Gabriel's eyes widened slightly when he heard the title. He repeated it under his breath, testing the weight of the words.
"The Alpha and His Authoress…" He paused, lips curling into a faint smile as he shook his head slowly. "That's a good title."
Leaning forward, he asked, "Then what's the plot?" His tone was calm, but beneath it lingered curiosity — and doubt.
Francis met his gaze. For a brief moment, Gabriel felt something unsettling in the boy's eyes — quiet resolve, far too deep for his age.
"Fate binds the king of the entertainment industry to a gifted authoress," Francis said evenly. "But in a world poisoned by deceit and betrayal, their fight for survival becomes a fight for the future itself."
The words carried weight — too much weight for a boy his age. Gabriel blinked, then let out a soft sigh as he leaned back against the worn mattress. "Then I suppose… you're ready," he murmured, voice trembling between pride and exhaustion.
Francis nodded. "I am. But I'll need your help."
Gabriel's expression softened, and he reached out with a trembling hand. "You'll have it," he whispered, his voice fading into the stillness of the room. Within moments, his breathing steadied — sleep had claimed him again.
Francis stayed still, watching the frail rise and fall of his uncle's chest. The old man had given him everything, and Francis knew time was running short.
He turned toward the flickering lamp, his thoughts drifting to the faint memories that had never stopped haunting him — the warmth of his mother's embrace, his father's firm hand resting on his shoulder. They had been a perfect family once — laughter, comfort, the smell of home-cooked meals.
But that was before the darkness came.
It began with a phone call — a single moment that shattered everything. His father's expression had turned grave, his mother's joy dimming into fear. Within days, their laughter vanished. They whispered when they thought he wasn't listening. Then, one night, they brought him to Uncle Gabriel's house. They said it was for a short while.
That short while became forever.
The news of the plane crash came weeks later. The company his father built — gone. The inheritance — erased. His parents — dead.
Or so the world believed.
Gabriel had never told him the full story, but the look in his uncle's eyes whenever Francis mentioned it spoke louder than any truth. There was more — secrets buried beneath tragedy. And one day, Francis vowed, he would uncover it.
That night, as the moonlight spilled through the window, Francis whispered to himself,
"The Writer's Academy… It's more than just a dream. It's my key to everything."
He blew out the lamp and let darkness take him.
---
The Next Morning
The first rays of dawn crept into the room. Francis stirred awake, his routine already engraved into muscle and memory. He rose quietly, careful not to disturb Gabriel, and began his morning chores — sweeping the floor, washing the dishes, folding what few clothes they owned.
When he was done, he pulled on his worn shoes and slung his tattered school bag over his shoulder. But today, school could wait. He had somewhere else to be.
The library.
It was several kilometers away, and the morning air was cool and sharp. He walked quickly, head down, focused.
Then — thud.
He collided with someone at the corner of the street.
A girl.
She stumbled back, blinking up at him with wide eyes. Her golden-blonde hair caught the sunlight, shimmering like spun silk. Her white dress was spotless, her polished shoes gleaming. She looked like she'd walked out of another world — one where money was air and comfort a birthright.
Francis took a step back, muttering, "Sorry," but her curious stare didn't waver.
"Hi! My name's Angel. Nice to meet you!" she chirped, sticking out her hand.
Francis blinked, unimpressed. "I'm in a hurry."
Her smile faltered. "You're mean. I just wanted to be your friend."
He frowned, glancing over his shoulder. "What do you want, really?"
Angel hesitated, then said in a small voice, "I think I'm lost."
Francis raised a brow. "Lost? Where are your parents?"
Her face crinkled. "Yesterday, we went to the park, and I… kind of wandered off. I tried finding my way back, but I got even more lost."
He exhaled sharply. "You walked all the way here?"
"Mm-hmm!" she said proudly. "I even slept in the old library. It was dusty but not too scary."
Francis dragged a hand down his face. "Unbelievable."
"What?" she asked innocently.
"Nothing," he muttered. "Just… come on. I'll take you back."
Angel brightened instantly, clapping her hands. "Really? You're a hero!"
"I'm not," Francis said flatly.
The two of them walked through the quiet streets together — or rather, Francis walked while Angel talked. She spoke about her parents, her dolls, her favorite foods, her dislike for broccoli, and how she wanted to be an astronaut.
By the time they reached the library, Francis's patience was running thin. "Wait here," he said. "I just need to grab some things."
"No way," she said, grabbing his arm. "I'm coming with you."
Francis sighed but gave in. Inside, the library was nearly deserted — rows of books and dust, the scent of old paper heavy in the air. He rummaged through a side room, collecting stacks of old writing paper and a chipped fountain pen.
Angel peered over his shoulder. "You're… taking trash?"
He smirked faintly. "These are stories waiting to be written."
Her brow furrowed. "You write?"
"I'm going to," he said. "For the Writer's Academy."
Her lips parted slightly. "The Writer's Academy…" she echoed, as if the name stirred something deep in her memory.
---
Outside, the morning had grown livelier. They followed the road that curved back toward the park — and then Francis noticed it.
Cars. Dozens of them. Officers shouting, people crying.
Angel froze beside him. Her eyes widened, and suddenly she screamed, "Mummy! Daddy!"
Francis barely had time to react before she sprinted ahead. A man and woman turned, their expressions breaking into tears of joy as they ran to meet her.
For a brief moment, Francis smiled. She'd found her family.
He turned to leave quietly, but then a deep voice rang out behind him.
> "And where do you think you're going?"
Francis stopped, confused.
A tall man — Angel's father — stood before him, broad-shouldered and in
timidating, his sharp eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Officers," he barked, pointing straight at Francis. "Arrest this boy at once!"