The morning light spills through the glass wall like liquid gold, slow and unhurried, spreading across the marble floor in wide, lazy pools. Dust motes float in the warmth—tiny, luminous, suspended in the air like stars that forgot how to fall. They drift upward, weightless, catching the light.

I stretch beneath the blankets, my body uncoiling slowly. My arms rise above my head, my back arching slightly against the mattress, joints shifting in the quiet.

The warmth of the sun presses against my closed eyelids—soft, insistent. Patient. It doesn’t ask. It simply warms. It simply waits.

I blink. Stare at the ceiling. I don’t move. Just watch.

How peaceful this is.

No noise. No demands. No other people’s thoughts. Just this. Just silence. Just the sun.

Then—

Buzz.

A sharp sound. A blade through silk. The peace shatters. My fists clench around the sheets. The fabric twists between my fingers.

Buzz.

Again.

Buzz.

And again.

Who the hell is this early?

I sit up slowly. The sunlight slips from my face. The warmth recedes. It’s impossible to stay in peace.

I reach for the phone. My movements are sharp. Irritated. I swipe the screen. Unlock it.

Sum’s messages light up the screen.

Morning, Mr. Charming.

Another follows.

Today, Alara is throwing a party at her café. She was excited—didn’t tell me anything. Just said it’s a surprise. You weren’t answering her calls, so I’m telling you. Evening. Eight. Don’t be late.

Another.

I’ll say it again. Don’t be late.

I turn off the screen. Toss the phone aside. It lands on the blanket with a soft thud.

I run a hand through my hair, fingers dragging through the strands. Close my eyes. The morning light finds my face again. Warm. Quiet.

Buzz.

The phone rings. Loud. Violent. My jaw tightens. The muscle jumps beneath my skin.

Sum. You want to die?

I grab the phone—sharp, sudden, my fingers closing around it like a throat—and look at the screen. It’s not Sum.

Dad.

The name sits there. Small. Ordinary. Tremendous. Why is he calling me this early?

I turn the phone to silent. The vibration dies against my palm.

Probably their perfect son complained about me. Now he wants to give me a lecture. I’m not in the mood.

The screen lights up again. Silent. Insistent.

Again.

Again.

My face tightens. What does he want?

I answer the call. My voice is flat. Rough from sleep—unpolished in a way I never allow anyone to hear.

"Hello."

My father’s voice comes through—sharp, edged. Anger, maybe. Or something else. It’s hard to tell with him. He’s been practicing his masks longer than I’ve been alive.

"Ellis." A pause. Deliberate. "What the hell are you doing? Ignoring your father’s calls?"

I look away. My eyes drift to the glass wall. Dust motes still hang in the light. Still golden. Still indifferent.

Seriously. Shouldn’t I ask him why he ruined my morning?

"Why are you calling?"

"Tonight is a family dinner." His tone shifts—smooth now, practiced. The voice he uses when he’s arranging pieces on a board. "Some of my closest business associates will be there. They want to meet Silas. Don’t be late."

I stay silent.

Family dinner. Fake laughter. Polished smiles. The clink of glasses. The scrape of silverware. And beneath it— thoughts.

Loud. Unwanted. Pressing in. Things they’d never say out loud. Secrets I never asked to hear.

"Ellis." His voice cuts in, sharper now. "Are you listening?"

"I have plans."

"Cancel them."

The word lands clean. Final.

Before I can think— "I have plans with Silas." The words come out steady. "We’re going out tonight."

Silence. I can hear him breathing. Controlled. Measured.

"If you want me to cancel, I’ll—"

"No need." Too quick. Almost eager. "You two go. I’ll make excuses."

"Okay."

The call ends. I lower the phone. Stare at it for a moment.

What did I just do?

Plans with him?

I set the phone down. Let my hand fall to my side. I don’t want to face their smiles. Or their laughter. Or the weight of their expectations pressing down on me.

It’s better this way. Better to be anywhere else.

I step out of bed. The floor is cold beneath my feet—sharp, grounding. I slip on my slippers and walk out.

Where is he?

My steps make no sound on the polished marble. The hallway stretches ahead—long, bright, lined with glass and clean edges. Light spills in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, washing everything in a quiet glow.

I turn the corner. And see him. In the living room.

Silas sits on the couch—one leg crossed over the other, leaning back with a calm that feels practiced. Shoulders relaxed. Spine straight. One hand rests along the armrest; the other holds a file against his thigh.

But it’s his face that stops me.

Different.

The softness is gone. The quiet smile that follows me—absent.

In its place— something sharper. Focused. Controlled.

His secretary stands before him. Posture straight. Hands clasped behind his back. Eyes lowered—waiting.

Neither of them speaks. But something passes between them. An understanding. Unspoken.

I don’t look away.

What is this?

No soft edges. No easy smile.

I step forward.

The sound of my foot against the marble breaks whatever spell holds the room.

Silas’s eyes lift. Find mine.

And the smile—the soft smile, the one I’ve started to recognize without meaning to—spreads across his lips like sunlight breaking through clouds after a storm.

He closes the file quickly. Stands. Hands it to his secretary.

The secretary takes it. Steps back. His eyes find me—just a flicker, just a glance—and he bows lightly.

"Good morning, Mr. Ellis." His voice is smooth. Polished. The voice of someone who’s learned to speak to people like me without trembling. "I sincerely apologize for disturbing you so early."

He turns to Silas. Bows again—deeper this time, with something that might be affection or might be respect or might be caution.

Silas nods. Just a nod. Just a flick of his chin. But the secretary understands. He always understands.

The secretary walks toward the door. His steps are measured. Silent. He disappears into the hallway without looking back.

I stand there.

Silas’s eyes stay on me. His expression is soft now. Warm. Familiar.

What was that?

What was the expression I saw before?