The next morning, I woke up to the sound of my mother humming her usual warning that something "big" was about to happen. According to her, of course.
Wedding shopping day. Ugh.
I groaned.
"Paris!" she called, her voice echoing like it owned the house. "Get up! We have dresses to see!"
I peeked at the door. My brother, Reven, two years younger than me, was leaning lazily against the wall, chewing a granola bar like it was a weapon. His hair was sticking up like a tiny, messy crown.
"Morning, cutie," he said, bowing dramatically. "Shall I defend you from the evil dragons today, or just throw glitter at them?"
"Reven," I groaned. "Stop. I'm not in the mood for your nonsense."
"Exactly why I'm here. Someone has to lighten the mood before Mom drives you insane with wedding plans and life-altering questions about dresses you didn't even ask for."
I gave him a grateful look. He was ridiculous—but in a way that made the day feel survivable. Childish, teasing, and protective all at once.
By the time we reached the boutique downtown, Mom was already on a mission. Her eyes sparkled—not with joy, but with strategic ambition. I knew exactly what she was thinking.
Sharvin.
Her reasons were absurd but real:
Status: Sharvin's family owned half of North Hampshire's luxury real estate. Marrying him would make Mom the "queen" of the neighborhood. He sent her a marriage proposal for me because apparently, he fell in love with me the moment he saw me.And ofcourse that made my mom crazy.
Ego: Mom loved imagining that Paris would become a living trophy—obedient, perfect, impressive.
Oblivious ambition: She wanted everyone to know she could control the impossible. Sharvin seemed like the perfect puppet… and I was supposed to be the strings.
And Sharvin? Oh boy. He was perfectly terrifying in his own egoistic little bubble.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Impeccably groomed hair. Sharp suits that screamed: I am rich, I am important, I will judge everything you do. His blue-gray eyes settled on me like I was an art piece he wanted to own.
"Paris," he said, bowing slightly, "I didn't expect to see you in person today. You're… very pretty."His eyes were full of pride as if all he wanted from life is me.
I wanted to disappear but I smiled anyway. Sad, small, defensive.
Reven, of course, had other plans.
He stepped in front of me, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Yeah, well, seeing her might make you drool all over the boutique."
Sharvin blinked.
"I… uh… sorry," I muttered, clearly unprepared for confrontation.
"Nope," sharvin said with smile.. "This is my part. Don't worry, Paris. I've been training my whole life for this."
Sharvin's ego? Already bruised. He was the type of man who believed the world revolved around him. Everything he did his suits, his business, his coffee orders was a tiny power play. And apparently, he thought my beauty was the ultimate conquest.
Reven, on the other hand, was a walking chaos grenade.
"Look at you," he said, pointing at Sharvin with a grin. "Living in your huge mansion, driving your fancy car, thinking you can control everyone including Paris. Cute. Really cute."
Sharvin's jaw tightened. "I merely want what's… suitable."
Reven squinted. "Suitable? Yeah, sure. And I'm the queen of England." He leaned closer to me and whispered, "Don't worry. I'll keep the puppet master busy while you survive Mom's war zone."
I nearly laughed out loud and went toward Mom, who was dragging me over a mountain of wedding dresses.
Sharvin stepped closer, and Reven matched him stride for stride, grinning like a schoolboy.
Sharvin's lips pressed into a thin line. "I do not appreciate insolence."
"Neither do we," Reven said cheerfully. And that was Reven in a nutshell chaotic, childish, hilarious, and protective. For the rest of the boutique, he intercepted every sly glance, every subtle move Sharvin made, all while tripping over a display once (on purpose) and loudly commenting on the absurdity of bridal gowns.
By the time we left, Sharvin was glaring. Mom was delighted. And I… survived a tiny war thanks to my two-years-younger, ridiculous-but-awesome brother.
"Oh, by the way, Paris," Sharvin said as he adjusted his cufflinks, "would you mind coming to the big ball tonight? I want everyone to see my future wife."He said with proud yet convincing smile.
"Yeah… yeah, sure," I said with a big smile. I didn't want to make him sad.
As we got into the car, Reven threw his arm around my shoulders. "See? Easy peasy. Sharvin can't touch you today. And if he tries tomorrow, I'll send a flock of seagulls at him. Or worse your mom's bridge club. Scarier."
I laughed, finally feeling light.
Maybe this elopement idea wasn't so impossible after all.
..............................…
I was, sitting at the edge of my bed, staring at nothing. My hands were clenched so tightly in my lap that my fingers had started to ache, but I didn't loosen them. Pain felt easier to understand than fear.
This room had never belonged to me. I had lived in it for years, but it was never mine—not really. The walls were bare, the bed old, the cupboard chipped at the edges. It was a space meant for someone temporary, someone who could be erased without much effort.
Someone like me.
The door creaked open again.
"Wow," a familiar voice said lightly, "she didn't even throw a plate this time. Either she's evolving… or we should be very scared."
I let out a shaky breath before I could stop myself.
My brother stepped inside, leaning casually against the doorframe like he hadn't just walked into emotional wreckage. He was two years younger than me, yet somehow always felt older in moments like these. His hair was messy as usual, his sleeves rolled up, his expression carefully relaxed—like he was trying to keep the world from collapsing by pretending it wasn't.
Humor was his shield. It always had been.
He glanced around my room and raised an eyebrow. "So. On a scale of one to 'I need to fake my death,' how bad was it?"
That did it.
I laughed softly, brokenly but it was still a laugh. The kind that slips out before grief remembers it's not done with you yet.
"She tore the letter," I said.
His smile faded instantly.
For a moment, he didn't say anything. He never rushed me when I was like this. Instead, he leaned back on his hands and looked at the ceiling, as if calculating something invisible.
"You know," he said after a pause, "when we were kids, I thought she hated you because you were special."
I frowned slightly. "Special how?"
He shrugged. "Like… main-character special. Turns out, she just hates anyone who reminds her she doesn't control everything."
I shook my head weakly. "You're terrible at comforting."
"And yet," he grinned, "you're still alive."
That was him. Always turning pain into something survivable.
He had learned early that crying didn't stop storms, but laughter sometimes slowed them down.
People often assumed he had it easier because he was her biological son. They were wrong. He grew up watching cruelty from the front row, learning how to dodge it, how to deflect it, how to stand between me and her anger without making it obvious.
He was two years younger, but he had been my shield since we were children.
"She's serious about the wedding," I said quietly. "Ten days."
His jaw tightened, though his voice stayed calm. "Ah yes. Sharvin. The man who talks like he's signing a business deal instead of marrying a human being."
I looked at him. "You don't like him."
"I don't like mosquitoes either," he replied. "Both suck blood. One just wears cologne."
Despite everything, I smiled.
Then the smile faded.
"What am I going to do?" I asked. "If I stay, I lose everything. If I leave—"
"You'll finally choose yourself," he said gently.
I turned to him. "And what about you?Mother is already marrying me off to Sharvin because of financial conditions."
He shrugged again, but this time it wasn't casual. "I've lived my whole life being the 'reasonable one.' I think I can survive being the villain for once.Somehow, I'll earn. Somehow, I'll survive. But I promise you… your sacrifice will never be in vain.
You'll get blamed," I said. "She'll say you ruined her honor. She'll say you manipulated me."
"She already says I'm useless," he replied dryly. "At least this way I'll be useful to someone who matters."
My throat tightened.
He reached into his pocket and pulled something out a folded envelope.
"I kept your documents," he said. "Your certificates. ID copies. I figured… someday we'd need them."
My heart began to pound.
"I can arrange tickets," he continued. "Night bus. Not glamorous, but hey it's an adventure. And once you reach campus, they can't drag you back. You'll be a student. An adult. Someone with a choice.Plus we don't have money to go that far. Even if mother will kill me,she still can't reach you."
I stared at him. "You planned all this?"
He smiled softly. "I've been planning your escape since the day she first mentioned Sharvin."
Silence settled between us.
"You remember our plan, right?" he asked quietly.
I nodded.
"I swear to God," he said, his voice steady now, stripped of jokes and sarcasm, "I'm going to make this work for you. I promise."
There was no humor in his eyes anymore. Only certainty.
"I'll lie if I have to," he continued. "I'll take the blame. I'll stand there and let them hate me if that's the cost."
I whispered, "Why?"
He looked away for a moment. "Because when Dad was dying, you were the one who held my hand. And when the house felt unbearable, you were the one who reminded me it wouldn't always be like this."
He met my eyes again.
"I won't let them take your future."
Then, softer almost like he was afraid the words might disappear if he said them too loudly
"I'll help you elope."