📖 Episode One – Mornings and Moods
"Liana!"
The voice tore through the tiny apartment like a siren. Not the sweet kind. The "your-mother's-about-to-rip-the-door-off-its-hinges" kind.
"Liana Rose, if you don't get out of that bed in the next ten seconds, I swear I'm throwing water on you!"
Liana groaned, dragging a pillow over her face like it could shield her from life itself.
It was 6:47 a.m.
Her alarm had gone off twenty minutes ago—twice.
The sun hadn't even properly committed to rising yet. And already, her mom was on full-volume energy like it was a live TV show.
"I'm up," Liana muttered.
She wasn't.
Her bed was warm. The blankets smelled like jasmine and sleep. Her dreams had been halfway peaceful for once—floating somewhere between mystery and maybe kisses she'd never admit to. But then again, this was her life. Peace didn't last long here.
The door burst open.
There stood her mother, hands on hips, wrapped in a bright yellow headscarf and an oversized hoodie that read 'Coffee First, Questions Later.' She didn't wait for either.
"Oh, you're up, are you? Then why does your face look like it's still downloading?"
Liana cracked one eye open. "Because I'm still buffering."
Her mother rolled her eyes. "Girl, don't test me this morning. Your bus leaves in thirty minutes, and the last time you tried to straighten your hair, the whole kitchen smelled like barbecue."
Liana groaned again, dragging herself upright. Her curls were a wild mess, her t-shirt hung off one shoulder, and her voice was full of sleep and sass.
"Remind me again why I'm not homeschooled?"
"Because I love you, but not that much."
Her mom tossed a sock at her head and left the room, mumbling something about teenagers and selective hearing.
Liana sat on the edge of the bed for a second, staring at her small, crowded room—the posters, the string lights, the cracked mirror that made her look taller than she was.
This wasn't luxury.
It wasn't quiet.
But it was home.
And sometimes, it felt like the only place in the world that hadn't given up on her.
She finally dragged herself into the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face like it might wake up more than just her skin. Her reflection stared back at her—brown eyes still heavy with sleep, curls refusing to cooperate, and a little frown that lived there more often than not.
She didn't hate her life.
But she didn't love it either.
She just… existed in it.
At the breakfast table, her mom was dancing around to old-school R&B while flipping eggs with the kind of flair only single mothers and survivors had. The kitchen smelled like cinnamon toast and roasted ambition.
Liana sat down slowly. "You trying to be extra this morning?"
Her mom grinned. "Baby girl, this is called 'fake it till you make it.' Now eat."
Liana poked at her toast. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to let me skip school just once."
Her mom raised a brow. "It might not kill me, but it would definitely kill your GPA."
Before Liana could argue further, her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
No message. Just the number sitting there, unreadable. She frowned.
Weird.
She ignored it.
.
.
Liana grabbed her backpack, still chewing the last bite of toast.
"Love you, Ma," she said over her shoulder.
Her mom pointed a spatula at her. "Pass your exams and make me rich one day!"
Liana smiled faintly, pulled on her hoodie, and stepped into the morning light.
No surprises.
No strange texts.
No premonitions.
Just another day.
At least… for her.
---
🖤 Damian's Mansion 🖤
The mansion stood like a fortress carved from stone and silence.
Sixteen thousand square feet of marble, black glass, and secrets.
Guards out front. Staff trained not to speak unless spoken to.
Nothing soft ever made it past the gate.
Inside, the air was cold—even warmer rooms carried a chill, as if the house mirrored the man who owned it.
Damian.
He sat alone at the long end of a dining table that could seat thirty, but never had. A steaming cup of black coffee sat untouched beside him. He wasn't looking at his phone. He wasn't reading the paper. He was simply… staring.
Eyes sharp. Jaw locked.
A man always calculating.
He wore a dark gray suit—flawless, like the rest of him. Crisp white shirt. No tie. He didn't need one. Authority clung to him like a second skin. His hair was still wet from an early-morning swim. No one dared ask why he swam in freezing water before the sun rose. The staff knew better than to question his rituals.
He didn't like noise.
He didn't like delays.
And he didn't like people.
"Sir," his assistant murmured from the doorway, holding a folder. "The Milan deal is finalized. They've signed under your conditions."
Damian didn't blink. "Of course they did."
The assistant nodded and left in silence.
Damian turned back toward the window, where thick gray clouds were gathering across the sky.
He hated storms.
But sometimes… he was one.
--
🏫At School 📚
Liana stepped off the bus and into the blur of Monday morning.
Students buzzed around like bees in oversized hoodies and tangled earbuds, laughter echoing down graffiti-tagged hallways, backpacks swinging, secrets passed in whispers and glances.
📚 Ridgepoint Public High.
The kind of school that didn't make the news unless something broke or burned.
Liana weaved through the crowd like someone trying not to be seen. Hoodie up, headphones in. Her playlist was loud — the kind that made the world feel slower, softer, farther away.
But her life didn't come with slow motion.
"LIANAAA!"
Too late.
A body slammed into her from the side — all perfume, curly hair, and chaos.
"Girl, I thought you died or something! Why didn't you text me back?"
It was Jayda, her best friend since seventh grade. The only one who stuck around after Liana's dad left. The kind of girl who wore neon eyeliner and talked like her life was a reality show.
Liana grunted, recovering her balance. "You texted me at 2 a.m. to ask if you should dye your hair blue."
Jayda blinked. "Exactly! That was a crisis!"
They walked together toward their lockers.
"Seriously though," Jayda continued. "You look like death warmed over. No offense."
"None taken," Liana mumbled. "Mom had me up at dawn. She thinks she's Beyoncé before caffeine."
Jayda snorted. "I love your mom."
"You can have her."
Their first class was English Literature — cold room, squeaky chairs, the smell of dust and dry books.
Liana sank into her seat by the window and opened her worn-out notebook. Her pen doodled in the margin like it always did when her brain didn't want to engage.
She tried to focus.
But today felt…off.
Not wrong. Not dramatic. Just… like the air was holding its breath.
"Miss Rose," the teacher snapped. "Since you're so artistically inclined this morning, would you care to explain the theme of isolation in The Catcher in the Rye?"
Liana blinked. Her class chuckled.
She sighed. "Holden felt invisible, so he pushed people away before they could confirm it."
The teacher paused, raised a brow — then nodded slowly.
"Well said."
Jayda whispered from beside her, "Deep and dangerous. You should teach."
Liana just stared out the window.
Her world wasn't falling apart.
It wasn't exploding.
It was just… ordinary.
Same halls. Same faces. Same jokes.
.
TBC.
.
.