The word "wedding" hit like a jolt, pulling his gaze from his mother to the ever-smiling Avery at her side. Why did she just stand there, beaming in silence? Didn't she realize how out of place it all felt?
When their eyes met, he gave a dismissive shrug and looked away, resolve hardening in his chest. No chance in hell would he let this forced union play out.
"Your father isn't in," Elvira continued, her tone brisk, "but Oliver and Charles are around, if you care to say hello before retiring. And do come down to dinner properly dressed, Lady Beatrice would have your head otherwise, and I'd happily join in."
'Even though you hate her,' Zion thought wryly, biting back the retort. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction.
With a casual shrug, Elvira pivoted on her heels and swept up the stairs, her footsteps fading into the upper halls and leaving Zion alone with Avery in the heavy, awkward quiet.
She shattered it first, her voice light and eager. "Would you like something to eat before heading to bed, Zion?" she asked, fluttering her lashes in what he assumed was meant to be endearing.
If this was her play at sweetness, it fell flat but an iced coffee sounded perfect right then. "Yes," he replied curtly, holding her gaze. "Iced coffee. Two sugars."
"Of course! I know just how you like it!" she chirped, her cheer undimmed.
He offered no response, simply watching as she brushed past him and descended the stairs with a sway in her step.
This was going to be a long day, he mused, turning toward his room with a sigh.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
The knock on his bedroom door drew a frown from Zion. He stood before the full-length mirror, giving his reflection one final scan, from the crisp white suit trousers hugging his legs to the burgundy long-sleeved shirt tucked neatly at the waist. "Dress appropriately," his mother had commanded. He could only hope this struck the right balance for Elvira... and the ever-critical Lady Beatrice.
With a quick pass of his fingers, he swept his dark hair back from his forehead, smoothing it into place. He knew how Elvira despised the wild strands falling across his face—not that he truly cared—but dodging one of her tirades on etiquette, attire, and decorum was the last thing he needed tonight.
The knock sounded again, more insistent. Zion sighed and crossed the room to the heavy wooden door. Whoever it was had likely come to summon him for dinner; he could hardly believe it was already 7 p.m.
Swinging the door open, he found Butler Kai waiting, the old man's face lit with a prim, unmistakable teasing smile.
"By the goddess! You look absolutely stunning, your graciousness," Kai declared, bowing with exaggerated courtesy.
Zion let out a chuckle laced with a sigh. Kai had always possessed that effortless charm—his words and gestures could coax a laugh from anyone, even the formidable Elvira.
"Oh please, Kai. Drop the title—it makes me feel older than I am," he replied.
"Oh! But you are old, young master..." Kai trailed off, his eyes twinkling.
Zion arched a brow in silent question, a cue Kai recognized all too well.
Delighted by the reaction, Kai grinned wider. "I know how that sounds, and yes, it was entirely intentional. Besides, the dowager would have my head on a plate if she ever caught me using your name."
Zion opened his mouth to retort, but Kai pressed on swiftly.
"Speaking of heads, the Luna has tasked me with ushering you to the dining room. Otherwise, yours might be the one rolling. Everyone's already seated and waiting."
Zion suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Of course they were all there, assembled like a jury—the very people he'd rather avoid.
Kai let out a soft sigh, his gaze softening with genuine concern. He'd watched over Zion since the boy's earliest days, always troubled by the tragedies life had heaped upon him. From childhood onward, the young master had endured nothing but suffering, his happiness a fleeting shadow. Kai could see it now, in this rare moment of levity: Zion's true smile, his easy chuckle. With everyone else, he was an impenetrable wall—cold as ice, unyielding as diamond. Kai only wondered when the weight might finally lift.
"Everyone?" Zion echoed, a note of exhaustion creeping into his voice.
"Every single family member," Kai confirmed with a nod. "Come on, young master—we don't want to keep the Luna waiting."
He followed the butler in silence, his steps measured. As they neared the dining room door, a heavy weight settled in his chest, his eyes darkening with resolve. The easy warmth from moments ago evaporated; he slipped back into his familiar armor of cold detachment, an aura that warned others to keep their distance.
He crossed the threshold into the grand, opulently furnished dining room, then paused to take it all in.
Kai hadn't exaggerated. The entire family was assembled. The long rectangular table, polished mahogany gleaming under crystal chandeliers, boasted twelve seats—and eleven were occupied. Zion's gaze landed on the empty one, positioned squarely beside Avery. He swallowed a scowl, knowing full well this was his mother's calculated touch.
"Brother!" Charles called out—the youngest Ashcroft son and Zion's second-younger sibling—his voice brimming with genuine excitement.
The outburst hushed the room instantly. Every head turned toward the doorway, where Zion stood framed in the light, hands casually tucked into his pockets.
He held still under their scrutiny, letting them absorb his presence. For a fleeting moment, he wished he could vanish entirely, escape the suffocating attention and be left in peace.
At last, his father broke the tension. "Come, son—join us," Zachary called, a warm smile softening his features.
With a quiet sigh, Zion started toward the crowded table.
"Your hands out of your pockets now, young man. Do you have not an iota of respect for the elders at the table?" The sharp, antagonistic voice cut through the air, belonging to Lady Beatrice—his grandmother, widow of the late Leonard Ashcroft.
He offered no retort, simply withdrawing his hands and giving a brief, courteous nod. He continued to the room's sole empty chair, positioned awkwardly between Avery and his cousin Genevieve.
As he drew out the seat, Genevieve's warm brown eyes lifted to meet his, her rosy lips curving into a playful, teasing smile. For an instant, he caught a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
Settling into the chair, he averted his gaze from her and delivered a terse nod to the assembled faces around the table.
"Now, now, Mother, do take it easy on the boy," Elvira interjected smoothly. "You don't always have to be so hard on him."
He blinked in mild surprise at his mother's defense, though it quickly made sense: when it came to Lady Beatrice, Elvira would champion anyone just to needle the older woman.
Lady Beatrice let out a disdainful scoff, her chin lifting haughtily as she turned toward her son, Zachary.
Zion's attention shifted to the lavish spread before them, the finest cuts of meat, tender chicken and succulent pork, fluffy rice and hearty barley, rich soups and savory sauces, creamy mashed potatoes, and perfectly steamed cabbages. Bottles of premium wine stood at key intervals along the table, their labels gleaming under the chandelier light. Each place setting was meticulously arranged with a pristine plate and all the necessary silverware.
"This is bigger than the normal family dinner I expected," Theodore remarked next—Elvira's younger brother and Zion's favorite among his uncles for his knack at easing tense moments.
"Yes, Aunt," Genevieve chimed in, her voice soft and curious. "Are we celebrating something?"
Murmurs rippled around the table. He stayed silent, signaling a maid to fill his glass with red wine before taking a measured sip.
"Yes. The return of the golden son," came a biting voice.
He might have let it slide, but the venom in the tone drew his gaze toward the speaker. He recognized his younger brother Oliver's timbre from afar; he didn't say anything, he just needed to see the resentment etched on his face.
"Ashcroft's favorite son has returned," Oliver pressed on, his words dripping with sarcasm. "We ought to celebrate. So that's what we're doing."
The table fell into an uncomfortable hush once more. He pondered a sharp comeback, well aware of Oliver's longstanding jealousy though he decided to let it go. He'd quietly hoped his brother would outgrow the pettiness, but clearly, that hadn't happened.
Lady Eleanor cleared her throat, breaking the strain with a wide, sincere smile. She lifted her glass, turning to each family member in turn. "Now, now, everyone. We're gathered as a family, whether for celebration or not. Let's enjoy each other's company in peace and harmony. It's been ages since we've all been together like this—since my late brother's burial, it's been nearly impossible to unite us. But we're here now; let's make the most of it. Am I right, Elvira?"
He nearly smirked at how deftly Lady Eleanor had steered the conversation toward his mother. His eyes flicked from his grandaunt to Elvira.
"Of course..." Elvira cleared her throat, recovering from a near-choke on her wine due to the unexpected pivot. She straightened in her seat, chin lifting—a subtle signal that she held the reins, as always. "We are certainly a family. And I've gathered everyone today for a very special reason."