Claire Whitmore had time-traveled again.
This time, she landed beside a twelve-year-old Alexander Hale — in 1968 America. Realizing this, Claire nearly collapsed in despair.
Seriously? Not just time travel, but international time travel too? Great — no need for a passport now!
But no, that wasn't the point.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Claire crossed her arms and frowned deeply, trying to think. Based on her previous experience, the only way to return… was to take a picture of herself at the piano — the same one from the photo that triggered her last time jump.
Thomas Hale had told her that the piano in the photo was in Alexander's room.
Claire's eyes locked onto the instrument — yes, it was the exact same one.
So all she had to do was pose like in the photo and wait for Butler Cross to snap the picture. Then she could go back!
That should be simple enough! With this realization, Claire quickly turned to the boy.
"Hey, little brother, let me ask you — do you know a butler named Cross?"
He said nothing. Just stared at her.
Claire switched to a sweet, kindergarten-teacher tone. "Come on, sweetie, don't be scared. I'm not a bad person. Tell big sis — do you know someone named Cross?"
"…Do you think I'm three?" the boy finally replied flatly.
Claire was left speechless. His cold, disdainful tone was a far cry from the warm, gentle Alexander Hale she had met as an adult.
He was so charming and refined when he grew up — who would've thought he was such a cold little ice cube as a kid?
"Did you hide in the wardrobe just now? Did my father send you to spy on me?" he asked sharply.
Spy on him?
Claire was stunned. That was not something a twelve-year-old should be saying. Clearly, this child was unusually intelligent — and very wary.
Knowing she had to gain his trust if she wanted to stay, Claire made something up.
"Well, to tell you the truth…" She struck a mysterious pose, slowly stood up, crossed her arms, puffed out her chest, and declared,
"I'm a time traveler!"
…No reaction.
Claire froze. Wait — were there even time-travel movies back in 1968? Does this kid even know what that means?
"FELITA—!" he suddenly yelled, calling for someone.
Startled, Claire rushed forward and clamped a hand over his mouth. "Don't yell! Just give me five minutes — I'll prove it to you!"
Five minutes later…
Claire, hoarse from talking non-stop, poured herself a glass of water and chugged it down before asking,
"So? Now you understand what time travel is, right?"
Alexander Hale said nothing.
In truth, he had been observing her all along.
From her clothes, her accent, her mannerisms — everything about her was off. She said she was British, but not like any British woman he knew. She was… different.
More importantly, he had changed clothes in that same wardrobe that morning. He hadn't left the room once all day — the door had been locked.
So that meant — she had appeared out of thin air.
Even though he was only twelve, Alexander was already calculating and cautious. While he believed her, he didn't show it.
Claire mistook his silence for confusion and cleared her throat again. "It's okay if you didn't get it. Let me explain it again —"
"What's your name?" he interrupted.
Claire blinked. Had she not said it already?
"I'm Claire Whitmore."
"And do you know my name?" he asked next.
Claire nodded confidently. "Of course. You're Alexander Hale."
His brow furrowed. "How do you know my name?"
Claire had expected that question and had already prepared an answer.
"I know your name because… I'm here to protect you."
Alexander blinked. She's here to protect him?
"Don't worry, little brother." Claire gently patted his shoulder. "I won't hurt you. But I can't leave this room — and no one can find out I'm here. My mission is to protect you… secretly. So… can I stay?"
"Why would you want to protect me?" he asked, still sharp and skeptical.
Claire thought for a moment before replying,
"Because… your future self sent me."
A strange light flickered in Alexander's eyes. He looked at her — expression suddenly complicated.
Claire gazed back. If she had to describe this boy in one word, it would be mature. He was young, yes, but already clever and calculating.
No wonder he achieved so much later in life…
At last, after all her coaxing and talking, he finally agreed — to let her stay, and to keep her secret.
But there was bad news.
Butler Cross had traveled out of town. No one knew when he would return.
Which meant — Claire had only one option:
Wait.
Alexander's meals were brought by a Filipina maid named Felita. Whenever someone came to the room, Claire hid in the wardrobe. Once they were gone, she'd come out.
Luckily, the food portions were generous, and she shared meals with Alexander.
At night, she slept on the sofa. Though the door was locked, she still slept uneasily, afraid someone might barge in.
This routine lasted two days — and Claire was going crazy.
Bored. Out of. Her. Mind.
Alexander ignored her completely. When he wasn't practicing piano, he was on the violin. When not practicing instruments, he was studying, reading, doing calligraphy, playing chess — he never stopped for a second.
Whenever a tutor came by, Claire had to hide in the wardrobe — for at least two hours.
Aside from showering, Alexander never left the room. It was like he was imprisoned here.
Claire only saw Felita the maid — three times a day at mealtime.
Another reason she was going insane? She hadn't showered in three days. Hadn't changed clothes either. She'd assumed she'd only be here a day or two — clearly, that wasn't happening.
That night, lying on the sofa tossing and turning, Claire sat up. She looked at the peaceful, sleeping boy.
She tiptoed over and gave him a gentle nudge.
Alexander was a light sleeper. At the slightest movement, he opened his eyes and looked at her.
"I want to shower," Claire whispered.
He checked the time — midnight. The staff should all be asleep. Nodding, he quietly led her out for a bath.
It was the first time Claire had left the room.
She had guessed from the layout that this was a mansion — but when she stepped outside, she realized:
This wasn't a mansion — it was a castle.
A real, grand, Western-style European castle.
Claire had seen places like this while traveling abroad — but only from the outside. Now, walking through winding halls with Alexander carrying a candle to light the way, she felt like she'd stepped into a film.
It was surreal — and a little magical.
The bathroom was massive. Claire filled the tub cautiously, not daring to be too loud.
The moment she slipped into the warm water — she sighed. Pure bliss.
Alexander stayed outside the door, sitting and listening to her hum inside the bath.
Claire didn't dare linger. She bathed quickly, wrapped herself in a robe, and Alexander escorted her back.
But halfway back, he suddenly stopped.
"What's wrong?" Claire whispered.
He said nothing — just stared ahead, alert.
Claire followed his gaze — and saw a woman in a white nightgown standing on the balcony, gazing into the night.
Moonlight poured in through the windows, bathing her in silver glow.
Though they couldn't see her face clearly, her figure alone made it obvious — she was beautiful.
Moments later, the woman turned and walked away.
Claire finally saw her face — stunningly beautiful, but emotionless, like a soulless shell.
Claire looked down at Alexander — and saw him staring at the woman, eyes filled with a rare sadness.
This was the first time she had ever seen that look on his face.
Who was that woman… to him?