The day begins with Lucien standing in the entrance hall, one hand rubbing slowly at his temple.

He already regrets this.

The doors open, and Luka and Johan step inside as if the house has always belonged to them. Luka’s presence is immediate—confident, careless. Johan’s is quieter, almost unnoticeable at first.

They’re staying for the whole day.

Lucien exhales through his nose, the familiar headache settling in.

She stands just behind him, still trying to process what she’s hearing. When Lucien introduces them as his older twin brothers, surprise flickers openly across her face. Her pinkish-blue eyes widen, her posture stiffening slightly.

Twins. Older. Both taller. Both far more intimidating than she expected.

Luka notices her reaction instantly.

“Well,” he says smoothly, stepping forward, “you must be the famous wife.”

Before she can react, he takes her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles. It’s polite on the surface—but practiced, deliberate.

Her face warms immediately. “Oh—hello,” she says softly.

Johan only smiles at her then, calm and mild. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says gently.

They move into the living room soon after. Luka and Johan sit across from Lucien, the conversation flowing easily into family matters and company affairs. It’s obvious this world belongs to them.

She doesn’t.

She ends up near the window, hands folded in her lap, gaze drifting outside. The garden feels distant, quiet—easier than listening to conversations she doesn’t understand.

Luka notices her absence.

While Johan is speaking to Lucien, Luka wanders over and stops beside her, leaning casually against the window frame.

“So,” he asks lightly, “how do you feel about all this?”

She blinks. “All… this?”

“The marriage,” Luka clarifies. “Lucien. The contract.”

Her fingers curl together. “It’s… fine,” she answers, voice soft.

Luka hums thoughtfully. “You’re very calm about it.”

Then, as if it’s a passing thought, he adds, “When it ends, you could marry me instead.”

The words land wrong.

She lets out a small, awkward laugh, eyes dropping. “You’re joking,” she says quietly.

“Of course,” Luka replies easily—but his gaze lingers.

Across the room, Lucien looks over just in time to catch her nervous smile. He doesn’t intervene. But something about the way she looks—unguarded, flustered—sticks with him.

A call pulls Lucien away shortly after.

While he steps aside, she drifts toward Johan, drawn by his quiet presence. He’s standing near the bookshelf, posture relaxed, expression gentle.

“Um,” she says softly, forcing conversation, “your house is very quiet.”

Johan looks at her, then smiles faintly. “Lucien likes order.”

She nods, relieved by the simplicity of it. Her voice stays low, careful, almost hesitant.

Johan listens closely.

After a moment, he tilts his head slightly and says, softly, “You move like a swan.”

The word catches her off guard. “A… swan?”

“Yes,” he says gently, smiling as if it’s the most natural observation in the world. “Quiet. Careful. Like you don’t want to disturb the water.”

Her cheeks warm again. “I don’t think I am,” she murmurs.

Johan only smiles.

From across the room, Lucien ends his call and looks up. He sees her standing there between his brothers—still awkward, still unsure—but already being observed, named, noticed.

The headache doesn’t disappear.

But it sharpens into something else entirely.