Celyst smiled at the familiar nickname and set the tray on his desk. “You look exhausted,” she said bluntly.

       He chuckled, shaking his head. “I know…”

       She always saw right through him. She knew exactly what had been weighing on his mind—marriage, duty, the impossible task of finding a suitable wife. But there was something else in her expression tonight. A hint of hesitation. A flicker of disappointment.

       Then, as if trying to distract himself, he glanced at her and asked, “Where’s your black bunny?”

       “She’s asleep,” Celyst replied. “She was really tired after the competition today.”

       Lorcan’s brows furrowed. “Competition?”

       Celyst’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait—you seriously don’t remember Celyth’s badminton competition today? We thought you were just pretending… We knew you were busy but—”

       “I’m sorry…”

       Damn it.

       Even before marriage, he was already failing to balance business and family. He always had. It had never been said out loud, but he knew. He had always known. Their parents favored Celyst over Celyth. The ‘pink bunny’ was cherished, while the ‘black bunny’—more independent, more resilient—had learned to stand on her own. And yet, he had sworn to be there for her. He had promised.

       And he had broken that promise.

       Without another word, Lorcan pushed himself up and strode out of the study, leaving Celyst behind with the untouched tray.

       He reached Celyth’s door and knocked softly.

       “Celyth…” No answer. Celyst had said she was asleep, but he knew better, “Celyth, can you hear me? I’m really sorry, okay?”

       Still nothing.

       He tried the doorknob—it wasn’t locked. Gently, he stepped inside.

       There she was. Sitting by the window, her silhouette bathed in the pale moonlight. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped loosely around them. Her gaze was distant, lost in the night beyond the glass. Her eyes—normally fierce, always challenging—were now empty.

       Lorcan’s heart clenched. He had seen this look before. And he hated it. Silently, he stepped closer. “How was the competition, black bunny?”

       “It was okay,” she replied, her voice flat.

       She was lying. And she was terrible at it.

       With a sigh, he knelt beside her, reaching out to cup her cheek. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into his touch, as if seeking comfort despite herself. For a moment, they stayed like that—silent, understanding.

       Then, finally, she lifted her gaze to meet his.

       “Why didn’t you come?”

       And for the first time in a long time, Lorcan had no answer.

***

            Seranna stepped into the private dining room, the sharp click of her heels echoing against the polished marble floor. Draped in an elegant yet understated gown, she moved with practiced ease, adjusting the Louis Vuitton bag on her arm. Across the room, Lorcan stood waiting. His assistant had just taken his tuxedo, leaving him in a crisp white turtleneck that contrasted against his usual sharp presence.

       He stepped forward to greet her, his approach casual—almost nonchalant. Yet, something about him felt off. Not in his posture or the way he carried himself, but in the way his gaze lingered a fraction longer than necessary, as if measuring his own hesitation.

      They took their seats across from each other, a quiet tension settling between them like unspoken words pressing against the air. Seranna was the first to break the silence, a trace of amusement lacing her voice.

       “This feels rather awkward,” she mused, one brow arched. “You, asking me to dinner without any business pretext,”

       Lorcan exhaled through his nose, adjusting the sleek wristwatch on his arm, “Yeah… I actually asked you here for help,”

       Seranna’s curiosity piqued. It wasn’t like Lorcan to ask for help. The man she knew was composed, calculated, and ever-efficient—someone who rarely entertained personal conversations, let alone sought guidance. Whatever this was, it had to be serious.

       She studied him. His posture was relaxed, yet there was a weight in his eyes, something unspoken yet undeniably heavy,

       “How did your parents do it?” he asked suddenly.

       Seranna tilted her head slightly, “Do what?”

       “Raise you and your siblings,” he clarified, swirling the wine in his glass, watching the liquid catch the dim light, “Without…” He paused, searching for the right words, “Without leaving any cracks,”

       A small frown creased Seranna’s brows,

       “I’ve never seen longing or pain in Savana’s or Keeran’s eyes,” he continued, his fingers tapping lightly against the stem of his glass, “They seem… whole. As if they were never neglected. Never left behind,”

       His voice remained calm, measured, but something wavered beneath it—something vulnerable.

       Seranna, a woman who had spent years negotiating with high-profile clients, who had mastered the art of reading between the lines, found herself momentarily caught off guard. Not just by his words, but by the way he delivered them. A slight stutter. A hesitation. Lorcan—the man whose mere presence could silence an entire boardroom—was uncertain.

       “What do you mean?” she asked carefully, “Did something happen?”

       He nodded, slowly, as though each movement carried its own burden. Reaching for the bottle, he poured himself another glass. The dim lighting cast shadows along his sharp features, highlighting the tightness in his jaw

       “I’m sure you’ve heard of my younger twin siblings,” he said, “Celyth and Celyst,”

       Seranna repeated the names softly, as if tasting them on her tongue, “Celyth and Celyst…” A beat of silence. Then, her gaze sharpened, “What’s wrong with them?”

       Lorcan leaned back slightly, his shoulders sinking. His next words came quietly, almost reluctant, “Can you teach me how to be a good eldest?”

       Seranna blinked, caught off guard. Of all the things she had expected him to ask, this wasn’t one of them.

***

       Seranna leaned in slightly, her voice gentle yet firm, “Being the eldest means being a third parent, Lorcan. In the case you told me before… I’m not sure how to approach Celyth,”

       Her fingers traced the rim of her untouched wine glass, “You said it’s been almost eighteen years? That’s… difficult,”

       She shifted, moving to sit beside him. The warmth of her presence should have been comforting, but all Lorcan felt was the weight of her words pressing down on him,

       “Has she ever told you anything?” Seranna continued, tilting her head to meet his gaze, “Something random? Her daily life at school? Maybe about a crush?”

       Lorcan exhaled slowly, as if searching his memories for even the faintest trace of what she was asking. His mind drifted to Celyth’s quiet demeanor—the way she always seemed to fade into the background. Had she ever come to him just to talk? To share something meaningless, something simple?

       But the answer surfaced too quickly,

       “No. Never,” he admitted.

       Seranna nodded, as though she had expected it, “It feels like I’m seeing myself when you talk about Celyth,” she murmured, “I’ve been through something similar. But it was different—because I was the eldest. I had to figure out how to handle that kind of mistreatment on my own,”

       She paused, watching for any shift in his expression before continuing, “But Celyth… she has you. Jason. Her own twin. And yet, she still feels like she can’t talk to any of you. Do you realize how much harder that makes it for her? To have people so close, yet still feel alone?”

       Lorcan’s grip tightened around his glass.

       Seranna leaned closer, lowering her voice. “No woman can handle something like that, Lorcan. We build tough facades, but no one has an unbreakable heart. If someone says she’s tough inside and out, she’s lying,”

       She exhaled, her expression unreadable, “So is Celyth,”

       Lorcan swallowed hard. His mind replayed every moment he had seen Celyth retreat into herself. Every time she had smiled when she should have cried,

       “Celyth…” he breathed,

       “Someone like Celyth,” Seranna continued carefully, “thinks that crying, that protesting, is wrong. That it’s weakness. Or worse—they believe asking for help will only invite more rejection. More disappointment. So they stay silent,”

       She paused, her eyes darkening, “And the terrifying part? When they do speak, they hesitate. They stutter. Because they’re afraid they’ll say the wrong thing. That they’ll make things worse,”

       A heavy silence settled between them, stretching long and unbroken. Neither of them reached for their meals. The food sat untouched, forgotten.

       Seranna watched him, waiting.

       “Can you talk to her?” he finally asked.

***

       The field buzzed with excitement, packed with students eager for the school’s annual sports week. Flags fluttered in the breeze, banners displaying class names and motivational slogans waved high, and the air brimmed with laughter, chatter, and the occasional whistle from the organizing committee.

       Among the crowd stood Seranna, her pixie-cut hair tousled by the wind. She stood with Elanere, Keahi, and Alora—her usual partners-in-crime—who were, at this moment, doubled over in laughter,

       “It’s not funny,” she grumbled, shifting her weight from one foot to another.

       Keahi wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, still giggling, “No, no—it’s hilarious,” she corrected, “I mean, come on, Ser, of all the things I expected today, this was not one of them,”

       Alora, barely able to contain herself, gasped between words, “I swear—if I don’t take a picture of this moment, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life,”

       Elanere, who had managed to suppress most of her amusement, gave Seranna a sympathetic pat on the back, “It’s okay, Ser. You still look cute—just in a very… round way,”

       Seranna groaned, shooting them a glare before glancing down at herself.

       The costume she had been given for the 500-meter race was, quite possibly, the most ridiculous thing she had ever worn. A giant, oversized orange. Yes. An actual orange.

       The suit was a perfectly round, puffy, bright-orange monstrosity, swallowing her slender frame beneath layers of absurdity. Two little green leaves perched atop her head, completing the humiliation.

       “What the actual fuck is this?!” she groaned.

       Keahi tried to stifle another laugh but failed miserably, “Oh my God, this is amazing. You look like a walking fruit commercial,”

       Seranna sighed heavily. There was no escaping this. With a resigned breath, she rolled her shoulders, preparing herself for the most ridiculous 500-meter race of her life.

       Whatever the result, the race ended nearly an hour later. Seranna, still catching her breath, made her way toward Savana and Keeran, who stood waiting for her at the edge of the field. Their expressions betrayed them—laughter barely contained, amusement dancing in their eyes,

       “Laugh, and you’ll be bleeding,” she warned sharply, shooting them a glare that only made it harder for them to hold back.

       Savana coughed, attempting to compose herself. “Uhm… Mom said you’ll be attending your math course after this—”

       Seranna exhaled, nodding. She knew better than to argue when their mother had already decided something. Her schedule was relentless, packed beyond what most people her age would tolerate. But she chose to see it differently—not as a burden, but as preparation. A necessary training ground for the future that awaited her.

       After all, she would be the one to manage the company someday. And to her, the unfairness of it all was amusing.

       Yes. Amusing.

***