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MidReal Story
The Billionaire's Secret Son
Scenario:Shane Weber has led a hard broken life, a poor orphan, and his girlfriend is leaving him for a more richer prospect. But his fortune is about to change dramatically. Shane inherited immense wealth from his grandfather, shocking everyone. He was the heir to the only multi-googolaire family in the world. He endures constant criticism and judgment from those around him. He vowed that those who labeled him a failure would eventually bow at his feet. How will he use his new-found wealth to shape those around him, as he reclaims his life?. With a new-found sense of responsibility, Shane will get revenge on those who mistreated him? Will he succeed?
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Shane Weber
He is a former orphan who was raised in foster care, discovering he was the secret heir to a multibilliondollar fortune. He is resilient, humble, and determined. Shane struggled with poverty and was labeled a failure by those around him, including his former girlfriend, Sophia. After inheriting the wealth, he faces criticism for his circumstances but feels vindication. He decides to use his newfound power to help his adoptive parents and seek revenge on Sophia by making her marry him.
Lucas
He is Sophia's new fiancé and comes from a wealthy background. He is ambitious, manipulative, and calculating. Lucas initially courts Sophia to elevate his social standing but uses his position to take advantage of her. When asked about his past with Sophia, he downplays any involvement and focuses on his own achievements. He seems willing to do whatever it takes to maintain his image and gain power in the social scene.
Sophia
She is Shane's exgirlfriend who left him for someone wealthier. She is selfish, judgmental, and manipulative. Sophia initially dated Shane to gain access to his connections and eventually dumped him for Lucas, whom she deemed more suitable for her social status. Now engaged to Lucas, she is reminded of her past with Shane when Lucas brings up the adoption papers. Sophia tries to hide her connection to Shane but faces the consequences of her choices.
I am Shane Weber, a guy who was once considered a complete failure.
I was an orphan living in foster care with no one to take care of me.
My girlfriend dumped me for someone who was richer and more established in life.
I was heartbroken, but little did I know, my life was about to change in ways I never thought possible.
I received a call from a lawyer telling me I had inherited a huge sum of money from my grandfather, whom I had never met or known about.
It turned out my mother had gotten pregnant out of wedlock, which was frowned upon back then, so she kept it a secret.
She gave birth to me in private and handed me over to foster care to keep me safe and away from judgmental people.
My real father's family knew about me and made sure I was taken care of financially, but they wanted me to stay hidden so as not to tarnish their family's name.
My biological father is one of the wealthiest men in the world, and his family is the only multi-googolaire family in the world.
When the news came out that I was the heir to all of this wealth, people went crazy!
They criticized me, called me all sorts of names, and judged me for being born into such a wealthy family but still ending up in foster care.
They said I was a failure because I couldn't even take care of myself, let alone someone else.
I sit in my cramped studio apartment, my hands shaking as I dial the number of the lawyer who had called me earlier.
The phone rings three times before he answers.
"Hello?"
His voice is crisp and formal, a stark contrast to the warmth of the summer evening outside my window.
"Yes, Mr. Harrison?"
I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Mr. Weber, I trust you received my message?"
He asks, his tone professional but with a hint of curiosity.
"Yes, I did," I answer, my heart pounding in my chest.
"I'm still trying to process everything."
"Of course," he responds, his voice softening slightly.
"It's a lot to take in. But rest assured, you are indeed the sole heir to your grandfather's vast fortune."
I swallow hard, trying to wrap my head around the magnitude of what he's telling me.
"My grandfather... Richard Weber... he was a billionaire?"
I ask, still struggling to believe it all.
"Yes," Mr. Harrison replies, his voice filled with a mix of sadness and admiration.
"Richard Weber was a visionary entrepreneur who built an empire in quantum computing. His company, Weber Industries, has holdings in 47 countries and employs thousands of people worldwide."
My mind reels as I try to comprehend the scope of what he's telling me.
"And what exactly does that mean for me?"
I ask, feeling like a small fish in a vast ocean. "It means you now own 100% of Weber Industries," he explains patiently.
"You have access to all of its assets, including its vast network of private jets, real estate holdings around the world, and cutting-edge experimental technology labs."
My head spins as I try to grasp the enormity of it all.
"And how much money are we talking about?"
I ask tentatively.
There's a pause on the other end of the line as Mr. Harrison shuffles through some papers.
"Well," he begins slowly, "according to our estimates... your inheritance totals approximately 450 googol dollars."
My breath catches in my throat as I hear those words.
$450 googol dollars!
It's an amount so unfathomable that it feels like science fiction.
"Are you still there?" he asks after a moment of silence.
I nod wordlessly, still trying to process everything.
"Yes," I manage to say finally.
"I'm here."
"Good," he responds with a hint of relief in his voice.
"There's one more thing you should know," Mr. Harrison continues, his tone shifting to something more serious.
"What is it?" I ask, bracing myself for another revelation.
"Your grandfather left a letter for you, and in it, he mentioned a condition tied to your inheritance," he reveals, pausing as if weighing the impact of his words.
My heart skips a beat.
"A condition?"
I repeat, my voice barely audible.
"Yes," he confirms.
"It's a personal matter, and I'm not at liberty to disclose the details over the phone. But rest assured that it's nothing that would jeopardize your inheritance. Your grandfather wanted to ensure you understood the weight of this responsibility."
I nod, even though he can't see me.
"Okay... I understand."
"Good," he says, his voice filled with reassurance.
"I'll arrange for you to meet with me tomorrow at my office. We'll go over all the necessary paperwork and discuss the terms of your inheritance in more detail."
"Thank you, Mr. Harrison," I say, my voice filled with gratitude.
"You're welcome, Mr. Weber," he responds.
"And please, call me Shane."
"Very well, Shane," he replies with a hint of warmth in his voice.
"I look forward to meeting you in person tomorrow."
With that, we hang up, and I sit there for a moment, trying to process everything that just happened.
A condition tied to my inheritance?
What could it possibly be? The next day, I find myself sitting across from Mr. Harrison in my cramped studio apartment.
The leather briefcase containing the letter from my grandfather rests between us on my scratched coffee table.
Mr. Harrison adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses and breaks the wax seal on the envelope before carefully pulling out the contents.
The letter is written on thick, high-quality paper with an embossed family crest at the top.
I watch intently as Mr. Harrison unfolds the crisp pages and begins to read in his measured voice:
"My dearest grandson Shane..."
I hold my breath as he reads on:
"Before you can claim your inheritance, you must first spend a year living as an ordinary person, without access to the wealth or privileges of our family," Mr. Harrison reads aloud.
I blink in disbelief, struggling to comprehend the words. "You mean I have to give up everything for a whole year?"
I lean back in my worn desk chair, the familiar creak of the wooden frame a comforting sound as I pull out a notepad from my cluttered desk drawer.
The lawyer sits across from me, watching with curiosity as I begin to map out my plan for the next twelve months.
First on the list: keep my job at the local electronics repair shop.
The irony isn't lost on me - fixing broken gadgets for others while secretly owning a tech empire.
But it's a job I enjoy, and it keeps me grounded.
Next, I scribble down "keep current apartment."
The leaky faucet and temperamental heating system may be nuisances, but this studio has been my home for years.
I'm not about to give it up now.
Then comes "no new purchases."
I underline those three words twice, emphasizing my commitment to living within my means.
No fancy cars or luxury vacations for me.
Lastly, I jot down "donate next paycheck to local orphanage."
It's the least I can do to give back to the community that took me in when I had no one else. The lawyer watches intently as I write, his expression unreadable behind his wire-rimmed glasses.
"You're really going through with this?" Mr. Harrison asks, a hint of admiration in his voice.
"Yeah," I reply, nodding firmly. "I think it's what my grandfather would have wanted."
"You're a better man than most would be in your position," he says, a small smile breaking through his professional demeanor.
I gather my worn messenger bag and threadbare jacket, items I'd planned to replace before learning about the inheritance conditions.
The walk to Weber Electronics feels different now - each step carries the weight of my secret wealth and grandfather's challenge.
Outside the shop's flickering neon sign, I pause to watch Mr. Chen, my elderly boss, struggling to lift a heavy CRT television from a customer's car.
Without hesitation, I rush over to help him, knowing that even as the secret owner of a trillion-dollar empire, this simple act of assistance matters more than any wealth.
I set the bulky television on the repair counter, its weight settling with a thud.
Mr. Chen catches his breath beside me, his face flushed from the exertion.
My fingers trace the worn edges of the CRT casing, the familiar curves and grooves telling a story of years of use.
The repair shop's fluorescent lights flicker above us, casting a pale glow over the cluttered workspace.
I spot the telltale signs of discoloration around the screen's edges - a sure indication of a failing cathode ray tube.
"Another one for the graveyard," Mr. Chen sighs, shaking his head as he pulls out his notepad to write up a repair ticket.
"Not necessarily," I say, already reaching for my toolkit beneath the counter.
Mr. Chen's bushy eyebrows furrow in confusion as I begin unscrewing the back panel.
"You think you can fix it?"
I nod, my hands moving with practiced ease as I expose the television's internal components.
"I've fixed dozens of these models before. It's just a matter of replacing the cathode ray tube and maybe cleaning up some corrosion."
Mr. Chen watches intently as I work, his expression a mix of curiosity and skepticism.
"You're wasting your time," he mutters, but I can see the glimmer of hope in his eyes.
"Besides, we don't have any replacement tubes in stock." "Leave that to me," I reply, pulling out my phone to place an order with one of our suppliers.
Within minutes, I've secured a new tube and arranged for expedited shipping.
Mr. Chen shakes his head in amazement as I return to work, carefully disconnecting wires and removing faulty components.
"This is going to cost more than it's worth," he warns, but I can see the doubt in his eyes beginning to fade.
As I explain my plan for repairing the television, Mr. Chen listens intently, his face lighting up with understanding.
"You really are something else," he says, patting me on the back as I finish reassembling the television's casing.
"I don't know what I'd do without you around here."
A small smile tugs at my lips as I power on the television and adjust its settings until a crisp image fills the screen.
"See? Good as new," I say, stepping back to admire the picture.
Mr. Chen chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. "You know, Shane, sometimes I think you could run this place better than I do."
"Maybe one day," I reply with a grin, knowing full well that day might come sooner than he thinks.
I take the dusty Panasonic stereo system from the repair counter, Mr. Chen watching with a discerning eye as I begin my examination.
The customer's complaint is a common one - crackling sounds and a stuck CD tray.
I set the stereo on my workbench, the fluorescent lights overhead casting an unforgiving glare on its scratched surface.
With a twist of my wrist, I remove the screws holding the casing in place, revealing the intricate circuitry within.
It's a familiar sight - I've fixed dozens of these models during my three years at the shop.
My fingers move with practiced ease as I inspect each component, tracing the path of wires and testing connections.
I gently pry open the laser assembly, blowing out a cloud of dust that has accumulated over years of neglect.
Next, I examine the belt drive mechanism that controls the disc tray's movement, checking for signs of wear or misalignment.
As I work, Mr. Chen leans in closer, his curiosity piqued by my methodical approach. Finally, my eyes land on the culprit - a loose connection near the power supply unit.
I can feel Mr. Chen's gaze intensifying as I carefully resolder the joint, applying just enough heat to seal it without damaging surrounding components.
With a quiet click, I reassemble the laser assembly and slide the disc tray back into place.
Mr. Chen watches intently as I press the eject button, his eyebrows rising in surprise as the tray slides out smoothly.
The speakers spring to life, filling the room with crystal clear music devoid of static or distortion.
I set the stereo aside, my eyes scanning the pile of electronics waiting for my attention.
A water-damaged smartphone catches my eye, its screen cracked and unresponsive.
Mr. Chen lingers nearby, still marveling at my repair skills.
"Next up," I say, selecting a screwdriver from my toolkit.
"The customer said it got submerged in water during a pool party."
Mr. Chen shakes his head, tutting in disapproval.
"People have no idea how fragile these devices are."
I nod in agreement as I carefully pry open the phone's casing, revealing the delicate circuitry within.
Water damage is one of the most common issues I encounter - a single drop can cause irreparable harm if not addressed promptly.
I begin laying out my tools on the workbench: tweezers for navigating tiny components, a desoldering gun for repairing damaged connections, and a can of compressed air to dislodge any remaining moisture.
"First, we need to assess the damage," I explain to Mr. Chen, who leans in closer to observe.
"Water corrosion can spread quickly through the circuit board, causing short circuits and irreversible damage."
As I speak, I gently lift the phone's logic board from its housing, examining each component for signs of water ingress. Mr. Chen watches intently as I work, his face a picture of concentration.
"You know, Shane," he says after a moment, "I still can't believe you managed to fix that old television last week. I thought for sure it was destined for the scrap heap."
I smile wryly as I examine the phone's charging port.
"It's all about understanding how things work," I explain.
"With enough patience and persistence, anything can be fixed."
Mr. Chen nods thoughtfully as I continue my examination.
I could easily afford to replace every broken device in this shop with brand new ones now, but where's the satisfaction in that?
Besides, fixing things is what I do best - it's in my blood.
As I delve deeper into the phone's internal workings, my fingers instinctively trace the familiar patterns of components and wires.
I lean in close to examine the circuit board under the bright desk lamp, a cotton swab in hand.
Dipping the swab in isopropyl alcohol, I begin gently cleaning away the green corrosion spots around the charging port.
Mr. Chen hovers nearby, watching intently as I demonstrate my technique - gentle circular motions to lift the oxidation without damaging the delicate components underneath.
When the first area comes clean, revealing untarnished copper traces, I move on to the next corroded section.
While cleaning, I notice a discoloration around the battery connector that catches my eye.
Setting the cotton swab aside, I grab my multimeter to test the voltage.
The readings confirm my suspicion - the battery is overcharging, a sign of a faulty protection circuit.
I carefully disconnect the battery from the circuit board, explaining to Mr. Chen how this defect could have caused the phone to overheat or even catch fire.
Using my precision screwdriver, I begin removing the tiny screws that hold the battery compartment in place.
I carefully solder the new protection circuit onto the board, double-checking each connection point.
The tiny component requires absolute precision - one wrong move could damage the surrounding traces.
I hold my breath as I make the final connection, then use my magnifying glass to inspect my work.
The solder joints look clean and solid.
I reassemble the battery compartment, replace the screws, and reconnect the power.
When I press the test button, the phone boots up normally.
I place the repaired phone in Mr. Chen's weathered hands, watching as his face lights up when the screen glows to life.
He tests the charging port, and the battery indicator responds immediately.
While he examines my work, I put away my tools - returning the soldering iron to its stand and wiping down my screwdrivers with a soft cloth.
"Mr. Weber, this is fantastic work," Mr. Chen says, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.
"I didn't know it was dangerous like that. Thank you."
He reaches into his pocket to pull out some extra cash, offering it to me.
"For your trouble, for fixing that dangerous part."
I smile politely and shake my head.
"No need, Mr. Chen. It's all part of the service."
But he insists, pressing the money into my hand.
"Please, take it. You've done a wonderful job."
I consider for a moment before responding.
"If you insist, maybe we could use that money to upgrade our testing equipment here at the shop? Some of our tools are getting outdated."
Mr. Chen stares at me, a mix of surprise and newfound respect on his face.
"You're too kind," he says finally.
"I'll see what I can do."
I wipe my hands on a shop rag and look up as the bell above the door chimes.
Alex, the delivery guy, steps in, carrying a large cardboard box.
His familiar grin lights up his face as he approaches the counter.
"Hey there, Mr. Weber," he greets me, setting the package down.
"Just a few packages for you today."
He pulls out his tablet to get my signature.
"How's business been?"
I glance at the workbench, where several devices are in various stages of repair.
"Keeping me busy," I reply, gesturing towards the dismantled phone parts.
"Trying to keep up with all these gadgets."
Alex chuckles, nodding in understanding.
"Yeah, technology never stops moving, does it?"
He hands me the tablet for my signature.
I take it from him, noticing briefly how his sleeves are rolled up, revealing toned forearms beneath his uniform shirt.
I feel a sudden spark when his fingers brush against mine during the handoff.
It's just a fleeting touch, but it lingers a fraction longer than necessary.
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, time seems to stand still.
His warm brown gaze holds mine steadily, neither of us immediately pulling away.
The fluorescent lights overhead cast shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the slight dimple on his chin.
My heart rate quickens, and I notice his Adam's apple bob as he swallows.
The charged moment stretches between us until Mr. Chen drops something behind us, breaking the spell.
I fumble with the stylus, my hands still tingling from our touch, and manage to scrawl my signature across the screen.
The shop feels warmer than usual.
I force myself to look up, deliberately keeping my voice steady.
"So, uh, busy route today?"
I ask, watching as Alex adjusts his collar slightly.
He shifts the empty delivery box under his arm, a faint flush creeping up his neck.
"Pretty standard," he replies, his voice steady despite the subtle tension in the air.
"Just trying to get everything delivered before lunchtime."
Behind us, Mr. Chen mutters something under his breath as he bends down to pick up the fallen parts of a screwdriver he must have dropped.
The metallic sounds fill the awkward silence between us.
Alex gives me a small, knowing smile before turning to leave, and I realize that this day has changed everything.
I stand frozen for a moment after he turns to leave, my heart pounding in my chest as I watch his back heading towards the door.
The news of my secret inheritance feels distant, almost like a dream, compared to the immediate urge coursing through me right now.
Before my brain fully catches up, my feet are already moving.
I find myself taking quick steps across the linoleum floor of the repair shop, weaving past workbenches cluttered with tools and broken electronics waiting to be fixed.
In my peripheral vision, I see Mr. Chen glance up from his work, a look of confusion crossing his face at my sudden movement.
But I don't have time to explain.
My focus is solely on catching up to Alex before he leaves the shop.
The delivery tablet still clutched in my hands gives me the excuse I need.
"Wait, Alex!" I call out, my voice slightly shaky as I reach toward his arm.
He stops just a few steps from the entrance, turning to look at me with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
I stand close to him, so close that I can feel the warmth of his body radiating towards me.
The glow from the tablet screen casts an artificial light on his face, highlighting the contours of his features in a way that makes my breath hitch.
"Um, there's something I need you to check," I manage to say, holding out the tablet towards him with fingers that tremble ever so slightly.
I pretend to be checking something on the delivery form, using the stylus to tap at random spots on the screen.
Alex furrows his brow, stepping closer to get a better look at what I'm pointing at.
Our shoulders almost touch now, and I can feel the heat from his body mingling with mine.
My heart races, pounding so hard that I'm sure he must be able to hear it over the hum of the shop's machinery. He leans in closer, his face inches from mine as he tries to decipher what I'm showing him on the screen.
And then it happens again—our fingers meet on the surface of the tablet.
This time, though, it's not just a fleeting touch.
We both pause, our eyes locking as we realize that neither of us is pulling away.
The electricity between us is palpable, crackling like static in the air around us.
"Is this about the delivery, or is there something else?" Alex asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
I hesitate, my heart hammering in my chest, before finally admitting, "There's something I need to tell you—something that could change everything."
His eyes widen slightly, and he nods, encouraging me to continue.
I fidget with the tablet screen, pretending to study the delivery details as I gather the courage to say what's on my mind.
"We should hangout sometime," I finally blurt out, my voice cracking slightly.
Alex's eyes widen with interest, and he shifts his weight, angling his body more fully towards me.
The usual shop noise fades into the background—the hum of electronics, Mr. Chen muttering to himself as he tinkers with something in the back.
All that matters is the space between us, charged with anticipation.
Alex pulls out his phone from his pocket, unlocks it with a quick swipe of his thumb, and then hands it to me.
"Put your number in," he says, a warm smile playing on his lips.
I take the phone carefully, feeling the weight of it in my palm.
The screen is bright and sleek, a stark contrast to my own older model.
I type each digit of my phone number deliberately, acutely aware of Alex standing so close beside me.
His eyes are fixed on the screen as I input the numbers, his expression expectant.
My hands tremble slightly, causing me to backspace twice to correct typos.
Finally, I finish typing and hold out his phone towards him.
He takes it back slowly, his fingers deliberately sliding across my palm as he does so.
The touch sends a jolt of electricity up my arm, and I can't help but notice the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows.
"Thanks," he says, his voice low and smooth.
Just then, Mr. Chen calls out from the back room, breaking the spell that has settled over us.
Alex glances in his direction before turning back to me.
"I should get going," he says, tucking his phone back into his pocket.
"But we'll talk soon."
As he walks away, I realize that this moment is the beginning of something I never expected.
I stand in the doorway, watching as Alex makes his way to his delivery truck.
My hand tingles where he touched it, and I can't stop the smile that spreads across my face.
Through the shop window, I see him pull out his phone again—probably to check the number I just gave him.
Then he climbs into the driver's seat, starts the engine, and glances back at the shop one last time.
His eyes meet mine through the glass, and I realize I've been staring openly.
Instead of looking away embarrassed, I raise my hand in a small wave.
Alex grins and waves back before pulling out of the parking lot.
I turn back to the shop, feeling a sense of possibility I hadn't known was missing.
I walk back to my workbench, still feeling the warmth where Alex's fingers touched mine.
The familiar smell of soldering iron and electronics fills the air as I try to focus on the pile of repairs waiting for me.
Mr. Chen gives me a knowing look but says nothing, busying himself with inventory at the counter.
I pick up a broken laptop, attempting to concentrate on the cracked screen.
But my eyes keep drifting back to my phone, which sits silently next to my tools.
How long should I wait before messaging Alex?
I sit at my workbench, staring at my phone between half-finished repairs.
The screen reflects my nervous expression as I type and delete multiple versions of a simple greeting.
My hands are still slightly grimy from fixing devices, leaving smudges on the phone case.
Mr. Chen walks by, pretending not to notice my distraction.
After wiping my hands clean on a shop rag, I finally type "Hey, it's Shane from the repair shop" and hit send.
I'm about to start another repair when Mr. Chen approaches my workbench, holding a brown paper package.
He places it carefully among the scattered tools and circuit boards, pointing to my name written in neat handwriting on the front.
My hands pause over the circuit board I'm working on as I study the unexpected delivery.
The package is lightweight, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine.
There's no return address visible.
When I reach for it, Mr. Chen stops me with a gentle hand on my arm.
"It was hand-delivered," he says quietly.
"The person insisted you open it alone."
I carry the package to our cramped storage room in the back, squeezing past shelves stacked with spare parts and old electronics.
The fluorescent light above flickers as I step inside, casting an eerie glow.
I clear a space on the cluttered workbench, setting the package down carefully.
My hands tremble slightly as I untie the twine, the brown paper crinkling loudly in the quiet room.
Inside, I find a sealed envelope and a small wooden box adorned with intricate carvings.
The box feels light but solid in my hands.
Before I can open either item, my phone buzzes - a text from Alex.
"Meet me at the park," it reads, leaving me with more questions than answers.
I tuck the wooden box and envelope into my jacket pocket, their weight pressing against my side.
When I return to the main shop area, Mr. Chen raises an eyebrow.
"I need to take my lunch break early," I explain, and he nods understandingly.
The afternoon sun is warm on my face as I hurry out of the shop, weaving through the busy streets.
The mysterious package can wait - right now, all I can think about is seeing Alex again.
I spot his delivery truck parked near the park entrance and pick up my pace, my heart racing with anticipation.
As I approach the park bench where he's sitting, my footsteps slow.
He's holding a wooden box in his hands - identical to the one in my pocket.
I sit down beside him, the wooden boxes a silent presence between us.
We exchange hesitant smiles, neither of us knowing where to begin.
Finally, I pull out my box and show him the sealed envelope I received with it.
He nods, pulling out his own envelope.
"Let's open them together," he suggests, and I agree.
As we tear open the envelopes and unfold the letters inside, our hands brush against each other.
A jolt of electricity runs through me at the touch.
I steal a glance at Alex, wondering if he feels it too.
His eyes are fixed on the letter in his hand, his brow furrowed in concentration.
I focus on my own letter, my heart pounding in my chest.
The words blur together on the page, but one sentence stands out: "These boxes are part of a test for you."
A test?
What kind of test?
I look up to find Alex watching me, a mix of curiosity and concern in his eyes.
"What does your letter say?"
I ask him, my voice barely above a whisper.
He reads from his letter, his voice steady despite the confusion etched on his face. "It says these boxes are part of a test for you," he repeats, echoing my own thoughts.
"And that you're not alone in this."
I frown, trying to make sense of the cryptic message.
"What do you think it means?"
Alex shakes his head, his eyes scanning the park as if searching for answers.
"I don't know," he admits.
"But I have a feeling this is just the beginning."
I nod in agreement, feeling a sense of unease settle over me like a shadow.
The wooden boxes seem heavier now, as if they hold secrets we can't even imagine yet.
We sit in silence for a moment, both lost in our own thoughts.
Finally, I break the silence.
"I have something to tell you," I say softly, glancing at Alex with a mix of trepidation and hope.
He looks at me curiously, waiting for me to continue.