The Anderson estate was quiet in the late afternoon, the kind of silence that carried weight. Adrian stepped into the grand hall, shedding the public persona like a coat. At home, he could be himself — or at least, almost.
"Adrian, you're home early," Margaret said from the kitchen doorway, worry in her eyes. Even after decades, she never stopped fretting over her son. "Everything okay at the office?"
"Just wrapping up," he replied with a smile, though his chest felt heavier than usual.
From the stairs, Isabelle called out, "And here I thought you'd be late again." She leaned against the railing, arms crossed, eyes sharp and playful. "I've got notes for you."
He chuckled softly. Only Isabelle could make him feel both exposed and safe at the same time. He had grown up showing her parts of himself that no one else saw — the boy who could laugh too loudly, the one who still hated sleeping alone, the one who let his guard down completely.
But the moment shifted when his father, Richard, appeared. Tall, imposing, every inch the embodiment of discipline and authority, he scanned Adrian with eyes that missed nothing. "You've been running late with the Henderson files again," he said, voice low and measured. "Efficiency matters, Adrian. You know this."
"Yes, Father," Adrian replied, bowing slightly. Respect wasn't optional; it was survival.
Richard's gaze softened just enough to reveal a flicker of pride. "You've built something impressive," he admitted. "But remember, appearances matter. Control matters. And… your decisions in life will always reflect on this family."
Margaret stepped closer, placing a hand on Adrian's shoulder. "We only want what's best for you, Adri. But… your heart matters too."
He nodded, letting the warmth of his mother and sister ground him, even as his father's words lingered in the air. Isabelle's smirk softened as she said, "You don't have to follow their rules all the time. You just have to know what you want… and maybe listen to me when you won't."
Adrian sighed, the weight of expectation pressing against his chest. Family. Duty. Success. Yet beneath it all, an ache remained — a longing for something he couldn't yet name, a desire for connection beyond loyalty, beyond duty, beyond appearances.
At home, he could feel it the most, and yet, even here, it eluded him.