Chapter 5: Paige
Today, Alderstone feels almost peaceful, a rare thing in a city where shadows stretch long and dark, even in the daylight. I walk down the street, ignoring the pair of guards trailing a few feet behind me. I know they’re watching my every move, but I force myself not to care. Today, I’m free. No meetings, no boardrooms filled with disgusting men and their casual threats. Just me and the city, and for a few stolen hours, I feel almost like myself.
In one hand, I clutch a small bag filled with newly printed language books. The scent of fresh ink still clings to the pages, mingling with the smell of chocolate and caramel from the waffle on a stick I bought from a stand a few blocks back. It's soft, warm, smothered in dark chocolate drizzle and crushed hazelnuts, the kind of treat I haven’t let myself enjoy in what feels like years. Today, I allow myself that indulgence.
I cross the street and enter the park, letting the cool shade of the trees welcome me. It’s beautiful here—golden sunlight filters through the leaves, scattering over the benches and winding paths. Flowers are in bloom, vibrant pinks and deep purples, dotting the landscape with color. A small fountain splashes in the distance, and a few children run along the grass, their laughter mixing with the soft murmur of people passing by. For a moment, it’s easy to pretend I’m just another girl with her books and her waffle, sitting on a bench with nothing to worry about.
I find a spot beneath a large, ancient oak tree and settle down, opening my new book. The text on the page is a tangle of Japanese characters, precise and elegant. I trace the first line with my finger, letting the characters roll around in my mind as I eat my waffle, feeling almost…normal.
A little while later, a pair of voices reaches me, tinged with worry. I glance up and see a young couple a few feet away, standing together with a crumpled map in hand, their expressions flustered. The words are soft but unmistakable—Japanese.
I close my book and approach them, offering a small smile. “Excuse me,” I say, switching to Japanese, watching as their faces turn from confusion to surprise. “Do you need help with directions?”
The woman’s eyes widen. “You…you speak Japanese?” she says, her voice a little breathless with relief.
I nod. “I do. Where are you trying to go?”
They explain, and I give them directions, pointing toward a path that will lead them to the main square. I can see the gratitude in their faces, the way the woman’s shoulders visibly relax. But when they still look uncertain, I add, “Here, I’ll walk with you. It’s close by.”
We walk together through the park, and for those few minutes, I forget about the guards behind me, about the expectations and meetings waiting for me tomorrow. The couple chats with me, asking about the city, about my life here, and I give them my best answers—only the honest parts, the parts I wish I could live more fully. I feel lighter, freer, each step taking me further from the life I wish I could escape.
When we reach the main square, the woman turns to me, gratitude lighting up her face. She moves forward to hug me, a simple, friendly gesture, and my heart swells with the rare touch of kindness. But before her arms can reach me, I hear the sharp sound of footsteps. My guards are already advancing, moving forward like shadows ready to intercept.
I spin around, shooting them a glare, my hands clenched at my sides. “Stop!” I snap, my voice echoing louder than I intended. “They’re just tourists. They’re not a danger. Stop acting like everyone is a threat.”
The guards don’t budge, their faces expressionless, but I see the faint flicker of annoyance in one of their eyes. I step closer, frustration boiling in me. “You’re supposed to keep me safe from actual danger, not random people trying to be kind.”
One of them, a brute of a man with arms crossed over his chest, raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. He doesn’t even speak—just stares at me with that same impassive look, as if I’m the one in the wrong.
I push his shoulder, not hard, but enough to let him know I’m serious. “Get out of the way,” I mutter, gritting my teeth, feeling a surge of defiance. I know they can’t touch me, can’t retaliate. I’m off-limits to them. “What are you going to do? Hurt me?”
His jaw tightens, a spark of anger lighting in his eyes, but he keeps his voice low, menacing. “Don’t test me,” he says, voice like gravel. “You may be untouchable to us, but that doesn’t mean you can act like a brat.”
I tilt my chin up, meeting his gaze with a confidence I don’t quite feel. “Or what?” I challenge, letting the words hang in the air between us. He doesn’t answer, but his look says enough.
We stand there in silence, tension thick, but I don’t break my stare. Eventually, he backs down, shifting his gaze away, and I turn back to the couple, my voice softening. “I’m so sorry about that. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day here.”
They give me a sympathetic nod, looking from me to the guards with a flash of worry in their eyes, as if they’re seeing something they weren’t meant to. And as I watch them walk away, disappearing into the crowd, I feel a strange pang in my chest—a longing for something simple, something real, that I know I’ll never have.
As I watch the couple disappear into the crowd, a familiar weight settles over me—a heaviness I’ve carried for so long I almost don’t notice it anymore. The truth is, they were probably the closest thing I’ve had to a real connection in years. No friends, no one to talk to. Just guards shadowing my every move, watching, controlling, reporting back. My father made sure of that.
When I was younger, I didn’t understand why he kept people away. I used to think I could have a normal life, slip through the cracks of this existence and find something… different. But as I got older, he’d tell me, over and over, that I had to remain unbiased. That my mind needed to stay clear, focused. That emotions—friendships, relationships—would cloud my judgment. And that I needed to be the perfect negotiator, his Crimson Circle asset.
Eventually, he banned even the idea of a boyfriend, laughing it off as some childish fantasy, like I wasn’t even allowed to want that. I told myself I’d get used to it. That I didn’t need anyone. But it’s a lie, one I can barely hold together on days like this, when I’m reminded of everything I’ll never have.
I sigh, defeated, letting my guard lead me back to the car without another word. I keep my eyes on the pavement, one foot in front of the other, feeling the cold, empty distance between me and the world I want but will never reach.
The car is waiting, dark and polished, a stark reminder of the life I can’t escape. I slide into the back seat, and the guard shuts the door behind me, the soft click of the lock sealing me in.