The Sunday morning sun was softer than the day before, casting a pale gold glow over the breakfast nook of the Zenith. Jake and Catharine sat in a comfortable, dostic silence, nursing mugs of dark coffee and finishing the remains of the fruit bowl they had stocked on Friday night. The high-stakes energy of the city below felt worlds away, yet the reality of Monday was beginning to settle in.
"I should probably get moving," Catharine said, setting her mug down with a soft click. "I need to lay out my outfit, double-check my portfolio, and ntally prepare for a commute that doesn’t involve an elevator and a private garage."
Jake smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. "The RS 6 is at your disposal if you want a grand entrance, but I suspect the firm might prefer you a little more low-key on day one."
"Definitely low-key," she laughed. "I want them to notice my work, not my boyfriend’s engine."
After a quick cleanup, Jake drove her back to her apartnt. The transition from the sprawling luxury of the penthouse to the familiar, slightly worn neighborhood where Catharine lived was a grounding reminder of how fast things were moving. He walked her to her door, giving her a lingering kiss that promised a celebration after her first day was in the books.
"Go crush it, Cath," he whispered."
"I’ll try. Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone," she teased before disappearing inside.
Jake climbed back into the Audi, but he didn’t head back to the Zenith. Instead, he navigated the familiar turns toward his parents’ house. The neighborhood was quiet, the sll of Sunday roasts beginning to drift from open windows. As he pulled into the driveway, the contrast between his blacked-out wagon and the modest family ho was stark, but the feeling of being ho was exactly the sa.
Inside, the house was filled with the sounds of a typical Sunday. His father was occupied with the news, and his mother, Martha, was in the kitchen. After the usual round of warm greetings and questions about his health—which he answered with practiced ease—Jake leaned against the doorfra of the kitchen.
"Where’s Aliya?" he asked, trying to sound casual. "I haven’t heard from her in a while which is weird."
"In her room, as usual," Martha sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. "She’s been a bit of a hermit lately. I think the end of the sester has her drained."
Jake nodded and made his way down the hall. He stood outside Aliya’s door for a heartbeat before giving a firm, rhythmic knock.
"Go away, I’m sleeping," ca a muffled voice from inside.
"It’s . Open up," Jake called back.
There was a pause, then the sound of footsteps. The door swung open to reveal Aliya, her hair a bit ssy and her eyes slightly tired. She looked relieved to see him, which imdiately lowered the alarm bells in Jake’s head.
"Hey," she said, stepping back to let him in. "I didn’t know you were coming over."
Jake sat on the edge of her desk chair, eyeing her carefully. "You went ghost on , Aliya. I called, I texted. You sounded like you were having a panic attack on Friday. Are you okay?"
Aliya sat on the edge of her bed, pulling a pillow into her lap. "I’m fine, really. I’m sorry I worried you. It was just... a lot. One of my closest friends is going through a nasty breakup, and she was in a really bad place that afternoon. I spent the whole weekend basically being her 24-hour crisis counselor. I just wanted to give her my full attention and keep the phone away."
Jake let out a long breath, the tension leaving his shoulders. "A breakup. Right. Well, as long as you’re not the one in crisis. You had thinking the sky was falling."
"It felt like it for her," Aliya said with a small, weary smile. "But I’m okay. I promise."
"Good. Because I need you to be focused for what’s next," Jake said, standing up. "Co on. Let’s go talk to Mom. We have a proposal to make."
Aliya’s eyes brightened instantly. She followed him into the living room, where Martha had joined their father. Jake cleared his throat, drawing their attention.
"Mom, Dad, I’ve been thinking," Jake started. "Since I’ve moved into the new place, my old apartnt is sitting empty. I’m still paying the lease on it for the next few months anyway. I think Aliya should move in there for the upcoming sester."
Martha’s expression shifted instantly from curious to concerned. "Jake, she’s still so young. Living alone in the city? The safety, the distractions... she still has a year left."
"She won’t be alone," Jake countered smoothly. "She can get a roommate—soone we approve of. And I’m only ten minutes away in the Zenith. I’ll be checking up on her constantly. It’ll give her so independence and cut her commute to the university down to nothing."
Aliya leaned forward, her face full of earnest hope. "Please, Mom? I promise to be a good girl. I’ll keep the place spotless, and I won’t miss a single lecture. It would make studying so much easier."
"Ryan, aren’t you gonna say anything?" Martha said as she turned to look at her husband.
"Well," Ryan said as he pulled down the news paper from his face. "I don’t see a problem with it and Jake will be looking out for her. Plus you could always check up on her."
Martha looked between her son and her daughter. She saw the maturity in Jake’s eyes and the desperate excitent in Aliya’s. After a long, silent mont, she let out a resigned breath.
"Reluctantly," Martha said, pointing a finger at Aliya. "But if I hear about one party, or if your grades slip even an inch, you are moving back into this room that very sa day. Understood?"
"Understood! Thank you!" Aliya squealed, nearly jumping off the sofa to hug her mother.
Jake held up a hand to quiet her down. "Hold on, there’s a condition from my side, too."
Aliya froze, looking at him warily. "What condition?"
"It’s sester break now, and I know you’ve already written your exams," Jake said, his voice turning serious. "The results should be out in a week. Here’s the deal: if your results co out and you’ve passed everything with solid marks, I’m giving you the Audi A4. It’ll be yours, title and all."
Aliya’s jaw dropped. The A4 was a dream car for her—stylish, safe, and worlds away from the beat-up transit she was used to. She was so happy when Jake got it and now he was telling her that it could be hers. "Are you serious?"
"Dead serious," Jake said. "But... if you didn’t do well, if you failed anything or your GPA tanked, the car stays in my garage. You’ll have to wait until next sester’s results co out to try again. You get one shot at it per term."
The excitent in Aliya’s face suddenly clashed with a wave of pure anxiety. She bit her lip, her mind racing back to the exam hall from two weeks prior. "Jake... that’s so an! I can’t change how I did now! The papers are already turned in!"
"Exactly," Jake said with a wink. "It’s a reward for the work you already put in. I guess we’ll see how much you really wanted that car back when you were studying, won’t we?"
Aliya groaned, falling back against the cushions. She was thrilled at the possibility but terrified of the "what ifs" haunting her mory of the Finals. Jake just laughed, knowing the pressure would make her appreciate the car even more if she earned it.
---
Martha wiped her hands on her apron, her eyes softening as she looked at her son. It had been far too long since they had him for a proper Sunday, and she wasn’t about to let him slip away just because the Zenith was calling his na.
"You’re staying for lunch, Jake," she stated, more as a command than a question. "I’ve already started the roast, and I bought that spicy rice you like from the market this morning. No argunts."
Jake raised his hands in mock surrender, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. "I wouldn’t dream of it, Mom. Nothing in the city tastes like your kitchen anyway."
The lunch was everything a Sunday should be. The dining table was crowded with bowls of steaming food, and the conversation flowed easily between Aliya’s nervous excitent about her potential car and their father’s questions about the local economy.
After the plates were cleared, they migrated to the living room. The TV was already tuned to the sports channel, the pre-ga analysis for the Barcelona versus Atletico Madrid match humd in the background. Jake settled into the worn leather armchair—the one his father usually claid—while Aliya sprawled on the rug, her eyes glued to her phone as she likely scrolled through photos of Audi A4s.
The match was a tense, tactical affair. By the sixty-minute mark, it was still a scoreless deadlock, with both teams playing a high-pressure ga that kept Jake’s father shouting at the screen. Jake found himself caught up in the rhythm of the ga, the familiar comfort of the house wrapping around him like a blanket.
A sharp, rhythmic knock at the front door broke the tension of a Barcelona corner kick. Jake, being the closest to the hallway, stood up to answer it.
"I’ve got it," he said, stepping away from the shouting match on the TV.
He pulled open the heavy wooden door, expecting perhaps a neighbor or a delivery. Instead, he found himself staring at a man who looked like a hollowed-out version of the person he rembered.
Darius stood on the porch, his clothes wrinkled as if he’d slept in them for days. He had lost a noticeable amount of weight; his cheekbones were sharp, and dark circles hung heavy under his eyes. He looked disheveled, vibrating with a nervous energy that set Jake’s internal alarms ringing.
Darius blinked, his gaze traveling from Jake’s polished watch down to his designer lounge trousers before finally eting his eyes. A flash of sothing—desperation, perhaps—flickered across his tired face.
"Oh, it’s you, Jake," Darius said, his voice raspy and devoid of its usual bravado. He straightened his shoulders slightly, though his hands remained Trembling at his sides. "I’m glad you are here. We need to talk, along with your father."
The serious tone in his voice cut through the muffled sound of the football comntary coming from the living room. Jake leaned against the doorfra, his posture relaxing into a guarded stance. He had never seen his uncle like this.
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