Threads Of Fate

Rolan staggered through the bustling market, his weak body trembling with each unsteady step. His breath came in ragged gasps, a harsh cough rattling deep in his chest. The scent of fresh bread and spices filled the air, but he barely noticed—his mind was consumed by only one thought.

"Evelyn!" His voice cracked, rough, and desperate. "Evelyn!"

He clutched at the shawl draped over his thin shoulders, his eyes darting wildly between the faces in the crowd. Strangers glanced at him, some with pity, others with indifference.

"Have you seen Evelyn?" he asked a fruit vendor, his trembling hands gripping the wooden stall for support.

The man shook his head. "No, old man. Haven't seen her."

Rolan turned away, his heart pounding—not just from exhaustion but from fear. He moved on, stopping every passerby, pleading with them.

"Evelyn... have you seen Evelyn?"

Each time, the answer was the same.

No.

The weight of it crushed him, pressing down on his already weak body. Another cough tore through him, stealing what little breath he had left. But he couldn’t stop—not now, not until he found her.

Where is she?

Evelyn ran to him, breathless, her heart pounding under the weight of it all.

"Dad!" she called, voice raw with urgency.

Reaching him, she shook her head. " This, your cough is not stopping. I’m working my head off, but this medicine... it’s not working."

Her fists clenched. She had tried—tried so hard—but nothing was changing.

Rolan sighed, his weary eyes filled with something deeper than concern. He placed a trembling hand on her shoulder.

Evelyn looked at her father, her voice steady. “Good. I see you, Dad. Keep this in mind—if I ever raise my last finger to you, it means take all my savings and run to the back of Gevan City. Wait for me there.”

Her father’s tired eyes met hers. A bitter smile crossed his face. “We are slaves, Evelyn. That’s our fate. You can’t run from it.”

She swallowed hard, but before she could respond, a thought struck her—mistress party.

“I forgot—how could I forget?” she gasped.

Without another word, she ran to the house. “Take care of yourself,” she called over her shoulder, her heart pounding with urgency.

On the other side of town, Logan Carter, the only son of Carter Enterprises, had everything—wealth, power, and a future already planned for him. But none of it mattered. He didn’t want boardrooms or business meetings. He wanted art, freedom, and a life beyond his father’s empire.

His maid, Jeff, sighed in frustration as he cleared away the sketches scattered across his desk. “This is why people say you’ve lost your mind.”

Logan smirked from where he lounged on the couch. “Who’s praising me behind my back?”

Jeff scoffed. “You call that praise? They say there’s only a slim difference between an artist and insanity. If you won’t take over the company, at least do something productive.”

Logan stretched lazily. “Gosh, you know I hate jobs. And stress.”

He rolled his eyes. “One day, you’ll regret wasting your life like this.”

Ignoring him, Logan grabbed his phone. A news article caught his attention—a live street art show was happening in town. His interest was piqued.

“Let’s go,” he said suddenly.

Jeff frowned. “Go where?”

“To the event. But we’ll dress like paupers.”

Jeff groaned. “Fine, but don’t do anything reckless.”

Logan only grinned.

The marketplace buzzed with life. Logan, disguised in simple clothes, wandered through the crowd, taking in the sights. After a while, he yawned. “I’m bored and hungry. Let’s get some peanuts.”

He signaled to a peanut seller. When she turned, his brows lifted in surprise.

“Wait… aren’t you Evelyn?” Jeff asked

The girl stiffened. “Shhh.” She glanced around as if someone might be watching.

Jeff eyed her curiously. “Why are you dressed like a man?”

Evelyn ignored him, but Jeff pressed on. “I heard your mistress’s family is forcing her into marriage.”

Evelyn sighed. “Yes… to Carter Enterprises.”

Jeff chuckled. “I work for Logan’s family?”

Evelyn hesitated. “Ooh… I even heard that Logan is a psychopath. And completely insane.”

Logan smirked. “I didn’t realize I was so famous.”

Evelyn shot him an unimpressed glare and turned to sell her peanuts. But Logan, amused by her attitude, blocked her way. “What’s with you?”

“Mind your business.”

“Touchy, aren’t we?”

She scowled. “Move.”

“Make me.”

Before she could retort, her gaze flickered over his shoulder, and her expression changed. Fear.

Without warning, she bolted. Logan followed her gaze and spotted a well-dressed woman scanning the crowd. Her mistress.

Evelyn darted through the streets, weaving between stalls, trying to disappear. Logan raised a brow, watching the chase unfold like a scene from one of his novels.

But then, something unexpected happened.

Evelyn pushed open a door and slipped inside a dimly lit room. A moment later, realization struck her.

She had run straight into Logan’s secret house.

Her breath caught in her throat. She turned to leave—only for the door to swing open behind her.

Logan stepped inside, his eyes locking onto hers.

Silence.

Then, a slow smirk spread across his face. “Well, well. This just got interesting.”

Evelyn groaned. “Of all places…”

And just like that, the fight started again.

Evelyn's gaze lingered on him, studying his expression, the sharp glint of certainty in his eyes. And then, she realized —he was telling the truth.

Before she could react, he grabbed her wrist, his grip firm yet controlled. "You must pay for what you did to a billionaire," he murmured, his voice laced with something unreadable. Without another word, he led her away, weaving through the crowd until they reached a secluded spot overlooking the performance from afar.

"Why don’t we watch it together?" he suggested, a sly smile playing at his lips. "Perhaps then, I’ll consider forgiving you."

Evelyn’s eyes flickered toward the stage, where the actors moved in a world of make-believe, their voices carrying through the night air. She exhaled softly. "There are so many people in this world," she mused. "Some noble, some lowly. But to me, it doesn’t matter whether the performance is good or bad."

Logan turned to her, intrigued. "How so?"

She met his gaze, her expression unreadable. "Because life is hard," she said simply. "For a little while, watching something like this lets us forget our pain. People love stories about the poor finding happiness—it lets them dream of better days, even if those days will never come for them." She paused, tilting her head slightly. "Isn’t that the power of an artist?"

Logan stared at her, something shifting in his expression. "You’ve truly enlightened me," he admitted, almost to himself. "Until now, I never really understood why I write, why I draw. But suddenly, meeting you today…it’s like my mind is clear for the first time."

A strange warmth settled between them, something unspoken yet deeply understood. Logan hesitated before asking, "When can we meet again?" His curiosity only grew, and soon, he was asking her countless questions—about her life, her thoughts, her dreams.

At last, he asked, "What do you dream of, Evelyn?"

Her answer was quiet, but it carried the weight of truth. "Growing old," she said. "Not being beaten to death. Not starving to death. Just…living."

For a long moment, Logan said nothing. Then, slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace—large, expensive, gleaming under the dim lights. He held it out to her.

Evelyn’s breath caught as she looked down at the gift, the light reflecting off its surface. For a moment, she simply admired it, lost in thought.

Then he left.

As usual, Evelyn had many duties beyond serving her mistress. That day, she went to work for this wealthy man just to clean up their house, only to realize she was in Logan’s house. That day was the formal introduction between her mistress and Logan.

Panic set in. She knew she was at risk of being caught. Without hesitation, she slipped away, making her way to Logan’s secret house once more.

From her hiding spot, she overheard the conversation between Logan and her mistress.

"I have no interest in this arrangement," Logan said flatly. "Speak to your family. Make them understand—I will not marry you."

Disappointment flickered across her mistress’s face, but she held her composure. As she turned to leave, something caught her attention—a shadow shifting in the dimly lit corner.

Curious and suspicious, she approached, only to find Evelyn crouched behind a pillar, eyes wide with guilt.

Shock and questions flooded her mind. Why is Evelyn here? What is she doing in my husband-to-be’s house?

1611 Words

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