Chapter 84: Who Cares About Their Business?

Everic takes one of the notes. Reads it. His smile widens—soft, almost tender.

"Your handwriting is really cute."

His voice is soft. Intimate. Like they share a secret I’m not meant to hear.

I stare at them.

What the hell is he doing here?

I don’t move. Don’t announce myself. I just stand there, half-hidden by the doorway, watching.

How long has he been here?

How long have they been sitting like this?Talking. Laughing. Sharing notes like old friends.

Everic sets the note down carefully—almost reverently—and looks across the table at Silas. His eyes are warm. Too warm.

Silas writes another note. His pencil moves across the page in careful strokes, each letter formed with the same deliberate patience he brings to everything, even waiting for me to come home.

He slides the note across the table.

Everic picks it up. Reads it. And his smile doesn’t fade. It widens. Deepens.

His eyes crinkle at the corners. He looks down at the note for a long moment before lifting his gaze back to Silas. Something passes between them. Something silent. Something shared.

What did Silas write?

I try to see from where I’m standing, but the words blur at the edge of my vision. The angle is wrong.

Everic leans forward, resting his chin on his palm. His posture is loose, easy, comfortable—like he’s been sitting across from Silas for years instead of minutes.

"What about I take you to the best place for dinner?" His voice is light, almost playful. "I’m sure you’ll like it."

My jaw tightens.

Did Silas ask him to go to dinner?

They’ve been talking about dinner?

Making plans?

While I was upstairs getting dressed for a meeting I never wanted to attend?

Everic leans closer, closing the small distance between them. His voice drops, becomes something conspiratorial, something warm and inviting—the voice you use when you’re trying to convince someone to trust you, to let you in.

"There are so many places in Crystal Country." He speaks slowly, like he’s picturing each one. "Beautiful places. Quiet places. Places with views that will take your breath away."

His eyes stay on Silas—soft, searching, hungry in a way that has nothing to do with food. "You’d love them."

A pause.

"Why don’t you hang out with me sometime?"

He looks down at his plate for a moment. His fork sinks into the omelette with unnecessary force before he pushes the food around his plate without taking a bite.

"I know Ellis isn’t giving you much time." His voice hardens, just a fraction. The change is subtle, but I catch it. "And I don’t like that."

He lifts his gaze again. Meets Silas’s eyes.

"But you can go out with me." Softer now. Gentle. "Share whatever you want with me. Talk to me. Tell me what’s on your mind."

Silas stares back at him.

That soft smile stays on his lips—patient, unreadable, the same smile he gives me every morning when he hands me a glass of milk I never asked for.

He nods. Just once. A small, gentle movement.

He agreed.

My fists clench at my sides. My nails bite into my palms. My mood was already ruined because of this damned meeting. The phone calls. The suit. The tie I refused to wear.

And now—

Now this. Now them.

I take a step back. The sharp click of my shoe against the marble floor cuts through the silence.

Who cares about their business?

Let them have their breakfast. Their notes. Their promises of dinner and beautiful places and quiet conversations.

Let them.

I start to turn away—

"Ellis."

Everic’s voice. Light. Unbothered. Like he’s known I’ve been standing here all along.

My step stops.

He waves lightly—his fingers fluttering in the air like he has all the time in the world, like my presence is nothing more than a pleasant interruption.

His smile is easy. Careless.

"Good morning, my little brother."

I don’t reply. I just stare at him.

Silas turns.

Looks at me.

And his smile brightens.

I don’t look at him.

I walk forward. My footsteps are calm. Measured. Betraying nothing.

Everic’s smile stays fixed on his lips. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t stand. Just watches me approach, his coffee cup cradled in both hands.

Silas stands quickly.

His chair scrapes lightly against the polished marble—a sound too loud in the quiet morning. He walks to me. His footsteps are soft.

He offers me a glass of milk.

The glass catches the morning light. Cold condensation beads along its surface. His fingers curl around it carefully, holding it out like an offering.

I don’t look at it.

I don’t look at him.

My eyes stay forward—fixed on Everic, fixed on the glass wall behind him, fixed on anything that isn’t that glass, that smile, that hopeful, patient face.

I pour myself water instead.

The jug is heavy in my hand. The water pours out in a slow, clear stream, filling the glass to the brim. My movements are deliberate. Calm. I take my time. Let the silence stretch. Let it settle over the room.

I lift it to my lips.

Sip.

The water is tasteless. Clean. Cold. It doesn’t help.

My gaze shifts to Everic.

"What are you doing here?"

Silas stands beside me, blinking. Confused. The milk glass is still in his hand. Still waiting.

Everic leans back in his chair. Calm. Unbothered. He looks up at me, a smile lingering at the corners of his mouth.

"Of course—to pick up my little brother." He tilts his head. "Since he’s not punctual."

I stare at him.

He looks away slowly. A flicker of something crosses his face, there and gone before I can name it.

"Dad sent me."

So he’s wearing lenses.

I sip the water again.

"Is that so."

Everic’s gaze drifts to Silas—still standing beside me, still holding the glass of milk. Still waiting.

His smile returns. Slower this time. More knowing. "This is the second reason, actually."

He tilts his head toward Silas. "The first is Silas." A pause. "I came to see him."

His gaze never leaves Silas.

"You barely visit the mansion. You don’t bring him to meet us." His voice softens. "So I came here."

A beat.

"I missed him."

Silas sets the milk glass on the table. The soft clink echoes through the quiet. He reaches for his notebook. Writes. Tears the page free. And offers it to me.

I don’t look at him.

I don’t take it.

I look away.

The paper hangs in the air between us. His hand doesn’t lower. His fingers don’t loosen. He waits.

Silas’s face changes.

The smile fades—slowly, like a candle being snuffed out from a distance.

He blinks. Once. Then again. Confused. Wounded. Like a child who doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong.

Everic watches us both.

A smirk spreads across his lips—slow, deliberate, savoring. He sips his coffee. Lightly. Lazily. Like watching us is the most entertaining thing he’s done all week.

I step forward.

"Let’s go."

My voice is flat. Cold. Final. The words fall into the silence like stones into deep water—no splash, just the weight of them sinking.

Everic stands. Straightens his coat. Smooths the fabric over his chest with both hands. He looks at Silas—and something softens in his face. Something genuine. Something warm.

"Then I’m going now." A pause. "Let’s finish our talk another time."

Silas nods. Silent. Obedient. His eyes are still on the note in his hand—the one I refused to take.

Everic steps closer to him. His voice drops—becomes something almost tender. Almost private.

"Silas..."

A breath.

"Something is on your lip."

I glance back from the corner of my eye.

Silas blinks. His fingers rise toward his face—

But Everic is faster.

His thumb brushes the corner of Silas’s lower lip, wiping something away. A crumb. A smudge. Something I couldn’t see.

The gesture is unhurried. Deliberate.

Silas’s eyes widen—just a fraction, just a flicker of surprise. His lips part slightly, then close.

Everic smiles.

"See you."

I set my glass on the table. The sound is sharp. A crack in the silence. A warning.

Everic looks at me.

Without turning back, without looking at either of them, I say, "If you’re done meeting with your precious prince—let’s go."

I don’t wait for his answer.

I walk.

The kitchen falls away behind me—the warmth, the light, the smell of coffee and toast and something sweeter. The table. The milk glass. The note still in Silas’s hand.

My footsteps echo on the marble. Each one louder than the last.

What the hell was that?