~Chapter 2~
Maria's footsteps were usually silent against the marble floors, but tonight, her frantic pace echoed through the sprawling Ainsley mansion. The house felt less like a home and more like a labyrinth. She had checked the library, the darkened sunroom, and the edges of the manicured gardens just before the first heavy drops of rain began to fall.
Nothing. The panic, initially just a small flutter in her chest, had grown into a suffocating knot. Allison's bed was perfectly, terribly made. The heavy oak front doors were locked, but the side terrace door was unlatched, swinging slightly in the rising wind. Maria's breath came in shallow, painful gasps as she hurried down the endless hallway. The storm outside was howling now, hurling rain against the massive windows. Gathering the last shreds of her courage, she stopped outside the parlor doors. She had to tell the señora.
She pushed the doors open, her hands trembling.
"Forgive me—Señorita Allison is—"
Lauren Ainsley's wine glass froze halfway to her lips. She sat by the fireplace, the picture of evening elegance, but the raw terror in the nanny's eyes immediately drained the color from her face.
"What?" Lauren whispered, lowering the crystal glass. "Allison is what, Maria?"
Thunder suddenly rattled the mansion, a deafening crack that vibrated the crystal chandelier above them.
Maria choked back a sob, twisting her apron in her hands. "The señorita... she is missing."
The room seemed to violently tilt. Lauren's breath hitched. A cold, clammy sweat broke across her skin. She tried to stand, to demand answers, but her knees buckled beneath her.
Maria lunged forward, catching the matriarch just before she hit the floor.
"Maria, find my daughter!" Lauren gasped, her fingers digging like claws into the woman's arms. The poise was gone; her voice rose to a frantic, shattered pitch. "You have to find her! If Alex comes home and she isn't here, he'll have your head. He'll have both our heads!"
"Yes, señora!" Maria wept, stumbling back toward the doorway, the sheer gravity of the master's wrath spurring her frozen legs into motion.
"Where could she have gone?" Maria stopped in the doorway. Her tear-streaked face went pale as a memory struck her through the panic. "The beach," Maria said, the tremor in her voice replaced by a sudden, chilling certainty. "Right... it's always been the beach."
---
The fort was nothing more than driftwood and a stitched camping tent, but to Devin and Allison, it was their fortress.
Rain hammered the makeshift roof. The ocean had turned gray and angry, waves crashing louder with each passing minute.
"It's summer," Allison said, her voice small. "Why is it raining?"
Devin pulled the kite inside—what was left of it, anyway. The tail was torn, the strings snapped. "I don't know. But it's getting worse."
Lightning split the sky. Allison flinched, then tried to hide it. She was eleven—too old to be scared of storms. At least, that's what her father always said.
But Devin always saw. He sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched. "Hey. I won't leave you, okay?"
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
For a while, they just listened to the rain, waiting for it to pass.
Devin looked up at their makeshift porch.
"One day, I'm going to build you something better," he promised. "Something where you can see the stars and the ocean, but the rain can't touch you. Where you can wish upon the stars."
"That's so beautiful," Allison answered. "Just as I imagined it."
For a second, Allison just stared at him. Then she laughed—the kind of laugh that breaks through fear. Devin laughed too, and for a moment, the storm didn't matter.
"Look," Allison said, pointing outside. "It stopped."
The rain had softened to a drizzle. They crawled toward the small wooden door. Devin pushed it open—and froze.
Two men stood in front of them, backlit by the clearing sky. One wore an expensive suit, now soaked through. The other—Devin's uncle, Ben—stood with his arms crossed, looking tired.
Alex Ainsley stared down at his daughter, then at the boy beside her. His expression hardened. He couldn't stand the sight of his daughter "playing house" with a boy like this. Without a word, he turned and walked away.
"Dad—"
Lauren appeared behind him, breathless, her heels sinking into the wet sand. She pulled Allison into her arms. "You scared us half to death, my baby," she cried, pressing damp kisses to her daughter's face.
"No!" Allison twisted around, reaching for Devin. Her fingers caught his. "Devin!"
He held on tight, his heart hammering. "Allison—"
But Uncle Ben stepped forward and gently pulled him back. Their hands slipped apart.
In the chaos, Lauren's eyes lifted from her daughter. For a heartbeat, she locked eyes with Ben. It wasn't the look of a worried mother to a stranger; it was a heavy, stolen stare—one that flickered with a shared secret before she quickly looked away, her face pale.
"Devin!" Allison screamed, struggling against her mother's grip.
Devin tried to follow, but his uncle's hand on his shoulder stopped him. He watched them disappear up the beach—Lauren carrying Allison, Alex walking ahead without looking back.
Devin began to cry. His uncle let him.
---
"Uncle, remember what you told me? That I am not just an orphan..."
"Yes, son. You are an heir to our family's inheritance."
"If so, I want to build a beach house right here, Uncle. Made of glass. Strong glass."
"Anything you want, Devin."
---
Devin stood outside the Ainsley estate gates the following day for twenty minutes before Maria finally emerged. She looked both ways, then slipped a folded piece of paper into his hand.
"I'm sorry, Devin," she whispered. "You won't be able to see her again."
His chest tightened. "Why? What did I do?"
Maria's expression softened with pity. "It's not about what you did. Mr. Ainsley doesn't think it's appropriate. You and Allison... you're from different worlds."
"What world? That's ridiculous."
"I know." She pressed the paper firmly into his palm. "We're leaving for Spain next week. Allison's father has business there, and he wants distance between you two. But... this is our address. You can write to her. Send the letters to me, and I'll make sure she gets them."
"Can I see her? Just once more?"
"She's locked in her room. I'm sorry."
He stood there long after Maria left, staring at the address. Spain.
---
Inside the mansion, Lauren found her daughter curled up on her bed.
"Allison, sweetheart—"
"Go away."
Lauren sat on the edge of the bed. "Your father is just trying to protect you."
"From what? Devin's my best friend. Mom, we are not little kids anymore."
"I know. But things are complicated."
"Because he doesn't have parents?" Allison sat up, eyes red. "That's not fair."
"No," Lauren admitted quietly. "It's not."
---
Downstairs, Alex poured himself a drink, the amber liquid sloshing against the glass. Lauren appeared in the doorway, pacing toward her husband.
"They're children, Alex," she pleaded.
"Say that after you let our only child slip from your sight, nearly putting her in danger," Alex replied, his voice cold and controlled. "Children don't stay children forever. We've been there."
He turned to her, his eyes narrowing as he set the glass down with a heavy thud. "And I saw the way you looked at him, Lauren. Not the boy. The uncle."
Lauren froze, her breath catching in her throat. She tried to maintain her composure, but her eyes flickered toward the window.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she whispered.
"Don't you?" Alex stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous silk. "I know the history of this beach better than you think. And I won't have my daughter repeating your mistakes with a boy from that bloodline."
"From what I heard, he lost his parents in a storm surge two years ago," Lauren said, trying to pivot. "He's an orphan, Alex. A poor child."
"That doesn't change reality," Alex snapped, turning his back on her. "We're leaving for Spain in three days. By the time we return, she'll have forgotten all about him. And you will have forgotten whatever it is you think you saw in Ben's eyes."
Lauren looked at her husband's rigid back for a long, silent moment. She didn't argue. She couldn't.
Then she left the room without another word.
---
A month later, Devin wrote his first letter.
Dear Allison,
How are you? Don't be surprised I was able to write. It's because of Maria's kindness. I miss you already. But I won't lose hope. I'll be waiting for you.
Sincerely yours,
Devin.
Alone in her room in Spain, Allison read the letter and wept. "Thank you, Maria," she whispered, reaching for a pen.
Weeks later, Devin ran up his driveway so fast he nearly tripped. The letter was there—a white envelope with blue trim and a Spanish postmark. He took the stairs two at a time, slammed his bedroom door, and tore it open.
Dear Devin,
I miss you too. I'm sorry I couldn't write back sooner; my father watches everything I do now. It's lonely here. There's no ocean. No fort. I don't know when we're coming back. Maybe never. But I promise I'll find a way. Wait for me?
Yours, Allison.
Devin fell back onto his pillow, the letter pressed against his chest. He stared at the ceiling, a smile breaking across his face as he thought of the glass beach house he would build for her.