(The jet came to a smooth halt at Velcroy Private Airstrip, just outside the shimmering skyline of Lyrex).
(As the hatch opened, a soft gust of warm wind greeted Nathaniel Blackwood. He stepped out, flanked by two bodyguards dressed in sharp black suits — their expressions unreadable, eyes scanning every inch of the surroundings like shadows made of stone).
(Waiting at the base of the stairs was a lean man in his early thirties, tablet in hand, dressed in a charcoal suit and glasses that reflected the silver gleam of the jet. His name was Callen Ward, Nathaniel's trusted secretary — quick-witted, efficient, and always ten steps ahead).
"Mr. Blackwood, your car is ready just outside the Velcroy terminal," [Callen said without missing a beat, his voice calm and respectful].
• Nathaniel gave a silent nod.
• He didn't need to speak.
• His aura did it for him.
(As he descended the stairs, all eyes were drawn to him.
Passengers, staff, even distant onlookers — their gazes followed him like he was the only star that had fallen from the sky).
(The height. The stride. The presence).
{6'4, broad shoulders, a sharply built frame beneath a tailored black coat, and eyes that could slice through silence. His face was a cruel kind of beauty — too perfect, too cold — the kind of face that didn't need to smile to be unforgettable.}
[He walked like the ground knew him.
Like the air parted for him].
(And behind him, his bodyguards followed, silent shadows of command. At his right, Callen kept pace, reading briefings on the tablet without missing a step).
(Outside the terminal, a midnight-black Bentley Mulsanne waited with the engine already humming. One of the bodyguards opened the door, stepping aside).
Nathaniel entered with quiet grace and seated himself) .
Callen slid in beside him, adjusting the tablet for briefing mode.
(The car rolled forward, swallowing the city lights into its polished windows).
• Nathaniel didn't say a word.
• He didn't have to.
• Lyrex was watching.
• And it would soon remember the name it had forgotten.
[Blackwood].
(Nathaniel leaned back in the luxurious seat, his gaze steady on the road ahead through the tinted window).
"Callen, first... go towards my house—my parents' house," [ he said, voice calm, but a faint smile tugging at his lips. That one smile held years of longing and distance, wrapped in hope]. "When they see me like this…"
[Callen, holding the sleek black tablet on his lap, nodded]. "Okay, Mr. Blackwood. I'll inform the driver."
(He leaned forward slightly, murmuring to the driver before entering the coordinates into the built-in navigation system. The soft beeping sound filled the quiet as the map lit up).
(The car began to move, the engine humming like a lullaby beneath them. Nathaniel turned his head, eyes trailing out the window).
Lyrex.
The city of memories.
(His fingers grazed the glass lightly, as if touching the past).
(He remembered playing hide-and-seek with his childhood friends on the quiet stone lanes, the scent of rain after summer, the warm hands of his mother brushing back his hair).
And now… he was back.
The streets had changed.
(Yet the boy inside him still ached to rush through the mansion gates, wrap his arms around his mother—the woman who waited every evening, hoping for a glimpse of her son in the wind).
•Faster.
•He wanted the car to fly.
Just once…
He wanted home.
Hours Later…
(The car finally slowed to a stop in front of a massive iron gate, framed by ivy-covered pillars. The Blackwood mansion stood proudly behind it—majestic, familiar, yet distant).
(Nathaniel's eyes softened the moment he saw it).
(He saw the mansion—the place of his childhood—and a faint, hopeful smile appeared on his face. It was everything he remembered: the tall gates, the stone walls, the overgrown garden. Memories flickered—of laughter, childhood games, and evenings spent at those grand corridors).
(The bodyguard swiftly stepped forward, opening the car door. Nathaniel stepped out slowly, his tall frame towering with presence. A soft breeze swept through his dark coat as he stood still for a moment, just staring).
( A faint smile touched his lips—nostalgic, warm, aching).
He took a step forward.
Then another.
(But something prickled inside him—an unease he couldn't name. The gate loomed closer, its rusted metal carrying echoes of the past).
(He approached the gate, his hand reaching out to open it like he used to as a boy).
But just as his fingers brushed the handle—
"Stop right there."
(A firm voice cut through the air.
Nathaniel froze, turning his head).
Beepppp....
--------------------------------------------------
"He returned home to embrace the past— only to find it had already let him go."
STALKED BY MY OWN STORY
_______________________________________
Author's Note,
Hey readers! 💬✨
How are you all doing? 💖
(So, as promised, I gave you a long chapter today 📖💥 — and now it's your turn! 😏 I know some of you forget 😅, but can you make a little promise to me? 🤝💌 Please add this novel to your collection 📚🌟 and drop a comment below 📝💬. I'm eagerly waiting to hear your thoughts!)👀💭
That's all for today! 🫶 I'll see you in the next chapter! 📘🖋
Take care. Peace out! ✌️🌈💕