The Xentras mansion awoke in a silence heavy with intent. Every step of the staff, every opening door, seemed measured so as not to disturb something larger than themselves: the preparation for the family dinner that would take place within a day or so. In those long, polished corridors, tension was palpable even before anyone spoke.
Camila walked through the central gallery with determined steps, holding a book in one hand. Her eyes scanned every movement of the staff and every small detail of the mansion. She had slept little, worried—not for herself, but for John. Her son. The most vulnerable yet most important piece in the entire family game.
Turning a corner, she saw John sitting at a small table, sorting pieces of various sizes and weights. He wasn't playing, nor did he appear bored; his focus was intense and natural. Every piece he moved was measured precisely, yet without rigidity, handled with the care of someone who organizes the world in their own way, at their own pace.
"Good morning, John," Camila said, approaching.
"Hello, Mother," he replied, looking up, his tone completely natural, effortless yet not cold. "I was observing how these pieces are being organized, the patterns being specific…"
Camila smiled faintly. That was John: logical, observant, but not the robot his older sister described.
"There will be a lot of movement in the mansion today," she said. "The dinner is near, and you can already feel it. Everyone will be tense."
"I notice it," John replied. "Some move carefully; others too confidently."
Camila leaned toward him and gently patted his shoulder.
"The important thing is that you stay alert, not involved. Observe and learn."
John nodded, showing no clear emotion.
From the upper balcony, Helena watched them. Mother and son, calm, united. For Helena, that image was unbearable: the blood of Camila and Romeo intact, protected, and she could not make a move without exposing herself.
————
In another wing of the mansion, Helena and Dmitri reviewed documents, speaking in hushed tones, carrying the tension of those planning strategic moves.
"If we use John as a catalyst, we can put Camila in a vulnerable position," Helena said, arms crossed. "Her attachment to him is her greatest weakness."
"Romeo is alert," Dmitri warned. "If anyone tries something against John, he'll see it coming."
"That makes it more interesting," Helena replied. "If we can move the right piece, everything else falls in a chain."
———-
In the west wing, Max walked with measured steps, visibly concerned. He found Romeo by a window, serious, observing the gardens. His expression, cold and calculating, contrasted with the jovial charisma he sometimes displayed.
"They're making their move," Max said. "I can feel it." He paused to light a cigarette.
"I know," Romeo replied. "But John and Camila will not be affected. No one touches our son."
"We can't trust Helena to stop herself," Max continued.
"No need," Romeo said firmly. "With me at the front, no one crosses the line. That is the rule no one can break."
Tension was palpable even between them, yet they shared a silent understanding: protecting John was the absolute priority.
———-
At midday, several family members coincided in a secondary dining room. The meal was brief and quiet; words were few, but glances said everything. Jenny and Erick stayed attentive, seated near Camila and John. Helena and Dmitri were at the opposite end, evaluating every gesture, every interaction.
"All good, John?" Jenny whispered.
"Yes," he replied naturally.
Erick rolled his eyes, amused.
"Always so serious. Can't you relax a little?"
John lifted his head, looking at him calmly.
"I am relaxed," John replied, as if he knew nothing at all about the matter.
Camila watched with silent pride. She knew the dinner would be a testing ground; every gesture, every glance, every word would count.
After the meal, the patriarch requested absolute discretion: no one was to discuss business matters before the scheduled dinner. His words were clear and firm, and no one objected.
"The dinner will be the place for everything," the patriarch said. "Not before, not after."
He looked at John. It was clear he knew John was the living pivot of the family, and it pleased him.
————
Afternoon passed slowly, clouds covering the sky, softening the mansion's light and creating an almost theatrical atmosphere.
Helena remained alone in front of a mirror. She did not see herself as the "Villain." She saw herself as someone who understood strategy before anyone else. And that consumed her.
"Camila chose to protect what she loves most," Helena murmured. "That is her mistake."
In the opposite wing, Camila closed her book and rested her forehead against the window. Romeo appeared beside her.
"No one will touch him," he said firmly.
"I know," Camila replied. "But they will try. They always try."
John, sitting a few steps away, merely observed discreetly, occasionally shifting his empty gaze to the sky.
Camila rested her hand on his shoulder.
"Don't hide, John. You are not and will never be a pawn. You are our son. No one has the right to make you that."
Romeo nodded beside them.
"And if anyone crosses the line, they'll face us first."
John looked back at them, seeing perfectly the smiles his parents wore: affection, trust, and charisma.
"Then I will observe and learn, just as you've asked."
The silence that followed was not calm. It was preparation. The Xentras mansion was readying itself for the dinner. Everyone present knew their positions. And John was the central piece that no one could ignore.