signature sassy tone, still glaring at his twin.

“Stop arguing, you two. I will just bake again. Would that make you all better?” I asked, seeing as the two wouldn't quit their argument if someone didn't intervene.

“Really?” Both answered at the same time, their voices immediately full of childish hope, which made Emmaline roll her eyes at their behavior.

“Yes, but you have to promise me to stop arguing and share it fairly this time,” I said, standing up and looking at them with my stern, ‘you better behave or else’ gaze.

“Deal.” “I promise.”

---

I stood at the kitchen island, meticulously preparing all the materials needed for the new batch of cookies, making sure the surroundings were clear—not just of my friends, but of any lingering dust from my former life. That anxious compulsion to check my surroundings had become a habit; I always had to make sure the "coast was clear."

After making sure all the materials had been prepared and washed clean, I started gathering all the ingredients: preheating the oven to 350°F, combining the flour, baking soda, and salt. Whisking the dry ingredients together, I set it aside to start mixing the wet ingredients and adding some eggs. The cookies needed to be cooked for at least 9–11 minutes, or until they turned golden brown.

As I was waiting for the perfect moment to pull them out, my phone suddenly chimed. I quickly washed my hands—still dusted with flour—and wiped them with a dry towel.

“Hello?” I answered, curious as the caller ID was unknown.

“Is this Ms. Mcfeller?”

The sound of my surname sent a jolt of ice through me. No, not Khloe. Not here. But I forced myself to be calm. "Yes, this is she."

“Hi! This is the CazoS Enterprise. We have received your resume and would like to inform you that you are qualified to have an interview on Monday at 7:30 A.M. Just go straight to the reception area and tell them that you have an appointment.”

“I will be there, thank you!” I said, excitement surging through my veins, overpowering the initial jolt of fear. This was real! The anonymous job, the first step to my independent life.

“Great, I will see you on Monday. Good luck, Ms. Mcfeller.” And with that, the line was hung up.

“Ahhhhhh!!!” I squealed, throwing my hands up in the air. This was what I had been waiting for! I started jumping up and down, so excited that I completely forgot about the timer. I knew it was just an interview, and I hadn't been hired yet, but it was another crucial step for my ‘living on my own’ life.

“What is wrong? Why are you shouting? Are you okay?” Emmaline, Claude, and Haines came into my view from the kitchen door, looking all too worried.

“Yes, everything is fine,” I managed to say after calming my rapid breathing.

“What is this smell?” Claude asked, sniffing around the kitchen as if trying to locate the source of the strange odor.

“Oh, shoot!” I gasped, a cold realization hitting me. It had been nearly twenty minutes. I had still not taken out the cookies!

I scurried around the kitchen and went to take the now-charred, burnt cookies out of the oven, placing them on the kitchen island. I looked at the trio to see them staring wide-eyed at the blackened food, with Emmaline hysterically laughing.

“Oooooopss?” I offered, shrugging off the mistake. The interview was all that mattered.

---

Two days have passed since the commotion in the kitchen, and now the silence of the large apartment was settling in. My friends had just left after spending the night, making sure to make me comfortable in the new surroundings, and I was thankful for their grounding presence.

“What to do, what to do, what to do,” I kept on ranting, pacing around my room, biting on my fingernails. Having nothing to do is not my forte. I am an active person who does not like sitting around doing nothing, avoiding the golden chair and the golden spoon. I came from a rich family, yes, and was spoon-fed, but I am an adult now, and I refuse to be spoiled anymore.

I had already scrubbed the whole apartment clean and done my laundry. I had tried to read a book, but got bored. I watched a movie, but my body would ache from sitting for so long. I needed movement.

“Oh my gosh! I am so sorry!” I muttered aloud.

My pacing had brought me to the obvious solution: the mall. Dancing is my stress reliever, the one thing that helps me forget about my problems for a while. Given the circumstances—working soon, stress waiting—I needed my dance materials, which I had forgotten to pack in my essentials bag.

So, here I was now, near the car park, my hands full of heavy shopping bags containing all the dance supplies I would need. I managed to balance all of them, navigating the crowded place with careful steps. As I neared my car, a sudden blur of motion caused me to lose my footing. A small girl, running too fast, bumped squarely into me, sending all my purchases scattering across the floor.

“No, it’s okay!” I managed, shaking off the slight disorientation and offering the girl a kind smile as she helped me get up from the ground.

“Audrey, I told you do not run away like that. We are in a crowded place, and it is dangerous. You could have gotten yourself badly hurt!” The woman—who I presumed was the mother of the girl who bumped into me—scolded the kid gently.

“I am sorry, Mommy-La, I will not do it again,” the kid, Audrey, said to her mom, before shifting her gaze and striding toward me. “I am sorry po, I did not mean to bump onto you.” She hugged both of my legs, looking up at me with huge, apologetic eyes.

I knelt down so that we were at the same height, and smiled as I wiped away the stray tears that started to form in her eyes. “It’s okay, kid. You do not have to say sorry, okay?” I tried to convince her so she would stop crying.

“Really? You are not mad?”

“No, babygirl. In fact, I am happy to know that someone so beautiful as you has the same name as mine.” I smiled, watching a grin blossom on the kid’s face.

“Your name is Audrey too!?” she asked, excitement radiating from her voice.

“Uh-huh. My first name is Audrey,” I chuckled, hearing her squeal and hug me tightly.

“You heard that, Mommy-La? Her name is Audrey too!” she told her mom as she started jumping up and down, looking between me and her mother.

“Yes, baby, I heard it.” The woman laughed, watching her daughter with pure affection.

“She is lovely,” I said, now standing beside the woman as we both looked at her daughter.

“Indeed she is,” she agreed, then turned to look at me, her gaze steady. “Thank you for hyping her up, and I am so terribly sorry for what happened.” Sincere. That is what you could see in her eyes and hear in her voice as she spoke.

“Do not worry about it. My name is Audrey, Audrey-Khloe.” I said, leaving out my last name, only using the two names I was prepared to answer to.

The woman extended her hand, her grip firm and confident. “Isla. My name is Phoenix Haylen Isla.”

I shook her hand, finding myself drawn to her confident warmth. “It was lovely meeting you, Isla.”

"You too, Audrey-Khloe. Good luck with whatever you're up to."

I watched them walk away, the little girl named Audrey waving enthusiastically. The coincidence was sweet—a moment of unexpected human connection that distracted me perfectly from the dark reality I was running toward. I glanced at my shopping bags, then back toward the entrance of the mall, feeling a familiar, nagging pull of paranoia. Was I being watched? I dismissed the thought. I had an interview on Monday. That was the only thing that mattered.