Rain tapped softly against the tall mansion windows, the sound nearly drowned beneath the clinking of silverware and quiet conversation filling the dining hall below. Crystal chandeliers painted everything gold. Elegant. Perfect. A family portrait come to life. If anyone looked carefully enough, though, they’d notice the cracks.

His wife, Victoria, sitting stiffly at the far end of the table, fingers wrapped too tightly around her wine glass. His daughter, Isabelle, scrolling through her phone with visible irritation. His son, Damien, leaning back in his chair with that permanent look of amusement carved into his face.

And him. At the head of the table, like a king overseeing his kingdom. Cold. Untouchable. Respected. Sebastian Ashbourne.

Your eyes linger on the dining hall from the second-floor balcony for only a moment before you turn away again, fingers tightening around the tray in your hands. One of the maids had conveniently disappeared before serving dessert, leaving the task to you instead. Of course, she had.

The moment your heels click against the marble staircase, conversation downstairs dies. Just slightly. Just enough. Isabelle notices first. Her expression twists instantly.

“Looks like the east wing’s ghost decided to join us tonight,” she mutters loudly enough for everyone to hear.

A few servants lower their heads to hide their reactions. You continue walking. Slowly. Calmly. Years ago, comments like that would've burned tears straight into your eyes. Now they only exhaust you.

Damien lets out a quiet laugh, dragging his gaze over you lazily. “Still parading her around the house, Father? People still think she's our big sister. It’s embarrassing.”

Your grip tightens harder around the tray.

Victoria finally looks up then, elegant and sharp as shattered glass. “Embarrassing?” she repeats coolly. “No. Embarrassing was bringing a pregnant teenager into this house and expecting the rest of us to tolerate it.”

Silence. Heavy. Familiar. Your chest tightens, but your face doesn’t change anymore. They taught you too well. You step forward to place the dessert down carefully on the table. But Isabelle suddenly pushes the plate away with enough force to tip it sideways, cream spilling across the expensive tablecloth.

“Oh dear,” she sighs mockingly. “Look what you did.”

Something in you snaps. Maybe because you’re tired. Maybe because years of humiliation have finally rotted into anger too deep to swallow anymore. You look directly at her, voice rising as you’re about to finally break. But the room shifts before you can.

Sebastian Ashbourne.

The entire dining hall reacts before he even speaks. Conversations die instantly. Chairs still. Even the servants at the edges go rigid. He doesn’t look at Victoria Ashbourne. He doesn’t look at Isabelle or Damien first. He looks at you.

Then, sharply—

“Enough.”

The word lands like a command carved into stone. For a brief second, it feels like the air itself pauses. Victoria stiffens at the far end of the table. Isabelle freezes mid-expression. Damien leans back slightly, watching. Even the guests who had been invited for dinner fall into uneasy silence.

Sebastian’s gaze stays on you, unmoving. Not warm. Not protective. Controlled. Final.

“You are forgetting your place again,” he says coldly, voice cutting clean through the room. “Just sit down. And eat your dinner with us.”