Saturday mornings had their own kind of silence.
Not the heavy, suffocating kind. More like the air itself had decided to move slower, as if the world was giving everyone a chance to catch their breath before the day properly began. The kind of quiet where even the birds outside seemed too lazy to make noise, where time stretched, soft and forgiving.
Inside, though, the silence wasn't empty. It was full of her.
Val had woken me up before I was ready—again. She always did. Her definition of "good morning" this time was stripping the blanket away from me, poking me in the ribs, and calling me lazy until I dragged myself out of bed. She'd laughed while I stumbled toward the shower, hair a mess, eyes half-shut, and then claimed victory when I finally gave in. Breakfast came next—her idea of "balanced" meant pancakes with enough syrup to drown in, a side of eggs to pretend it was healthy, and something sweet tucked at the corner of her plate.
Now, a couple hours later, we'd both settled in. She was curled up on the couch, legs folded beneath her, eyes fixed on the TV. A show flickered across the screen, laugh track spilling into the room. She wasn't just watching—she was absorbing it, living inside it. Every little reaction was visible: her nose scrunching at a scene she didn't like, her brows knitting together when the plot twisted, the quick, light giggle that tumbled from her when something struck her funny.
She looked content. Effortlessly. Like the screen itself existed just to amuse her.
Me?
I wasn't watching the TV. My eyes were on her, but my mind was somewhere else entirely.
Last night's conversation hadn't left me.
"How rich do you wanna get?" she'd asked, like she was asking about the weather.
At first, I thought it was one of her usual questions—ridiculous, playful, one of those things she threw out just to mess with me. But the way her tone softened after, the way her eyes avoided mine, the way she admitted, almost reluctantly, that her parents probably wouldn't want me for her…
It wasn't a joke. Not at all.
She'd tried to laugh it off, to stick a cupcake in my mouth and hide behind the teasing, but I'd seen it. The truth beneath her grin. The worry. The fear she wouldn't say aloud.
Her parents.
The thought alone dragged me deeper.
I knew they were rich. Of course I did. Everyone did. It wasn't the kind of money you could hide. But last night forced me to really look at the distance between where I was standing and where she came from.
The first time I'd ever seen it in action was still burned into my mind.
Professor Halifax.
I could still picture that day as if it had just happened.
Val had been sprawled on my lap in the middle of his lecture, smirk on her face like she was daring him to say something. Halifax had paused mid-sentence, glared over his glasses, and barked out in his sharp, precise way, "What in God's name—young lady! Get off that student immediately!"
She hadn't budged.
He'd snapped, louder this time. "Name. Now!"
And Val, without missing a beat, had lifted her chin and said it: "Celestia. Valentina. Moreau."
The name had detonated in the room.
Halifax froze. Just like that. A man I'd never once seen hesitate, never once seen bend, stumbled over his own words. "I wasn't aware... my apologies Ms. Moreau, carry on."
The strictest professor in an Ivy League college, the man who'd built his entire reputation on being unshakable, had folded instantly. Because of her name.
That was the kind of power her family had. The kind of wealth that didn't just buy things—it bent people.
And that was just in a classroom. I didn't even want to imagine what it looked like out there in the real world, in places where money decided everything.
I leaned back against the couch now, dragging a hand through my hair, watching her laugh at something on TV. She had no idea what kind of storm she'd left inside me.
How the hell was I supposed to get that rich?
How was I supposed to rise high enough to stand against that?
I didn't come from power. I didn't have a family name that made people freeze. I didn't have empires or legacies or wealth stretching back generations. All I had was… me. My hands. My mind. My stubbornness, if I could even call it that.
But last night, she'd looked at me and made it clear—it wasn't about her.
It wasn't about whether she cared. She didn't. She'd pick me no matter what, stand beside me no matter what, even spit in her parents' faces if she had to. That much I knew.
It was about me.
She didn't want me to feel small. To feel less. To feel like choosing her meant I'd stepped into a world where I would always be looked down on. She wanted me to be untouchable. Above judgment.
Because in her eyes, I was already enough. More than enough.
But she wanted the world to see it too.
The thought sat heavy in my chest.
I glanced at her again. She was leaning forward now, her hair falling across her face, lips parted as she focused on the screen. The glow of the TV softened her features, catching in her eyes, making them shine even brighter than usual.
Perfect.
I could've watched her like that forever.
And the thought hit me again, harder this time: she was worth it, is worth it.
Worth figuring it out.
Worth every late night, every failure, every step it would take to close that impossible distance.
I didn't know how yet. The math didn't add up. The path wasn't clear. But something inside me had already shifted.
For her, I wanted to.
For her, I would.
She laughed again, the sound soft and unrestrained, and I let my eyes close for a second. Just listening. Letting it wash over me. That sound alone was worth more than anything money could buy.
But still.
Still, I wanted it.
Not the yachts or the submarines she teased about. Not the luxuries. But the certainty. The strength. The ability to walk into any room, any world, and know no one could look down on me. On us.
I wanted that for her.
The thought sat with me in the quiet, stretching, digging deeper, until it didn't feel like just a passing idea anymore.
It felt like resolve.
Her little laugh rang out again, pulling me back. She clutched the throw pillow to her chest, her shoulders shaking with amusement.
She didn't even know what she was doing to me.
I leaned back against the couch, my gaze lingering, the thought solidifying in the quiet spaces of my mind.
No matter how impossible it looked, no matter how wide the gap between me and the world she came from, I'd figure it out.
For her.
Always for her.
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To be continued...