"Damn it…"
Frostveil Father Voice filled the conference room like a crack of static through silence. It was heavier when quiet—each pause between words a held breath of control.
"Why," he said, "are my stocks collapsing all of a sudden? Find the reason. Now."
His secretary, already standing, flipped open a portfolio with trembling fingers. "Sir, it appears Doctor Marsh from CRC has discovered a method to restore soil fertility. He's uploaded the entire research plan onto ChooseRightChemist.com. The method will drastically increase the growing date of Punchin fruits. If farmers adopt it, Punchin fruits will flood every market."
Frostveil Father stare hardened.
The secretary continued, faltering only once. "Our profit depends on scarcity, sir. Once it's common, no one will buy from us. Investors know this—so they're selling your shares before the crash settles."
Frostveil Father leaned back, eyes narrowing. "And your solutions?"
"There are two rough choices." The man swallowed. "One, we sell all our shares immediately to uninformed buyers. That stops further loss but will never restore your original peak. Two…" He hesitated long enough to feel sweat running down his temple. "...we stop Doctor Marsh."
The secretary's next words came low. "Either we make him withdraw the experiment… or we remove him completely."
Boss looked toward the glass window, where rain streaks clung like veins. "You already know my answer."
The man nodded once, relief and horror warring in the same gesture. The order needed no repetition.
---
Evening spilled over Arinthal village in the slow amber of settling heat. The air trembled—the same simmering warmth held since morning—but shadows began to stretch across the roads.
Sovey sat in the back of the family car, the world flickering through tinted glass. Ashen and Frostveil chatted beside her, their laughter thin and effortless.
They passed the open marketplace at the edge of the main road. There, under the long shadow of a broken streetlight, sat a figure—a small girl, hair matted, hands cupped around a dented metal bowl. The coins inside barely made a sound when wind skimmed the surface.
Sovey leaned forward, knocking on the seat. "Driver. Stop."
Brakes hissed.
She stepped out of the car, folding her arms. "You," she said, voice part amusement, part disgust. "You beg after coming to my house to play? You collect coins after eating my food?"
The girl looked up, throat dry, eyes too wide to form reply.
"I can't have a beggar playing in my home," Sovey said. "Don't come tomorrow—or ever. We don't know each other anymore."
She laughed once, a high brittle sound, then kicked the metal bowl. Coins scattered across the pavement, spinning before vanishing under wheels.
Ashen watched through the window without expression. Frostveil turned away.
When Sovey slipped back into the car, her smile remained. The vehicle glided onward, leaving behind clinking sounds fading into the hum of evening traffic.
---
At the mansion, Sovey's mood still shimmered with mischief. Night had cooled the house into a quiet comfort.
"Frostveil," she said as they entered, "stay tonight. Our rooms are wide enough for three."
Frostveil shook her head gently. "Maybe another time. My father wants me home early today."
"Alright then." Sovey's tone turned soft. "Tomorrow, same time."
The moment Frostveil left through the corridor door, Sovey caught Ashen's sleeve and tugged him along. "Come on," she said, half running into the marble hall. "Let's go in. It's too quiet out here."
They moved through the wide dining space where golden lamps glowed under suspended glass. Dinner with the family followed its usual rhythm—short words, practiced politeness. Plates clinked, conversation never rose above civility.
Later, they left together, slipping from routine into the upper hall. Their shared room waited, immense, air thick with faint perfume of dried flowers.
Sovey collapsed onto her bed, pulled a sheet across her arm, and exhaled. "Good night," she murmured without opening her eyes.
But seconds passed with no response.
She turned her head. Ashen sat on the opposite bed, staring at her with something unreadable—still enough to unsettle.
"What?" she asked.
He hesitated before answering. "Sovey… I like you."
The words, heavy and raw, lingered in the air.
Her breath caught. "Ashen, we're blood related," she said after a long pause, tone colder. "That isn't—"
"I don't care," he interrupted. "I don't care if we are."
The reaction came swiftly. Her palm struck his cheek with a sound that cut through stillness. "But I do."
He didn't answer. Color drained from his face.
She turned away, blanket pulled higher. Her voice, quieter now, carried something like exhaustion. "Tomorrow, I'll ask Father for separate rooms."
Neither spoke again. The night stretched in fractured silence.
---
Dawn scattered thin light through the garden trees. Humidity crawled through air heavy with cicada hum.
The usual laughter of children gathered once more outside Sovey's mansion. Chalk‑scribbled boxes lined the courtyard ground. Yet two absences shadowed the morning—James, gone since yesterday, and the boy who had defied Sovey. Their houses stood silent, shutters closed. Whispers passed among the players. Even the smaller ones seemed to understand: absence wasn't random anymore. Entire families were gone.
Another absence joined them—Ashen had not come out.
Still, routine continued. The blindfold was tied; pebbles were readied.
When the rock landed on Frostveil's name, the children clapped. "Frostveil is king today!"
Sovey stepped forward. "No," she said flatly.
Frostveil blinked. "What do you mean, no?"
"Guards," Sovey commanded, "remove her."
The older men near the doorway paused. "Miss Sovey," one said, cautious. "She's the daughter of your father's friend. Their rank equals his."
A small smile touched her lips. "Not for long. Her father's business is dying. Soon enough, they'll know what the ground feels like. Consider this practice. Now obey, or I'll replace you too."
The guards exchanged a look and advanced. Frostveil stepped back, outrage and disbelief clashing in her tone. "You'll pay for this, Sovey."
Her words barely carried before hands pushed her out through the open gate. The rest watched without daring to move.
When silence returned, Sovey faced them again. "Let's continue. Blindfold Aralan."
He obeyed, muttering only once before throwing the rock. It landed, as luck turned cruel, on the box with his own name.
A flicker of joy surged through him. "I'll be the king today!"
Sovey's reply came without pause. "No, you will not. Guards, throw him out as well. Frostveil at least was rich once. You've always been garbage. Letting you be king would defile the word itself. From now on, there's no need for blindfolds—I'll be king every day."
Something inside Aralan snapped. "Enough of your nonsense." He stepped forward and slapped her.
Gasps tore through the yard.
The reaction was immediate. The guards rushed, catching Aralan by the arms before the stunned expression on Sovey's face even shifted.
Tears welled instantly, forcing through rage. "Cut his arm. Now. Tomorrow, kill his family before him. Then kill him."
They hesitated only as long as it took to process the words.
The scream that followed was short.
Aralan left the courtyard stumbling, crimson trailing in dirt, one arm hanging limp against his body. His face had turned the color of dry clay.
And Sovey, wiping her tears, composed herself. "Now," she said, "resume the play."
The others did. For fear, not joy. The game finished quietly. At sunset, they dispersed, glancing back only once at the mansion they had stopped calling home in their minds.
---
Evening again—beyond the children's world, voices rose inside the mansion walls.
Mr. Jerry and his brother stood across the table, the distance between them wider than the room. Servants waited outside, motionless under the weight of muffled anger.
Words turned quickly into shouts.
"I still own sixty‑seven percent of this mansion and the beer store under it," Jerry thundered. "If you want your division, you'll lose sixty seven percent land and all the main floor. I'll not share what's mine."
His brother's tone trembled, not from fear but exhaustion. "Division was never the issue. You accuse my son of desiring your daughter. It's your paranoia tearing this family apart."
Jerry's eyes flared. "He confessed, didn't he? You think I don't know what happens under my roof?"
"I'll not beg reason from you," his brother said evenly. "You've left no space for dignity or sense. We're leaving for Elixisied tonight—my wife, my son, and I."
Jerry slammed a fist against the table. "Fine. Take your share in money. Thirty‑three percent—nothing more. And don't step into this house again. From today, the mansion and our beer business underneath the mansion is mine, entirely mine."
His brother straightened his posture, expression smoothing into distance. "Replying further," he said softly, "would suggest my time is worth you."
He left without another word.
Someone slammed the door behind him. The noise echoed like a verdict through the wide halls—sharp, final.
---
Inside her room, Sovey sat at her desk, watching fireflies flicker against the glass pane. She could faintly hear the echo of her father's shouting. For once, it didn't irritate her. The world felt rearranged—something in it had shifted toward her favor, though she couldn't name what it was.
In another room, Ashen packed in silence beside his mother. Their father's voice still carried through the floorboards.
And Ashen and his family left .