Night wrapped the road like a heavy blanket as Caleb sat in the passenger seat, head tilted toward the window, white bandage stark against his forehead. The silence inside the car was louder than any sound outside. He avoided looking at his mother, who drove with steady hands and a restrained expression.

A day earlier, Caleb had snuck his father's car out of the mansion. No driving experience, but that hadn't mattered—he just wanted to show off. He barely remembered what happened next. Something crossed the road. A noise. A flash. Then the tree. The impact was sharp, his head hitting the steering wheel.

Edward had to stay behind to deal with police and other parents. Before Caleb left, his father spoke firmly: "We'll talk later. Go to your mother." Now, as the car stopped in front of the modest house, Caleb didn't wait. He opened the door abruptly, stepped out without looking back, and slammed it shut.

The air inside felt different—warmer, more real, more uncomfortable. He headed toward the stairs, climbing two steps before dizziness hit. Gripping the railing tightly, he stopped, bringing a hand to his head where the bandage pressed against his skin.

Behind him, he heard his mother enter and close the door gently. Before she could speak, Caleb's rough voice cut through the silence without turning around: "No. I don't want anything... I'm fine. I don't want to talk. Not from this kitchen. Not from you."

He turned abruptly, eyes gleaming with restrained fury, jaw clenched, shoulders taut. "Do you know what it's like to lose a car worth over a hundred thousand dollars?" he spat, voice nearly trembling with rage.

"Of course you don't. Because you've never had one. Because of the misery you live in." He stepped closer, defiant, body rigid with tension.

"You want to know what's wrong with me? I'm full of irritation because they sent me here. To this inferior house. No private security. No servants. Small. Empty. What am I supposed to learn here? To live like you?"