My sister, Alisa, wakes me up every morning at exactly 6:45.
Not with an alarm, but by drawing back the curtains in my room, letting soft morning light spill across the marble floor. She's already dressed—always is—wearing a pale sky-blue blouse with ribboned cuffs and a silver watch she never looks at, because she doesn't need to.
"Time to wake up, Noah," she says with a smile that could melt frozen glass. "You promised to eat breakfast with me today. Remember?"
Of course I remember.
Because I don't forget anything she says. Because somehow, her words always stick. Because this house—this life—runs on Alisa's quiet rhythm, even if no one says it out loud.
We live alone in a villa too large for two people, a gleaming estate nestled in a private forest. Our parents are rarely home—business abroad, always abroad—but it never feels empty here.
The house breathes with structure.
The maids move like shadows. Schedules are followed to the second. Meals are perfectly portioned and warm before you sit. My study plan, my daily calorie intake, even the brands of shampoo I use—they're chosen for me.
Not by AI. Not by our house manager.
By her.
Alisa is seventeen. I'm fifteen. People assume we're twins. Same platinum-white hair, same unnaturally blue eyes—the kind that don't look real in photographs. Our skin is pale and smooth, untouched by sunlight unless she permits it.
To the world, we're the Everhart heirs—rich, brilliant, "blessed." But to me, she's not just a sister.
She's the center of gravity I orbit.
Breakfast is perfect, as always. She made it herself—fluffy eggs, fruit arranged in a spiral, green tea steeped to exactly three minutes.
"I'm worried about your posture," she says, adjusting my chair slightly. "And you haven't been hydrating enough. Your skin's less radiant this week."
I laugh, a little embarrassed.
"You sound like a doctor."
She blinks. Then smiles.
"You don't need a doctor, Noah. You have me."
It's a quiet moment. But it sits in the air for too long. And I feel that same pressure I sometimes get when she looks at me like that—not angry, not intense. Just… present. Fully focused. Like the whole world fades except what I'm doing.
It passes, of course. It always does.
I go to school. I train. I return.
And every day feels perfect—peaceful, structured, safe. Because Alisa built it that way.
🕯 A Memory I Shouldn't Remember
I was seven when I first got lost in the west wing of the estate. It was night. I wandered too far—curious about the locked doors.
One door was open.
Inside, a man I didn't recognize was searching our private study, his gloves scanning drawers silently. I didn't move. I didn't breathe.
Until Alisa stepped in behind him.
She didn't scream. She didn't ask questions.
She whispered something I couldn't hear, and the next moment he collapsed. Unmoving.
She turned to me, smiling gently.
"Let's go back to your room, Noah. You'll catch a cold."
I asked what happened. She touched my cheek.
"You had a bad dream. That room doesn't exist."
And by morning, the door was gone. Literally. The entire wall was replaced. No one believed me. So I stopped talking about it.
Now I'm fifteen.
And I still trust her more than anyone.
I don't question how she knows when I'm lying. I don't ask how my friends disappear from my life the moment they start texting too much. I don't think about how my favorite clothes are always replaced just before I notice they've gotten tight.
Because I'm happy.
Because she loves me.
Because everything in this world… was made for me.
By her.
[End Chapter One]