[17 Day's Home]
The dining room was a masterclass in atmospheric tension, the kind that looked like a portrait of elegance but felt like walking on thin ice. The golden light of the chandelier caught the deep emerald of Kia's silk dress and the sharp, clean lines of Ethan's black button-down, but it couldn't mask the chill that settled the moment the front door opened.
Kyson entered first, looking sharp in a tan sports coat over a black tee, his blonde hair swept back. He didn't offer a greeting, his brown eyes landing on Annie with a flick of weary irritation before he pulled out a chair. Behind him, Vanessa and Peggy swept in like they were entering a VIP lounge rather than a family dinner.
Vanessa looked striking and severe in a crimson cocktail dress that hugged her frame, her icy blue eyes scanning the room with calculated precision. Beside her, Peggy was a blur of shimmering gold sequins, her blonde hair in a high, bouncy ponytail that seemed at odds with the predatory way she looked at Ethan.
"I hope you don't mind the additions, Kia," Kyson said, though his tone suggested he didn't particularly care if she did. "They were bored. I figured Ethan could use the company of people who actually have a pulse."
Dylan, looking distinguished in his charcoal suit, smiled warmly at the newcomers, though he missed the way Annie's shoulders hiked toward her ears. "The more the merrier. Happy birthday, Ethan."
As the first course was served, the air filled with the clink of fine silver against china. Margaret, adjusting her burgundy wrap dress, took a sip of wine and looked across at Annie, who sat in her navy velvet gown, her hands folded perfectly in her lap.
"You look so... comfortable, Annie," Margaret said, her voice a soft, melodic purr. "It's so brave of you to choose such a modest style. It really helps you blend into the background, doesn't it? Very practical for someone who prefers to avoid the spotlight."
Annie didn't flinch. To the casual observer, she was the picture of composure. But Ethan, sitting beside her, noticed the way her knuckles had turned a ghostly white where she gripped her napkin under the table. He reached out, his hand ghosting over her arm.
"She doesn't blend in, Margaret," Ethan said, his voice casual but with an edge like a serrated blade. "She stands out because she doesn't have to try. There's a difference."
Vanessa let out a small, airy laugh. "Oh, Ethan, you're so sweet. But Margaret has a point. It must be so exhausting for Annie, having to maintain that 'quiet' persona all the time. It almost makes you wonder what's actually going on behind those blue eyes- or if it's just a very well-rehearsed silence."
Kyson snorted, tearing a piece of bread. "It's a specialty of hers. The 'quiet sufferer.' It's very effective for getting what you want without having to say a word."
"Kyson," Dylan chuckled, oblivious to the barb. "Don't tease your sister. She's always been the thoughtful type."
Under the table, the atmosphere was far more violent than the conversation suggested. Vanessa shifted her weight, her stiletto heel finding the top of Annie's foot. She didn't just step- she pressed, a slow, grinding pressure designed to elicit a cry.
Annie's expression remained a mask of marble. She didn't gasp. She didn't pull away. But the color drained from her face until she was ashen, and her breathing hitched- a tiny, stuttering rhythm that only someone paying close attention would catch.
Ethan was paying attention.
He saw the slight tremor in her jaw. He looked down, seeing the tension in Vanessa's leg, the deliberate angle of her foot.
"Is the food not to your liking, Vanessa?" Ethan asked. His voice was suddenly very loud in the quiet room. "You seem to be putting alot of effort into something under the table rather than your plate."
Vanessa didn't move her foot, flashing Ethan a dazzling, innocent smile. "Just adjusting my seat, Ethan. These chairs are a bit stiff, aren't they?"
"Annie," Peggy chimed in, leaning forward so her gold sequins caught the light. "I saw that you started that new honors English project. It's a lot of work, isn't it? I was telling Kyson, I hope you're up for it. We wouldn't want a repeat of three years ago where everything just became... too much for you to handle. It would be such a shame to see you drop out again over a little 'stress'."
"She's handling it fine, Peggy," Kia said, her hazel eyes narrowed. She had seen the way Annie's hand was now shaking. "Annie is far more resilient than people give her credit for."
"Of course," Margaret added, her red hair catching the light as she tilted her head. "We all know how Annie loves a bit of a recovery period. It's quite a luxury, really. Mostpeople have to just keep going, regardless of how they feel."
Ethan had had enough. He saw the way Annie was staring at a spot on the tablecloth, her eyes glassy, her body a coiled spring of suppressed pain. To Dylan, she just looked like she was listening politely. To Ethan, she looked like she was drowning in silence.
"Mom," Ethan said, standing up. The movement was sudden enough that it made Peggy jump. "I think the air in here is a bit thin. All these 'concerned' comments are getting a little suffocating."
"Ethan?" Dylan looked up, confused. "What's the matter?"
"The matter, Dylan," Kia said, her elegant voice turning stern as she finally followed her son's gaze to Annie's pained expression, "is that some of our guests seem to think 'subtlety' is a license for cruelty. And I won't have it at this table."
Ethan walked around the table. He didn't ask Vanessa to move- he simply gripped the back of her chair and pulled it six inches away from the table, forcing her foot off Annie.
"The dinner is over for anyone who didn't come here to actually celebrate," Ethan said, looking directly at Kyson and his friends. "Kyson, you can take your 'guests' to the den. Or the curb. I don't care which."
"Ethan, don't be dramatic," Kyson said, though he shifted uncomfortably under his best friend's glare. "We were just talking."
"No," Ethan said, his hand dropping onto Annie's shoulder, feeling the iron-hard tension there. "You were performing. And I'm bored of the show."
Dylan looked at Annie- really looked at her, and saw the way she was biting her lip to keep it from trembling, the way she refused to look at him because she was terrified the mask would break. He looked at Margaret, who was busy smoothing her dress with a look of feigned innocence, and then back at the red mark on the floor where Vanessa's heel had been.
The realization didn't come in a shout, it came in a heavy, sinking silence. Dylan realized his "doting father" routine had been blind to the war being waged in his own home.
"I think Ethan is right," Dylan said, his voice quiet and unexpectedly cold. "Kyson, take your friends elsewhere. Now."
As the three of them grumbled and exited, the room finally seemed to breathe. Ethan didn't go back to his seat. He pulled Annie's chair out and guided her up, away from the table where the barbs had been flying.
"Come on," Ethan whispered. "We're going to get some of that junk food you promised me. Somewhere where the company is actually better."
Annie finally let out a breath, her blue eyes meeting his with a look of profound, silent gratitude. She didn't say anything- she didn't have to. Ethan already knew.