FEDRIC'S POV

Seven Months Ago - February 27, 2017

Young, handsome, and rich. Who wouldn't want to be in a position like that?

My name is **Fredric Liam Smith**, twenty-six years old. The sentence above pretty much sums up my life, doesn't it?

Women surround me everywhere I go-naturally. I'm not some pathetic fool who wastes his youth at home. I enjoy life, and I have every reason to. Why shouldn't I? I was born into privilege, wealth, and influence. My grandmother owns the largest diamond company in the world, and I already serve as one of its directors. The future is mine.

Today, though, I've got only one thing on my mind-**Paula**.

Ah, Paula... who doesn't know her? One of New York's most famous models-gorgeous, sexy, confident. She's got a body sculpted by heaven itself and a face that makes cameras worship her. I can't wait to make her mine completely.

*Knock... knock...*

A sound came from the door. Without moving, I called out lazily, "Come in."

"Well, what a lovely day. Look at my handsome grandson, still lounging around in bed."

"Grandma?"

Panic jolted through me. I shot upright immediately, almost falling out of bed.

It's not that I'm afraid of her-well, maybe a little. I deeply respect my grandmother. After my mother died ten years ago, she became the only family I truly had.

"Why do you jump up like that every time I come in?" she teased, walking toward me with that elegant grace of hers. "Do I look like some police officer interrogating a criminal? Or maybe I'm just so old and terrifying now, a witch ready to eat your soul?"

Her tone carried mock irritation, though her smile gave her away. I couldn't help but chuckle.

"Come on, Grandma. Beautiful Rosa could never be terrifying," I said, standing and hugging her gently. "Even Gigi Hadid would lose next to you. You're still stunning-and it's 2017, Grandma, don't get so dramatic."

I felt her warmth as she laughed softly in my arms. There was always something maternal about her presence, something I'd missed for most of my life.

"You're just like your father," she murmured after a pause. "He used to say the same things whenever he wanted to charm his way out of trouble."

My smile vanished. My arms fell away. My chest tightened at the mention of *him*.

"Don't compare me to that man," I said, my tone hardening instantly. "You know I hate it when you bring him up."

"Fredric..."

"I'm not like my father. I didn't run away from my family. I didn't abandon anyone! Do you still remember him, Grandma? He hasn't even visited you in twenty-six years! Not once! He disappeared without a trace-no calls, no letters, nothing. And you still talk about him like he deserves forgiveness? You should be ashamed to even say his name."

I turned away, fists clenching. Anger burned through my veins like fire.

I never knew my father. I never even heard his voice. All I knew was that he'd chosen to disappear-to leave me, leave my mother, leave Grandma-all for reasons no one ever understood. He'd left behind the empire that should have been his, the wealth that people would kill for. He abandoned it all.

And I hated him for it.

My grandmother stood silently behind me. I could hear her breathing-slow, heavy, tired. Maybe she still missed him. Maybe, deep down, she still hoped he'd come back.

After a long pause, she whispered, "I'm sorry, Fredric. I didn't mean to hurt you."

I shook my head. "I'm not hurt. I'm angry. And I'll stay angry until the day I meet him. If that ever happens, I swear-I'll punch him straight in the face. Only then, maybe, I'll forgive him."

A soft sigh escaped her lips before she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me. Despite everything, I couldn't stay cold toward her.

I turned, hugging her back gently. "I'm sorry, Grandma," I muttered. "I shouldn't yell at you. You don't deserve that."

"It's all right, dear," she said with a small smile. "Now, forget about your father. I actually came here for another reason. I want you to come with me to lunch. We're meeting Goyle and his family. It's their wedding anniversary today."

I raised an eyebrow. That sounded... dull.

But saying no to Rosa wasn't an option. I'd never refused her before, and I wasn't about to start now.

"All right," I sighed. "What time?"

"In an hour," she said, patting my arm before leaving the room.

When the door closed, I fell back onto my bed and grabbed my phone.

*I'll see you later tonight, Paula. I have to go somewhere with Grandma first.*

I sent the text and smirked.

If I had to endure lunch with my grandmother's driver's family, then I deserved a reward afterward-and Paula was the perfect one.

Still, I couldn't help but think of the man we were meeting-**Goyle Brown**, Grandma's loyal driver for decades-and his daughter, **Mathilda**.

Mathilda... the name alone made me cringe.

How unattractive could one person be? I'd soon find out again.

---

Exactly at 11:15 a.m., our car stopped in front of a five-star restaurant. The kind of place Grandma frequented for business meetings and family celebrations.

She stepped out of the car with her usual grace, waving politely at the doorman who hurried to open the entrance.

"Inviting them here, Grandma? You're really spoiling that family," I murmured under my breath.

She smiled, pretending not to hear me. "Goyle has served me faithfully for over twenty years. He deserves my kindness."

Her generosity was admirable-but at times, it annoyed me. She treated that family like royalty.

Maybe I was just jealous.

Goyle had what I never did-a stable home, a loving wife, a daughter who looked at him with respect. Maybe that's why I resented him, just a little. Because I grew up surrounded by riches, yet starved of affection.

When we entered, Goyle was already waiting near the door, standing as straight as a soldier.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Rosa. Mr. Fredric," he greeted with a polite nod. "It's an honor to celebrate our anniversary with you."

Ever the professional. Sometimes I wondered if he even knew how to smile.

My grandmother laughed softly. "Nonsense, Goyle. Fredric and I are the honored ones today. Now sit, let's enjoy the meal."

We took our seats at a round table covered in white linen. Goyle's wife smiled warmly, her hands clasped together.

"Mrs. Rosa, thank you again for your generosity. Mathilda sends her regards," she said cheerfully.

Ah, *there it is.*

I turned my gaze toward the girl sitting beside her parents. Mathilda looked exactly as I remembered-timid, small, hiding behind a curtain of messy reddish curls and oversized glasses that swallowed half her face.

She couldn't even look at me.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to laugh or sigh.

Her clothes were plain-some floral blouse that looked like it belonged to a grandmother. Everything about her screamed awkwardness.

Rosa smiled at her fondly. "Mathilda, you look lovely today. That ponytail suits you-you're like a Barbie doll. Perfect next to Fredric."

I froze.

What did she just say?

I forced a smile, but sarcasm slipped out before I could stop it. "Maybe she should change her style first. Something like Gigi Hadid-or Kendall Jenner."

The table went silent.

Goyle's wife's smile faltered. Goyle cleared his throat. And Mathilda... poor Mathilda lowered her head even further, as if she wished the ground would swallow her whole.

"Fredric," Rosa said sharply. "What my grandson *meant* is that maybe you could try letting your hair down next time, dear. You'd look stunning."

She gave me a pointed look, one eyebrow raised. I knew that look-it meant *behave yourself.*

I shrugged, pretending not to care.

Let her be angry. I didn't care. Because honestly, if Grandma ever truly thought Mathilda could stand beside me, she was delusional.

It would take at least ten plastic surgeries before that girl could even dream of being worthy of me.

Or so I thought.

I had no idea then that the same girl I dismissed that day would one day destroy my world completely.

And that, in the end, *I* would be the one begging for her forgiveness.

MATHILDA'S POV

February 27, 2017

I would have preferred to stay home today rather than go out for lunch.

Every moment spent near Fredric is exhausting-his coldness, his disdain, the way he looks at me as if my existence itself annoys him. He has never once spoken to me kindly, never even smiled in my direction. Earlier this morning, he said I should "change my appearance" if I ever wanted to be seen as someone worthy-like one of those glamorous supermodels he admires.

How cruel. How unnecessary.

Yet despite his harshness, my heart betrays me.

I *admire* Fredric. I always have. He was my first love.

Since I was a little girl, we've crossed paths so many times-at my father's workplace, in Rosa's garden, at family gatherings-but he never truly noticed me. To him, I was invisible. Just another awkward girl in the background.

And maybe that's exactly what I am.

Who would ever greet a plain, nerdy girl like me? My face has always been covered in freckles, my hair unruly and curly, my body thin and frail. There's nothing striking about me-no glow, no beauty. Just Mathilda, the ordinary daughter of Rosa's chauffeur.

"Mathilda, how have you been, dear? Everything going well?" Mrs. Rosa's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I blinked and quickly forced a smile.

"Yes, everything's fine, ma'am."

"Working as a cashier must be tiring, isn't it?" she said warmly. "But honest work is always noble."

Before I could answer, Fredric's low voice cut through the air like a blade. "It's not hard work unless you're running a major corporation. That's where the real headaches begin."

His tone carried that familiar arrogance, the kind that made me shrink inside myself. I could never understand what I had done to make him dislike me so much. As far as I remember, I've always treated him with respect. Perhaps... he can somehow sense that I like him?

"Fredric's been very busy lately," Rosa intervened gently, clearly embarrassed by his rudeness. "He gets stressed easily, but don't take his words too seriously, Mathilda. Every job has its own difficulties. Pressure and responsibility are everywhere."

She smiled kindly at me, but I could sense her disappointment in her grandson's attitude.

My parents stayed quiet, smiling politely. I could tell they were uncomfortable too.

Mother once told me Fredric had always been cold-even as a boy-and a little rebellious. But she also said he carried a heavy loneliness inside him. Losing his parents so young couldn't have been easy.

Still, his distance only makes him more magnetic. That quiet, untouchable aura he has... I can't help being drawn to it. Maybe it's foolish, but loving him, even secretly, makes me feel alive.

Fredric turned toward Rosa again. "Grandma, I don't want to interrupt your lunch, but I have an appointment this afternoon-with Paula. She's waiting for me at her agency for an audition, and I promised to go with her. Can we finish soon?"

The name *Paula* echoed in my mind like an unwanted song.

Paula?

Rosa frowned slightly. "Who's Paula?"

Oh, how I wanted to ask the same thing. I've heard of Fredric's many girlfriends before, but this time... something twisted in my chest. I wanted to know more. Who was this woman who could make him smile, make him eager to leave his grandmother's side?

"I'll introduce her to you later," Fredric said quickly, glancing at his watch. "Can we speed this up, Grandma?"

His voice held a hint of irritation, but there was excitement underneath it-excitement that wasn't for me, of course.

If only it *were* me.

But no, those are foolish dreams-illusions of a girl who means nothing to him.

When Fredric's eyes suddenly shifted to me, I panicked and looked down at my plate, pretending to study the food. My heart raced. He must think I'm staring at him, probably like some pathetic stalker.

Rosa, ever the gracious host, broke the silence. "Goyle, if you don't mind, I'd like to ride back home with you after lunch. Fredric has some urgent business, and I'd rather not trouble the driver."

My father immediately agreed. "Of course, Mrs. Rosa."

Fredric wasted no time. He stood, murmured something that barely qualified as a goodbye, and left without even a glance in my direction. His expression was cold, but his pace quickened as if he couldn't wait to meet that woman-Paula.

I sat there quietly, watching him walk away, my chest tight.

Sometimes I wonder why life feels so unfair.

If I can't have the man I love, can't God at least grant me a little happiness-perhaps just a shred of kindness from him?

---

**Later That Night**

Paula.

That name won't stop echoing in my mind.

I wish I hadn't heard it. I wish it didn't bother me this much. But it does.

Tonight feels like one of the worst nights of my life. It's as though hearing that name carved something deep inside me.

I even tried searching for her online. Nothing came up. No clues. No photos. Just the gnawing thought that somewhere out there, she was laughing beside him.

The clock on my bedside table read **11:00 p.m.** I should have been asleep hours ago-I had work early in the morning. But my mind refused to rest. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Fredric's face, his cold eyes, and that name-Paula.

Then suddenly-

"**Darling!**"

The piercing scream shattered the silence. It came from my parents' room.

"Mama?" I rushed to the door, my heart pounding. "Mama, what happened?"

The scene froze me where I stood. My mother was on the floor, convulsing-her mouth foaming, her eyes rolled back.

"Call the ambulance! Now!" my father shouted, his voice breaking.

My hands shook as I grabbed the phone and dialed emergency services. Tears streamed down my face as I gave them our address, my words tumbling out in panic.

Everything felt unreal, like a nightmare I couldn't wake from.

By the time the paramedics arrived, my father was kneeling beside her, his face pale and wet with tears. I stood near the wall, unable to move, unable to breathe.

"Mathilda, come," my father whispered hoarsely, gripping my trembling hand.

We climbed into the ambulance. The siren wailed through the night as the vehicle sped through the empty streets.

I saw Mrs. Rosa through the window as we passed her house. She had come outside, looking worried, her nightgown fluttering in the cold breeze.

"Papa... why did Mama fall?" I asked, barely audible.

"That's what I'm trying to understand," he said, his voice cracking. "She came out of the bathroom, then suddenly collapsed. There was foam at her mouth... I didn't know what to do but scream."

We fell silent after that. The sound of the siren filled the space where words failed.

---

We sat outside the ICU, our bodies tense with fear. Half an hour passed with no news.

I kept gripping my hand so tightly it hurt, trying to keep myself from falling apart.

"Will Mama be all right?" I whispered. I had asked that same question so many times that my father stopped answering. He just sat there, motionless, his face hidden behind his trembling hands.

Then the door opened.

A doctor stepped out, his face grim. My father and I jumped to our feet and rushed toward him.

"How is my wife?" my father asked desperately.

The doctor didn't speak at first. He only shook his head.

My father bolted past him, running into the ICU. I stood frozen, grabbing the doctor's arm, begging for an explanation. "Please... tell me. What happened? I don't understand!"

The doctor sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. Your mother passed away. It was a sleeping pill overdose."

His words didn't register at first. My grip loosened. My knees gave way, and I sank to the cold floor.

"What?" I whispered. "No... that can't be true..."

But the look on his face told me everything.

My world-already fragile-shattered completely.

My mother was gone.

Gone without a goodbye, without a reason, without an answer.

And I could do nothing but cry into the silence, asking a God who no longer seemed to listen-

Why her? Why us? Why tonight?

POV of Mathilda

March 1, 2017

Today is the day I hate most in the world.

March 1, 2017 - the most terrible, sorrowful day of my life.

The coffin lowered into the ground feels like a nightmare I can't wake from. My mother is gone. The woman who always stood by me, who defended me when life and people became cruel, has left me forever. There's no longer anyone to shield me when my classmates mock my plain looks or my awkward ways.

Where do I pour all this pain now? Where do I send all these tears that won't stop falling?

My father has locked himself in his room since morning. He refused to come to the funeral, refused even to see her face one last time when the coffin was opened. His grief is something beyond words.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Mathilda."

The voice came from behind me - warm and compassionate. Mrs. Rosa wrapped her arms around me tightly. The scent of her perfume mixed with the cold air of the cemetery, grounding me for just a moment.

I nodded weakly and wiped my swollen eyes, though the tears kept flowing without end.

"Thank you, Mrs. Rosa," was all I could whisper. My throat ached. I turned again to face my mother's grave. It felt unreal. My mother, my best friend, the only constant in my life... gone.

"Where is your father?" Mrs. Rosa asked softly.

"He didn't come," I said, my voice trembling. "He's still at home. I tried to persuade him - we all did - but he said he couldn't bear to see her buried. He's too broken."

Mrs. Rosa rested her head gently on my shoulder. I could feel her sadness radiating too. Maybe because she'd known us so long, our grief felt like hers.

"Life is strange, Mrs. Rosa," I murmured, my voice breaking. "I've always longed for affection, for someone to truly protect me, to make me feel safe. But now, she's gone. I was already a girl who didn't fit in - awkward, teased, unwanted. If it weren't for my mother, I wouldn't have survived. Does God really think I'm strong enough to face this cruel world alone?"

As if the sky heard my question, thunder rolled overhead. Dark clouds spread quickly, and raindrops began to fall - soft at first, then heavier, more insistent.

"Come, Mathilda," said Mrs. Rosa, gripping my arm. "We should go home. It's going to rain harder. Look at that wind, look at the sky."

I gently pulled my arm free and shook my head.

"You go ahead, Mrs. Rosa. I'll stay. I want to cry beneath the rain and be alone with her... just a little longer."

Before she could answer, a familiar voice shouted from behind us.

"Grandma!"

I turned. Fredric was running toward us, holding an umbrella.

Mrs. Rosa stepped back as her grandson reached her, his clothes already damp.

"Come on, Grandma! Let's go! Why are you still standing here?" Fredric's voice was sharp, irritated. I ignored them both and turned back to the grave, staring at the freshly piled earth.

For a moment, I thought they had left. But then I felt a sudden grip on my wrist.

"Let go!" I snapped instinctively, pulling my hand free. Anger burned in my chest - not because he touched me, but because he wouldn't let me grieve my own way. Couldn't they understand that I wanted to feel this pain - to *face* it, not escape it?

"You're so stubborn!" Fredric shouted. "It's raining - what more do you want? Standing here won't bring her back! You have to face reality!"

I turned to him, rain soaking both of us. He had given his umbrella to Mrs. Rosa, letting himself get drenched. His hair clung to his forehead, his shirt plastered to his chest - and yet, all I could feel was fury.

"Of course I'll face it, Fredric," I said, my voice shaking. "You don't have to tell me how to handle my own grief. But I want to be here. What's so wrong with that? Go home. Your grandmother's health is more important than forcing me to leave."

He scoffed. "Tch! Do you really think I'm watching over you because I care? Damn it! Grandma, let's go. There's no point trying to reason with this woman."

His words pierced deeper than I wanted to admit. He turned and walked away through the rain, his grandmother following reluctantly after him. Their figures disappeared into the mist.

And I stayed - sitting at the edge of the grave, letting the rain soak through my clothes, the thunder drown my sobs, and the earth beneath me grow dark and heavy with tears.

---

**May 4, 2017**

I ran across Mrs. Rosa's courtyard as fast as my legs could carry me.

Her call had come only fifteen minutes ago - my father had collapsed.

Since my mother's death, he had changed completely. Three months of silence. Three months of refusing food. He rarely spoke, barely slept, and avoided home as if every corner haunted him with her memory.

Truth be told, I was barely any better. My world had gone gray. Even my once-burning admiration for Fredric had faded to ash. Nothing mattered anymore.

But I tried to stay strong - for my father.

The housemaid met me at the gate, pale and anxious. "This way, Miss Mathilda. He's in the guest house."

I hurried to the small cottage at the back of Rosa's estate. When I stepped inside, the sight nearly stopped my heart.

"Dad..."

He was lying on the bed, his face ghostly white.

"Don't come closer."

I froze mid-step. His voice sounded foreign - cold, sharp.

"But Dad-"

"*Don't come closer!*" he barked again, his tone suddenly fierce.

I hesitated, my chest tightening. Mrs. Rosa appeared behind me and quickly pulled me into her arms.

"Come, child," she whispered, leading me outside. I was shaking, my mind spinning.

"What's wrong with him? Why won't he let me near?"

"Mathilda," she said softly, "your father is... deeply depressed. He's traumatized. The loss has broken him completely."

Tears welled in my eyes. "What should I do, Mrs. Rosa? He needs someone with him, someone to take care of him. But how? I don't even know how to help anymore."

"You must be patient," she said, rubbing my back gently. "Your mother's death was his greatest fear. Now he's lost her, and grief has clouded his reason. I'll talk to him slowly, give him time. For now, stay here. Rest."

Before I could answer, a familiar male voice echoed from the front of the courtyard.

"Grandma, where are you?"

Fredric.

I looked up and saw him walking toward us - tall, confident, immaculate as always - with a beautiful woman beside him. I recognized her instantly. Paula. The famous model.

My stomach twisted.

I lowered my gaze, not wanting to look at them.

"Oh, Fredric," said Mrs. Rosa, smiling faintly. "Perfect timing. I actually need a favor."

"What is it?" he asked casually, his hand resting on Paula's waist.

"I need you to take Mathilda home," she said firmly. "Help her pack her things and bring them here. She'll be staying for a while."

I turned to Mrs. Rosa, shaking my head. "No, it's fine, I can-"

Fredric interrupted sharply. "What?! I have plans! I'm taking Paula to lunch. We came here to invite you, Grandma. Why should I waste my time escorting her? She knows where she lives, doesn't she?"

His annoyance was palpable. Paula looked uncomfortable but didn't speak.

"Fredric," Mrs. Rosa said in a tone that could freeze stone, "I said take her home. Are you going to ignore my words now? Don't tell me my grandson has become too proud to help someone in need."

Her eyes darted to Paula, and the model flinched slightly. "Of course not, Mrs. Rosa," Paula stammered.

"Then go," said Rosa.

Fredric sighed heavily, muttered under his breath, and turned on his heel. "Fine. Let's go."

He didn't even look at me.

I turned to Mrs. Rosa, unsure what to say.

She smiled kindly. "Pack your clothes and essentials, dear. Come back soon. You'll feel safer here - and you'll still have to go to work, right?"

I nodded weakly, though my heart was a mess of confusion and sadness.

As I walked toward Fredric's car, I whispered to myself,

*Why does every road I take always lead back to him - even when I wish it didn't?*