Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

The place had more balconies than a Versailles fever‑dream, but Annabelle aimed higher. If she was gonna yank the band‑aid off her conscience, she wanted open sky and a drop that screamed "no take‑backs." So, after the whole garden heart‑to‑heart, she snagged Parker's sleeve, flashed a "trust me" grin, and steered him through a service stairwell that smelled like old cedar and richer‑than‑God furniture polish.

Up, up—past locked doors, past an out‑of‑order lift (she blitzed the door lock with a lazy flick of void‑magic: small sparks, big attitude), until they burst onto the top terrace—flat roof, waist‑high balustrade, neon city sprawled below like spilled jewels. Wind stole the leftover music from downstairs and shredded it into nothing.

Lanterns up here burned low, amber halos doing their best impression of starlight.

Parker parked himself against the railing, arms folded, expression a cool "so what's the mission?" vibe.

Dude was still dressed to own galaxies—dark slacks, white shirt rolled to forearms, a single button undone like an afterthought. He didn't ask why she'd dragged him up here; classic Parker, letting the universe explain itself.

Annabelle, for once, didn't rush. She walked a slow orbit of the rooftop, letting the silence breathe, letting the nerves crawl up her spine and burn politely under her skin. Her fingers danced along the railing's edge, trailing magic in tiny, glowing sigils that fizzled into the wind like forgotten fireflies.

Finally, she stopped a few feet from him.

"You always wanted a view like this," she murmured, voice barely louder than the breeze. "Remember back at the old mansion? You'd sneak out of that dusty attic window and just… sit on the roof. Like some tiny storm god waiting for the stars to talk back."

He tilted his head, not quite smirking. "I didn't think anyone noticed."

She grinned, dry. "Spying is a strong word. Let's call it… strategic rooftop lurking. I had to dodge Helena and my father just to see you sit in peace. And Parker? You always smiled up there. Real ones. Like the sky was the only thing that didn't ask anything from you."

A beat passed.

"And somehow, seeing that smile kept me from going full villain on you. Just enough softness left to pretend I still had it."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's either sweet or incredibly creepy."

"Try both," she shot back. "But hey, those nights kept me tethered. And it felt right that this was where I said it."

"Said what?"

Her fingers curled against the stone.

"I'm sorry."

"You're now scaring me you creepy spy..."

She smirked. "Again, spying is such a strong word. Let's say... observing? Admiring? Creeping, but make it cute?"

He snorted. "Still creepy as hell."

"Yeah, yeah. But I'd sneak up there sometimes. Just far enough to stay hidden. Mostly because if Helena or my dad saw me, they'd drag me back inside and ask what I was doing shadowing the 'trouble boy.'" Her voice dropped, honest. "But Parker., being you, just you and the stars for some reason... it messed with me."

"Messed with—how?"

"Because five hours later I'd be sneering at you in the courtyard. Throwing snide shit. Calling you names." She laughed, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "But those rooftop smiles? They cracked something. Something I didn't want to admit was still soft inside me."

She turned slowly, arms crossing over her chest. "That softness, I buried it. Under tradition. Orders. Expectations. You know how it was."

He was quiet for a while, eyes distant—like he was watching another Parker in another life. "I didn't even know anyone ever noticed."

"I did. And even now, thinking back… if Helena had seen me? She probably wouldn't have said a damn thing. Probably just turned around and let me be."

Parker looked at her, something thoughtful flickering behind those starlit eyes. "I'm not petty, Belle—never was. You guys—Origin Bloodlines, all of you—you're my creations, but more than that, you're the ones I've always stayed close to now for two billion years now. Closer than anyone else I ever dated or ran with, outside the circle. This Ninth Life's just... made that messy."

He leaned on the rail, voice quieter now. "But I don't want distances from the family i have been with for all those years, it's honestly so difficult than aanyone can realize. I spent my immortality with all of you, and I love that. Not just creator and subject as you see it. Family. That's why I created every one of you!"

The word landed like a key turning in an old, rusted lock. Something that had waited years to open.

Wind brushed her face, carrying the sound of the far-off party below. Laughter, dancing. But it felt miles away.

She steadied one of the rooftop lanterns with a flick of void-light. Then turned to him fully.

"I'm doing this with you right now because family deserves honesty, closure and always looking out for them. Real, face-to-face. No lawyers, no cosmic assistants. Just me and oyu or them."

He watched her closely.

"Okay, headline first: I'm sorry." She stepped forward.

Parker arched a brow. "I told you I'm over it, Belle. Forgave you the minute I nuked the ledger."

"Yeah, yeah, you've ascended above petty mortal grudges—felicidades. But I never apologized. Like, face‑to‑face. Girl to creator. No spell, no audience. Just… this." She spread her arms, almost lost her lily behind her ear, caught it with a spell‑gust. Points for style.

He didn't roll his eyes, which was a win. "Then talk."

Wind whipped her dress against her shins. The city lights down there looked like a videogame she used to play with her brother—back when life didn't feel like a cosmic board meeting. She swallowed the static in her throat.

"I was a grade‑A bitch," she started, voice louder than intended. "I believed stupid stories about you because believing them made family dinners simpler. I let other people dictate my moral compass—hello, cowardice—and when the hammer came down, I froze instead of standing up. I clung to comfort like it was a Birkin bag."

Parker's profile stayed marble‑still, but his eyes softened.

"I bullied you, yeah." She gave a lopsided shrug. "Mostly because that's what heirs do to threats, and my idiot teenage brain thought you were one.

"I watched them come for you. I let them aim. And when the hammer cracked down... I froze. Because safety was easier than truth. And honestly, I'm not even asking you to forgive me. I just needed you to hear it. No edits. No fancy dress. Just the worst parts of me finally being honest. Then I found out you're the freaking Prince of Existence—plot twist—and suddenly my entire personality looked like a bad TikTok trend."

Parker's face didn't shift. But his silence was loud.

A long pause stretched between them. Lanterns buzzed softly, and the stars blinked like they were listening too.

Then Parker said, "That's heavy stuff."

She smiled faintly. "Yeah. I'm heavy."

Parker chuckled at that. One point.

Annabelle pushed on. "You didn't deserve any of it. And for what it's worth? I'm sorry. I should've been braver, smarter, less self‑absorbed. I should've protected what actually mattered."

She exhaled, felt her shoulders drop a good inch. The apology hung in the wind like warm breath on winter glass.