The day began like any other for Zephyr, except for one thing—it was his birthday. He didn't care much for celebrations or parties, but somewhere deep down, he had hoped to see a certain face: Roseanne, his persistent "delivery woman" who never failed to show up with breakfast. She had become an odd constant in his life, her presence both maddening and strangely comforting. But that morning, she didn't come.
Zephyr found himself checking the gate multiple times, pacing his balcony in the faint hope of spotting her. The absence of her usual antics left him unsettled, a faint disappointment tugging at his chest. He couldn't understand why it bothered him so much. With a frustrated sigh, he pushed the thought aside and headed to the office, where preparations were underway for the grand party his father had planned for the evening.
By evening, the party was in full swing. The extravagance of the event felt suffocating, the room brimming with important faces, champagne flutes in hand. Zephyr checked his phone repeatedly, almost compulsively, scanning for any message from Roseanne. But there was nothing. Irritation simmered beneath his composed exterior, though he wasn't sure what exactly he was irritated about.
A knock on his office door broke his thoughts. He looked up to find Hiya—full name HiyacinthGarcia—standing there. His "fiancée." They weren't engaged in any true sense, no rings exchanged, no plans made, no feelings shared. She was his fiancée because his father had decided so. Zephyr felt nothing for her, not an ounce of affection or care. As for Hiya, he didn't know what she felt, nor did he want to. Her emotions were irrelevant to him.
We're supposed to go to the party together," she said, her voice cold but polite as she entered the room. Zephyr nodded silently, standing to follow her. He didn't bother with small talk—they weren't the kind of couple who talked about anything, really. Together, they entered the party, a picture-perfect pair for the guests to admire.
The evening passed in a blur of formalities and hollow conversations, until Mr. Davidson took the stage for an announcement. Zephyr's father spoke confidently, his commanding voice carrying through the room. "I'm pleased to share some wonderful news," Davidson began, his tone laced with authority. "Zephyr and Hiya are getting married."
The words hit Zephyr like a lightning strike. He froze, his mind racing as the room erupted in applause. He hadn't known. He hadn't been consulted. The decision had been made for him, as always. He forced a smile, his expression strained, trying to maintain composure while fury boiled within.
After the party, Zephyr stormed into his father's office, his voice sharp and cutting. "I asked for some time, didn't I? You told me you'd give me as much time as I needed if I confirmed the engagement rumors. You can't just back off from your words, Dad!"
Davidson raised an eyebrow, unaffected by his son's outburst. Before he could reply, a smooth voice cut through the tension. "Calm down, dear son," came his stepmother's words, her presence as calculating as ever. She stood in the doorway, a glass of red wine in hand, her lips curved into a practiced smile.
"We only want the best for you," she continued, her tone gentle but insincere. "You can complete your little hobby after marriage, Zephyr. You'll get a companion, just like your father got me."
Zephyr stiffened at her words, his sharp gaze cutting through her facade. He could see through her plans—the schemes, the manipulations. Hiya wasn't just a pawn in her game. Everyone was a chess piece to her, moved with precision and intent. But Zephyr didn't respond. He knew his words would mean nothing here.
Instead, his fury erupted in another way. He grabbed a glass trophy from the shelf and smashed it against the ground, the shards scattering across the room. As he turned to leave, something fell from his pocket—a locket with a rose-shaped charm. His stepmother's eyes lit up with intrigue, a creeping smile spreading across her lips. It was the smile of a predator catching sight of prey.
Zephyr didn't notice. He stormed out, briskly driving to his house, his chest tight with anger and frustration. When he arrived, he paused outside, his hand hovering over the door. Something caught his eye—a small figure leaning against the wall.
It was Roseanne.
She had fallen asleep, her head resting against the cold stone, her breathing soft and steady. Beside her sat a cake, the candle melted to the base but untouched. Zephyr's anger melted away in an instant. Without hesitation, he scooped her up, carrying her inside like she was something fragile, something precious.
Placing her gently on the bed, he pulled a blanket over her, his movements careful. Strands of hair had fallen across her face, and he brushed them aside, his fingers lingering for a moment. His voice was barely a whisper as he murmured, "Happy birthday to me."