Chapter 132 Rachel's at It Again
When Zander's eyes opened that morning, for a moment he wasn't sure where he was.
The ceiling above him was familiar, but his mind lagged behind. He remembered heat—fever burning through him until his thoughts blurred. He remembered the knock on his door, the effort of dragging himself upright, and the way his body had simply given out the second he opened it.
And Amelia. He remembered falling against her, the sharp contrast between his weakness and her steadiness. He remembered her bending, lifting him without hesitation, carrying him to his bed with an ease that didn't make sense.
The memory made the corner of his mouth twitch. That had to have been a fever dream. Amelia was small, slender. There was no way she could have held him like that—half-conscious, dead weight.
He pressed a hand to his forehead. Cool. Normal. That was strange. Usually, when he fell sick, it took a week at minimum before he felt remotely human again.
But then another memory surfaced—THE DEEP, the underground fight. The image of Amelia driving a kick into Rocky, a two-hundred-pound wall of muscle, sending him flying out of the ring. The crowd's gasp. The certainty in her stance.
Maybe it wasn't impossible after all.
His gaze shifted to the nightstand. A stainless steel thermos sat there, next to a folded note in neat handwriting.
Amelia: [Remember to drink more water when you wake up. It's warm.]
His fingers tightened around the paper. His pupils narrowed. So it hadn't been a dream. Amelia had been there. She had carried him, given him medicine, steadied him as she patted his back, stayed until he fell asleep.
The realization brought a flush to his face. He wasn't used to this—being cared for so directly. His ears warmed, the faint mole at the corner of his eye seeming sharper against his pale skin.
Yes. Embarrassment. That was the word.
Tobias might be his twin, but they were opposites in every way. Tobias was loud, reckless, quick to throw an arm around someone. Zander was quiet, distant, cautious. People rarely approached him, and when they did, it was with hesitation. His illnesses had been the kind parents whispered about, instructing their children to keep their distance.
Even at home, Kevin was the only one he spoke to with any regularity. Most of the time, he was alone. No one came into his room. No one had ever been as close to him as Amelia had been last night.
Tobias could call Amelia “sis” with a grin, pull her into a hug without a thought. Zander… couldn't. Which made the memory of last night feel even more exposing.
So this was what it felt like to have a sister. This instinctive closeness, the quiet trust that didn't need to be earned.
He drew in a slow breath. It was still odd—how quickly his fever had vanished—but he didn't dwell on it.
After washing up, he drank from the thermos, then stepped into the hall. That was when he saw her.
Amelia stood there in a tracksuit and baseball cap, her hair tucked back, her face bare of makeup. She looked younger like this, bright-eyed, her smile easy.
"Zander?" she asked. "How are you feeling? Any better?"
The heat returned to his face instantly. He didn't know why—only that it was impossible to hide.
He was supposed to be the older brother, steady like Kevin or Chris. But they'd barely known each other, and already she'd seen him at his weakest.
It was… humiliating.
Amelia's brow furrowed. His face was still red. Had she missed something last night? She was sure she'd cleared the fever.
"Zander, are you still not feeling well?" She stepped closer, hand lifting naturally toward his forehead.
"No—no, it's fine," he said quickly, retreating two steps. His voice was tight. He turned his head, changing the subject. "You came to see Tobias?"
"Yes. You probably haven't checked the group chat," she said. "We finalized the new plan last night. Dorian wants us to shop for supplies today."
She glanced at him. "I told Dorian you were sick, so you should rest at home."
"It's fine," he said after a pause. "I'm better. I can come."
"Alright." She didn't hide her relief. She wanted him to join them—to get out, talk to people.
When Tobias emerged, the three of them left together. The Martinez family driver took them to the market, where they stood at the entrance waiting for Dorian, Asher, and Leroy.
The group drew eyes without trying. Amelia stood in the center, her beauty impossible to ignore. Zander's cool presence and Tobias's easy grin flanked her. People passing by slowed, some lifting phones to capture the moment.
The weekend passed in a flurry of errands—shopping Saturday and Sunday, setting up at the school field Monday and Tuesday. The Thorn Birds delivered costumes in the evening, and Amelia made sure each team member received theirs.
Everything was in place for the school's celebration the next morning.
But at ten that night, Amelia was on the phone with Michael when Shadow, curled beside her, lifted his head. The small black cat's fur bristled, ears pricking forward. He nuzzled her arm, insistent.
Her hand stilled. The last time Shadow had reacted like this was when Rachel and Jenny had slipped red lychee pollen into her porridge.
"What is it?" Michael's voice was low, alert.
"Nothing," she said. "I need to go. I'll call you back."
"Alright," he said, warmth in his tone. "I'll be here."
She hung up and stepped into the hall. She hadn't gone far when she saw Orla, one of the house staff, carrying a glass of fresh juice upstairs.
It was for Ryan. Everyone in the Martinez household knew he drank juice every night.
But the color—deep, unnatural red—caught her attention. Her gaze sharpened.
Orla froze under the weight of it, shrinking slightly. "Ms. Martinez," she stammered.
"Orla," Amelia said evenly, "you're taking that to Ryan?"
"Yes," Orla replied quickly, eager to move past her.
Amelia didn't give her the chance. She took the glass from Orla's hands and, without hesitation, drank it down.
"Ms. Martinez!" Orla's eyes went wide, shock freezing her in place.
"I was thirsty," Amelia said calmly. "I'll get Ryan another glass. It's late, Orla. Go to bed."
The words were mild. The look wasn't. It sent a chill down Orla's spine, her shoulders twitching involuntarily. "Y-yes."
Orla had been in the Martinez home for years, since Rachel was adopted. She'd been one of Rachel's closest confidantes.
Amelia stood at the kitchen sink, her expression unreadable. She didn't need to taste it to know—Rachel had planned this. She knew Ryan would be with Amelia's group tomorrow. She wanted him out of the way, wanted the spotlight to herself. The pollen would send him to the hospital. Even if he showed up at Prestige High, he'd be in a mask, unable to perform. A single glimpse of his face covered in red welts would be enough to dominate entertainment headlines.
Ryan was a star at the peak of his career. His face was part of his brand—perfect, untouchable. Rachel was willing to ruin it for a school event. For her vanity.
Amelia's hands curled into fists, her voice dropping to a whisper only the empty kitchen could hear.
Not happening.
She looked at the glass, a trace of juice clinging to the bottom, and carried it back to her room.