The Dastin mansion was silent, the kind of silence that pressed on the walls and made every sound feel too loud. The dining hall gleamed with sterile perfection , marble floors, towering windows, a chandelier that never swayed.
Lucien stood beside his stepmother, hands clasped behind his back, eyes locked on a crack in the floor. Across from them, his father sat with a stiff posture, his expression cold and blank, Hunter beside him, his expression calm and unreadable.
Another family meeting.
Or as Lucien always called it ,"the spewing of nonsense things."
Traditions. That's what his father loved most. Traditions, appearances, and rules carved from old dust. Omegas stood. Alphas sat. Always. It was an act of showing dominance , to show which one were more powerful ,
He could feel his legs ache from standing, but he didn't move. He wouldn't give his father that satisfaction.
