High School Again: The President's Secret Lady Boss

Winter had a dream.

She was back at the burial place of her parents, but instead of seeing only their graves, she also found hers right beside them. It appalled and disconcerted her, sent chills throughout her body. Still, it was what made her realize that all of this was just a dream. She could not have died.

"Mom, Dad..." she said, solemn, as she stared down at their gravestones.

"As much as I want to meet you, I'm afraid I can't join you now. There's still so much waiting for me out there."

Winter doesn't know much about Wesley and Jeanette.

All she knows is that her father is a remarkable and overachieving man. Yet, despite all of his outstanding accomplishments, he is still down-to-earth, humble. and amicable. Her mother, on the other hand, is a vivacious woman with a warm personality. She was said to be always smiling, which was why she was able to leave a pleasant impression on everyone.

Such people were so wonderful.

Such a shame they had been deceived.

'Then again, no matter how good you are to others, bad things can still happen to you. Kindness may be a weapon, but kindness can be a weakness, too.'

Nonetheless, Winter admires them.

They may have appeared like fools for trusting Bianca, Cyrus, and Grace too much. Even still, Wesley and Jeanette did what was right regardless if they were wronged in the end - they only fell victims, and victims should never be the ones to blame.

She brings her head up to behold the huge, tall oak tree that is standing behind the graves. It protrudes right in the middle of the mausoleum. Her parents' tombs lay in that washed-out-white burial chamber. The oak tree serves like a stoic guardian to their souls - a mighty feat of nature that has taken decades to grow, all of those tiny moments morphing imperceptibly into the present. Yet, that's the thing about growth.

It is only when one compares with a sense of the months and years that passed that changes are seen. 

'I have changed too,' Winter thought.

Her gaze fell on Wesley and Jeanette's resting place once more.

An epiphany came to her, then - life could never be marked by a gravestone, something so cold, hard, and still. Perhaps, a tree with a wind chime in the branches could do more justice, or a song sung into the wind. What lies in the ground is only flesh and blood - that's never what anyone was.

That's not what Winter was.

So, she turned her back on Wesley and Jeanette's graves. It's time for her to go back home. She smiles a little as she spares them one final look, her soft, gentle gaze brimming with tears. 

"Bye, Mom and Dad. I'll see you again soon."

---

It has taken a whole day for Winter to wake up. 

She was thoroughly soaked and freezing the last time she was conscious. Now, however, she felt warm - dry on a surface, cozy and comfy. She would have taken her time to relish in such a relieving and reveling moment, but then, she heard noises all of the sudden, popping the bubble of serenity. There are murmurs around her, chatters.

"Look, Marianne! She's stirring awake!"

"Francis! Lower down your volume! You're gonna scare her back to sleep!"

The voices filter in. Kind of old. Yet sprightly, it seems.   

Winter would have raised a brow, then. She was struck bewildered. At least, as far as she knows, she doesn't know anyone by the names 'Marianne' and 'Francis'. Even still, she somehow feels a sense of familiarity. It was there in the corners of her storage of memories - existing yet unidentified.

Slowly, she opens up her eyes. That is when she finds an old man and woman staring down at her.

Strands of greys blend like silvers in their snow-white hairs, which she has an inkling is their natural color. Time-chiseled, wrinkly folds weigh down their skin, and though it's more than apparent that it'd seen better days, there's still this sunny, healthy glow in their pale complexion. Her eyes dart over every single feature they come across until they lay on theirs - and it was then that she finally realized.

Golden yellow.

The eye color of her beloved.

"Why, hello there, young lady. How're you feeling?" the old woman, Marianne, chimed with a smile.

"Are you hungry? Maybe thirsty? Do you need anything?" the old man, Francis, inquired frantically.

"Ummmmm," was what Winter could only blurt out at that moment, wanting a clarification more than anything.

"Oh, right, of course. You're probably puzzled. We apologize"

"Goodness! How could we forget to introduce ourselves?"

Winter doesn't see the need for that, though. She's more confused as to why they're there with her rather than who they are. Then again, she rarely ever saw them before she went back in time - and in this timeline, this was the first. Of course, she'd recognize them even then. After all, Marcellus has used to cherish them more than anyone in the world.

"It's a pleasure meeting you at last, dear."

"Thank you for taking care of our grandson for us." 

---

If Marcellus finds his office as that of the Spartans, Harold's is practically that of the Athenians.

It's well-lit and welcoming with two wingback chairs flanking his perpetually crowded desk. The smell of strong black tea, brimming with caffeine, fills the air. There are end tables and bookcases pushed against the shared walls, stacked and packed with books and papers.

Marcellus has always known better than to touch anything. Harold's workplace is a cozy mess.

Still, he never fails to find what he needs or know when something has been touched.

There is only one person who can clean his room - Marianne, his vivacious mother. Back then, she'd burst in every week to snatch used mugs and teacups, knocking over unwieldy stacks of manilla folders in the process. He called how Harold would only smile pleasantly in response to the mayhem. That's unless Francis, his blithesome father, would join in and make a mess under the guise of helping her out.

A nice family - 

Or at least it is as far as Marcellus's definitions of 'nice' and 'family' go.

Harold's eyes glance up to meet him when he plops down in a chair in front of his office desk. He doesn't usually consider Marcellus's appearance, but if he's being honest, the long hours he spends on managing a whole conglomerate in addition to running the household must be getting to him.

There are lines beneath his eyes and wrinkles in his button-down shirt. The top button, which he usually wears cinched around his neck, is undone.

"You came..." Harold began, setting aside his work in the meantime.

"I thought you'd stay with your girlfriend for a bit longer."

"I apologize for causing you so much trouble as soon as you returned..." Marcellus brought up straight away, no more beating around the bush, launching right in.

"That night was supposed to be yours. I didn't mean to mess it up and ruin it for you. Things had gotten out of my control. None of us had predicted Bianca Middleton's response."   

"While I was indeed appalled to witness a different kind of party taking place, I never once thought that it was your fault nor did I blame anyone else except for the ones who made you go all through that trouble. I understand the situation, and I received enough apologies from Sir Agreste to get old." 

"So, you already met him, huh? I'm taking you already heard too?"

"Yeah. That's quite a plan you've laid out there. Quite grand. Still, you underestimated your enemy."

"Or more like I've overestimated. Who would have thought that someone like her would do all of that while everyone was watching? I thought she was smart. Turned out that she's already a lost cause with some loose screws."

Harold listens to his nephew's rant.

He can see that Marcellus still hasn't realized it - though he tried to address the matter as calmly as he could, he still ended up fuming not even a moment after bringing it up. It's an interesting sight if anything, however. It'd been a long time since he'd last seen him express himself like this, after all. Normally, he'd be so detached and apathetic that he'd keep their conversations strictly business.

"Seems like you've changed, nephew."

Marcellus was a bit startled to hear that - maybe enough to make him stop talking. He silently regarded Harold for the next seconds to come, surprised and baffled, waiting for an elaboration -

Which he never got.

"By the way, do you know who's with your girlfriend right now? Harold asked, changing the subject.

"Huh? I left her with Sir Agreste. Why ask?" Marcellus asked back, raising a brow.

"I'm pretty sure Sir Agreste is with Sir Victor around this time - you know, handling the Middleton's case and some family matters."

"Wait, what? How'd you even-"

"Don't worry. She's not on her own. I bet her brother will return soon, anyway. In the meantime, she's got Father and Mother with her."

Marcellus had to take a moment to let that settle in, and when it did, he practically bolted up from his seat and went out of Harold's office in a haste, thinking of only one thing - leaving Winter to Francis and Marianne may be a bad idea.