Six years had passed.
Francis had grown taller, his shoulders straighter, his features sharper. Though still a teenager, the shadow of manhood had begun to sculpt his once-boyish face. His dark eyes—steady and resolute—mirrored the calm determination that had never once faded, reminding anyone who looked at him of his late father.
He stood by his desk, a sturdier replacement for the old one that had once supported his dreams. On it rested the fruit of years of labor — his book.
The cover showed a domineering man standing beside a delicate woman, their silhouettes framed by storm and fire. Yet, even in chaos, they stood unbroken.
The title gleamed across the top:
"THE ALPHA AND HIS AUTHORESS."
Francis brushed his fingers across the embossed letters, pride glimmering in his gaze. Two years to write it. Two more to save enough to publish it. He had mended fences, chopped wood, hauled goods, and studied under flickering lamps—each sacrifice woven into these pages.
Now, both he and his story were ready.
"Six years already," Francis murmured, his eyes shifting toward the frail figure lying on the bed
"Now it's time."
Gabriel had aged more than the years allowed. His once-strong hands trembled, his skin pale and drawn, yet the faint spark of humor in his eyes still glimmered.
Catching Francis' look, he smiled weakly. "Don't worry about me. Just go."
"I'll come back for you," Francis said softly, gripping the manuscript. "When I return… things will be different."
With a final glance, he slung his bag across his shoulder and stepped outside—toward the journey that would change everything.
---
Meanwhile, across Solmera, Angel Alexander had blossomed into a vision of youthful grace. Petite yet striking, her amber eyes shimmered with the same spark that once made her the park's little chatterbox.
Her room was a reflection of her soul—soft lilac walls, white drapes that danced with the morning breeze, a shelf stacked with novels read too many times to count. Ink quills and papers sprawled across her desk, crowned by a vase of lilies perfuming the air.
In her hands rested a book.
Its cover glowed with artistry—a man and woman stood back-to-back, divided by a floating golden crown. The title read:
"THE CROWN OF MIDNIGHT."
Her lips curved in awe. "Finally… I'll get to meet him," she whispered, a dreamy light in her eyes.
A knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Angel? It's your mom."
She opened the door to find Alice, still radiant and poised, though the years had painted a quiet weariness in her smile.
"Ready?" Alice asked, smoothing her daughter's hair. "Your father's waiting."
Angel nodded with a teasing grin. "As ready as I'll ever be."
Downstairs, Alexander was already deep in conversation with Lucas, his trusted assistant. The CEO of Aurora Entertainment hadn't lost his commanding aura—tall, sharply dressed, silver just beginning to brush his hair. Power clung to him like a second skin.
When Angel entered, his stern expression melted into pride.
"There's my girl. Ready to make history?"
Angel laughed, rushing to hug him. "Always."
Alice rolled her eyes lightly, feigning offense. "And what about your poor mother?"
Angel grinned, looping her arms around both. "You're impossible, Mom."
Lucas cleared his throat discreetly. "Sir, it's time."
Alexander's tone softened as he met Angel's gaze. "Make me proud."
"I will."
And just like that, the chauffeur opened the door, and destiny began to move again.
---
The journey to the Writer's Academy was long, winding through golden hills and quiet forests.
By the time Francis arrived, dusk had painted the sky in amber hues. His boots were worn, dust clinging to his clothes, but his spirit burned brighter than ever.
Before him rose the Writer's Academy—its gates tall and intricate, carved with quills, scrolls, and laurels, the crest gleaming like silver fire in the light.
Francis' breath caught. "I've finally made it," he whispered, tightening his grip on his manuscript.
A low hum broke the stillness—a sleek black car pulling up beside him.
From it stepped Angel, radiant in a simple dress, her golden hair catching the sun. Her eyes widened at the sight of the towering gates. "It's even more beautiful than I imagined…" she murmured.
Behind her, Lucas handled the luggage with quiet precision.
Francis, standing just a few paces away, barely noticed. His gaze was fixed upward, lost in the moment he'd dreamed of for six years.
Angel, too, didn't see him—but for a brief second, as the wind brushed past, her eyes flickered to the side. Their paths crossed—just a glance, fleeting yet electric. A strange feeling stirred in her chest, one she couldn't name.
The gates creaked open.
Francis adjusted his bag, stepping forward with a heart full of resolve.
Angel followed soon after, her laughter carried on the breeze.
Two souls, unaware of the destiny waiting to bind them, crossed the threshold together.