LYRON WALKED across the marble floors of Arsenio Manor and swerved around a corner. Then he entered the grand hall, where a large crowd had gathered. Groups huddled here and there. The orchestra played classical music. Waiters carried wine. Everyone either wore long dresses and dark suits. It was a centennial celebration of Litton Steel, owned by the Arsenio clan.
"Lyron, what's with that sour face?"
He turned sharply at the familiar, high-pitched voice that always mocked him. It was Danica Ang, arms crossed, a faint smirk on her lips.
"Aw," she said. "That's the look of someone who thinks his beloved has suffered some great injustice."
He didn't answer.
His steady gaze stayed fixed on her, unblinking. Danica's eyes shifted under his stare, yet still met his. A slow crease formed in her brows. For a moment, she thought this wasn't the Lyron she'd known since childhood. Not just a mere shadow of his elder brother.
When he finally got the reaction from Danica, he breathed calmly. "Iyana is suffering from this nasty rumor of her and Prof. Frias."
She scoffed, with her lips bent down.
"Well, maybe it's true. There's no smoke without a fire."
"And that fire starts with you, correct?" he said, with a slow arch of his brow.
She met his furrowed brows with a slow curl of her mouth, a trace of irony flickering there. "You don't have proof, Lyron. All you have is anger and resentment because she's clearly avoiding you. Maybe, you're the ones at fault. All those girls already hate her."
Lyron's jaw shifted slightly but he said nothing.
"Anyway, it's impossible to know the truth. The Prof's passed away," Danica said, drawling the last few words.
"If…" Lyron paused, a hiss escaping his teeth. "If I find out, Danica, that you had something to do with this, I won't stand by."
She just gave a faint roll of her eyes.
Another classical music hung in the air, and it became louder this time and the giggle, and the laughter, and few girls came to join her, hiding the view of Lyron. A moment later, she tilted her head.
He was already gone.
Arrogant, Danica thought.
The edge of her eyes were a little sharp. Then she turned to her friends and held a smile for them.
...
LYRON WAS now walking through the crowd without looking at anyone. He wasn't here to talk to anybody and yet his chin shifted when he landed on the tables in between the white columns at the side of the hall. He saw Veronika slicing a steak on her plate. He turned to retreat, but it was too late. His Aunt Argentia, seated beside Veronika, caught sight of him.
In that instant, Lyron's sideways glance caught a figure whose gaze was sharp, as if a blade was drawn across his neck. He turned toward the head of the table and saw—
It was Nate Lavrit Tucson, sitting casually.
Lyron scoffed inside. So, the devil's back.
"Lyron, come here," Argentia said, smiling.
Avoiding Nate's gaze, Lyron exhaled and sat quietly across from Veronika.
"You look taller now, Lyron," Nate said, his voice very light.
Lyron just poured a drink.
He hated that tone.
"He is," Argentia said. "Lyron's really tall, like all Gosuico men."
"Too bad he isn't good at any sport," Nate laughed. "But music's for the smart ones. Still playing instruments?"
Lyron, whose gaze had been on his glass, looked up and met Nate's eyes. "No. Happy?"
Nate gave a slow smile. "Of course not. It's far better to see you among those opera people there." He lifted his chin lazily, tilting his head before taking a sip of his drink.
Argentia laughed. "Don't worry, Nate," she said. "Lyron is part of the music club in Mizuri."
"Oh," Nate nodded, pouting his lips a bit.
Lyron sharply looked away but his eyes landed on Veronika. She smiled, a dimple catching on her chin. Her face was small, her skin pale, her cheeks brushed with sun. She sat straight, spoon steady in her hand. But his face didn't change. Her mahogany hair, her black eyes—none of it stayed with him.
Someone else did.
"Is there something wrong?" Veronika asked, smiling.
Her voice snapped him back.
"Sorry. It's rude to stare," he said politely.
"It's alright," she replied, with a meek smile.
Argentia chuckled.
"Ah, the eldest daughter of the Carreon family is beautiful, really. Even our boy wasn't spared."
Lyron said nothing, chewing in silence, eyes fixed on nothing. Unnoticed by him, Nate's eyes shifted from Lyron to Veronika—just a brief glance—before he sipped again.
"Well, enjoy appreciating beauty while you're still young, Lyron," Nate said as he rose.
Lyron caught him smirking again. "Funny, why are you here with Aunt?" he asked, while forking a strawberry cake.
Nate laughed. "That's because Aunt Argentia is far more charming than any other woman here."
"Oh, you child," Argentia chuckled.
Nate smiled at her.
"Excuse me, Aunt."
They watched as Nate joined a small crowd across the room, where men were talking and holding glasses of wine. One of them was Jeron Ekeziel Arsenio, the heir of Litton Steel. As usual, he was immobile among the gestures and laughter of other young men. From their table, Lyron could see only a side of his figure among the others.
"I thought Jeron was in Hong Kong," Veronika said.
"What do you mean? He can't miss this event," Argentia replied.
"What about Nate?" Lyron asked.
That guy had been abroad in Germany for years—the same man who had always been a bully since they were kids.
"He's back for good now, taking over the family business. Why don't you accompany him? He'll come to Mizuri soon to recruit talents."
He snorted, then sipped his wine. He listened to the orchestra. Another Mozart symphony—No. 36 in C Major. The violin played well. The cello, not so much.
Then his gaze wandered until it caught sight of another figure—the tall back of his elder brother in another, smaller crowd. A sharp pang suddenly shot through Lyron's chest.
He wanted to tell his brother he wanted to shift to music. But it had grown harder to approach him. He was always away and busy. And even then, Lyron could only stammer, fidget with his hands, and be dismissed again.
"Is Jeron really going to marry Isabel Borza? Veronika asked.
"Who knows, dear," Argentia replied.
"Oh," Veronika nodded.
Lyron chewed silently, watching Jeron listen quietly as another man animatedly talked.
"Clyde's here now," Argentia said. "Drew's been looking for him."
"Everyone does," Lyron said, face blank.
"After this, Vicky's going home. See that she gets home safely," Argentia said, turning to Lyron.
"Auntie, it's okay—"
Veronika had a soft, almost purring voice.
"Let Lyron accompany you, dear," she replied.
Lyron again caught Nate's brief gaze on him.
That guy knew something.
...
AN HOUR later, Peach saw his master's back walking onto the terrace and followed. He closed the door behind him, muting the noise from the hall. The damp smell of pines hung in the air for a while. Far above, the moon was a blurred trace, half-hidden by clouds. For a while, Peach watched the back of the man, his waist leaning against the railings, one palm gripping the metal. He stood, legs casually crossed.
A faint scent of strawberry lingered in the air. The post lights revealed a thin streak of smoke. His other arm rested on the metal, fingers holding a slim vape.
"I apologize for the sudden update, sir."
"So?" the master said, voice low.
"We've uncovered everything—"
"Good."
"Should we intervene—"
"No. Just rip the roots."
Peach furrowed his brows for a moment, then slowly straightened. There were times when the master's words were plain enough, but sometimes they required deciphering.
"Miss Jiran didn't exhaust her fund."
The man tilted his head a fraction, one finger tapping the metal. His other arm crossed his chest; his shoulder moved with the drag's release. Smoke hung in the air.
Peach knew it was time to leave.
As the door closed behind him, the man looked at the moon and whispered, "So hard to please."
*