The Sterling Main Mansion looked less like a home and more like a fortress.
It was a massive, intimidating castle made of dark stone, surrounded by perfectly trimmed hedges that looked sharp enough to cut you.
As the car pulled up to the entrance, Elian felt a knot of anxiety in his stomach.
In the novel, this is where Elian usually screamed at the maids and demanded red carpets, he recalled.
He took a deep breath, clutching the sleeves of his soft cream sweater. "Just breathe. Eat. Leave. Easy."
The car stopped. The chauffeur opened the door.
Elian stepped out.
The head butler, Sebastian, was waiting at the door. He had a stern expression, prepared to deal with the usual tantrums of the youngest young master.
"Young Master Elian, you are la—"
Sebastian stopped mid-sentence. His professional mask cracked.
The boy standing before him wasn't wearing leather or chains. He was dressed in soft, oversized clothes that made him look small and huggable. His hair was fluffy and clean.
And his face...
"Good evening, Sebastian," Elian said softly, his voice polite and melodic.
Sebastian blinked rapidly. "G-Good evening, Young Master. The family is waiting in the dining hall."
Elian nodded and walked inside. The maids cleaning the hallway stopped their work. They stared at him with wide eyes, whispering as he passed.
"Is that him?"
"He looks... different."
"He looks like a doll."
Elian ignored the whispers and reached the double doors of the dining hall. He hesitated for a second, then pushed them open.
Creak.
The chatter inside the room stopped instantly.
Sitting at the long mahogany table were the most powerful people in the country.
At the head sat Grandfather Arthur, looking like a retired lion.
To his right, his father Richard and mother Eleanor.
And across from them, his older brother, Declan, the cold CEO who had sent the threatening text.
They were all expecting a clown. They were expecting a disaster.
Instead, an angel walked in.
Elian stepped into the warm light of the chandelier. The cream sweater made his skin glow. His dark, wavy hair framed his face perfectly.
But it was his eyes that stole the air from the room.
Without the contact lenses, his Violet Eyes shone like jewels, filled with a galaxy of stars. The small mole under his eye made him look fragile, almost tragic.
"Sorry I'm late," Elian whispered, looking down at his feet because the staring was making him nervous.
Clang.
His mother, Eleanor, dropped her fork onto her plate. The sound echoed in the silent room.
"Elian?" she breathed out, her voice trembling. "Is that... you?"
Elian looked up, blinking his long lashes. "Yes, Mother. I... I decided to change my style. The old one was uncomfortable."
Declan, who usually had a scowl on his face, was staring at his younger brother with his mouth slightly open. He looked from Elian's soft hair to his clean face. He couldn't find a single thing to criticize.
"Uncomfortable?" Grandfather Arthur spoke for the first time. His sharp eyes locked onto Elian's violet ones. Unlike the others, he didn't look shocked. He looked... interested. "Sit down, boy. The food is getting cold."
Elian quickly pulled out his chair—the one furthest away from everyone—and sat down.
The dinner was painfully awkward.
Usually, Elian would be complaining about the food, or talking loudly about how much he hated everyone. But tonight, the only sound was the clicking of silverware.
Elian ate quietly. He cut his steak into tiny pieces and chewed slowly. He didn't look at anyone. He just wanted to disappear.
Why are they still staring? Elian thought, feeling their gazes burning holes in his sweater. Is there something on my face?
"Your eyes," Declan suddenly spoke, his voice gruff but lacking its usual bite.
Elian froze, his fork hovering mid-air. "Yes?"
"You took out the lenses," Declan said. It wasn't a question. "I haven't seen your real eye color since you were five."
"They were hurting me," Elian lied smoothly. "So I threw them away."
"Good," his father, Richard, grunted. "You finally look like a Sterling. Never wear that clown makeup again."
"I won't," Elian promised.
His mother looked like she wanted to cry.
She kept reaching for her water glass, her hands shaking. She had forgotten how beautiful her youngest son was.
The dinner continued in silence, but the atmosphere had changed. The tension wasn't angry anymore; it was confused. They didn't know how to treat this quiet, polite, and breathtakingly beautiful boy.
Elian finished his food quickly. He was still hungry—the portion was too small for a growing boy—but he couldn't stay here another minute. The atmosphere was suffocating.
"I'm full," Elian said, standing up gracefully. "May I be excused?"
Grandfather Arthur nodded slowly. "Go. But come to the library tomorrow. We need to talk about your university grades."
"Yes, Grandfather."
Elian bowed slightly—a perfect, elegant bow—and turned to leave.
As the doors closed behind him, the silence in the dining room broke.
"Did you see him?" his mother whispered frantically. "Richard, did you see him? He looked so... so..."
"Fragile," Declan finished the sentence, frowning at his wine glass. "He looked like if I shouted at him, he would shatter."
Grandfather Arthur took a sip of his tea, hiding a small, secretive smirk.
The prophecy, the old man thought. The Violet Eyes have finally awakened.
Meanwhile, Elian walked out of the mansion and practically ran to his car. He slumped into the backseat, letting out a long breath.
"That was terrifying," he groaned, rubbing his face. "But at least I survived."
Then, his stomach growled loudly.
Grrrrrrr.
Elian clutched his tummy and pouted. "And I'm still starving. That tiny steak was an appetizer, not a meal."
He looked out the window as the car drove away.
"I'll cook something when I get home,"
Elian decided, his eyes lighting up.
"Something warm. Something delicious."
Little did he know, his late-night cooking session would attract more than just hunger.