Just one assistant stepping down... and then two figures emerged.
The first one — the younger one — was probably nineteen. Slim build. Slope-shouldered. That impossible blend of baby-faced confidence and hormonal confusion. His hair flopped in — styled to look unstyled. Designer hoodie. Nervous energy. Trying so hard not to look like he was trying.
And then...
The man behind him.
He wasn't just walking. He arrived.
Thin. Tall. Angular. Sharply drawn, like someone had sketched him in graphite and forgot to soften the edges. High cheekbones. A mouth stuck somewhere between a frown and a smirk — like he knew things and found them all vaguely disappointing.
His black coat moved like ink when he walked — soft, fluid, unbothered. His hair was slightly tousled in that "I have better things to think about" kind of way. And his eyes...
His eyes were the problem.
Sharp. Intelligent. A little tired.
I stood completely still — like a total idiot.
Mouth open. Eyes wide. Like I'd just seen an angel descend from his private jet and stride toward me in slow motion. A very tall, very sharp-jawed, very well-dressed angel with devastating bone structure and an energy that said, Don't bother me unless you're bringing something useful.
I could hear myself breathing — which was unacceptable.
Amisha leaned in, tapped my chin, and whispered, "Muh toh band karo, aunty."
I blinked, snapped my mouth shut, and tried to recover what little dignity I had left. Unsuccessfully.
The assistant said something to the younger boy, who gave a tight, polite nod. They stepped forward, toward us.
And then — he looked at us.
At me.
Just one glance.
Not dramatic. Not lingering. Just... precise. Like a scan. His gaze touched mine for half a second, but I felt it everywhere — scalp to sternum.
He didn't smile. Didn't nod. Just moved his eyes to the SUV like I was a misplaced label on a spreadsheet.
Amisha elbowed me again. "Speak," she hissed under her breath.
I managed to peel my dignity off the tarmac just enough to speak.
"Hi," I said, forcing my voice to find its shape. "I'm Se-Ri Singh. Rhea's cousin."
Smooth. Precise. Civilized.
Only slightly strangled.
The younger one smiled at me immediately — sweet, warm, grateful to be acknowledged.
But him?
He paused.
Just a blink.
Then: "Leo Wu. Nice to meet you," he said. Low voice. Crisp consonants. No effort to charm. Just fact.
Amisha stuck out her hand toward the boy. "You must be—?"
"Ren," he offered. "Leo's younger brother. Half, technically."
"Technically," Leo echoed, gaze drifting to the SUV. His tone wasn't bitter — just clinical. Like the fact of it was an old line in an old document he no longer cared to highlight.
I nodded and gestured toward the car. "Let's get out of the cold. It's a bit of a drive back to the estate."
They followed me without question.
And then Amisha — oh, Amisha — took two quick steps back, smiling like a saboteur in silk.
"Oh, by the way," she said sweetly. "I forgot I have to pick up my boyfriend. Bye!"
"What—?" I barely got the word out before she ran. Like it was planned. Like she'd waited for the most inconvenient moment and dropped the grenade in my lap.
I shot her a glare so sharp it could've sliced through glass.
Why me? I mouthed silently.
No answer. Just the sound of her sandals clacking as she vanished into her escape arc.
Ren climbed into the back seat, still politely nervous. Leo took the passenger seat beside me — folding his tall frame in with unbothered precision, like he was born to fit into confined spaces without adjusting.
I started the engine.
Checked the mirrors.
Told myself not to look at him again.
Failed.
He was watching the trees. Completely still.
In the backseat, Ren had already pulled out his phone and was gaming quietly — all thumbs and reflexes. I envied his obliviousness.
I cleared my throat. "First time in Whistler?"
Leo didn't turn his head. "No."
A long pause.
I couldn't tell if he was bored or just didn't want to talk to me.
But as the unwilling host-slash-chauffeur, I felt mildly obligated to try.
"So," I said carefully, "Rajveer mentioned you two were childhood friends? But he's always lived in Canada."
"My dad lives in Canada," Leo replied.
Another pause.
Same tone — flat, clean, factual.
I nodded slowly, staring at the road ahead, which now seemed to stretch forever. The silence between us felt both too heavy and too loud.
Each minute was a decade.
And I was suddenly very aware of every breath I took.
I focused on the road.
Hands steady on the wheel. Eyes forward. Expression fixed somewhere between neutral and don't ask me anything else.
Leo said nothing more. Neither did I.
The car filled with quiet — not awkward, exactly. Just... aware.
Every movement he made was soundless. Every breath I took felt amplified.
I hated how much space he didn't take up.
I hated even more that I could feel him anyway.
The drive wasn't long — maybe twenty minutes — but it felt like being slowly turned inside out. No argument. No conversation. Just the weight of his silence sitting beside me like it belonged there.
When the estate finally appeared at the edge of the forest, I exhaled without meaning to.
And in that soft, involuntary breath, I realized something unsettling.
I wasn't bored.
I was intrigued.
And I hated that most of all.