The morning sun filtered gently through the tall glass windows of the Vele mansion, spreading a soft golden light across the marble floors. The faint sound of laughter and footsteps echoed from upstairs — a child's giggle, followed by a woman's hurried voice.
"Be careful, Ian! Don't run near the stairs!" Penila, Andrew's sister-in-law, called out as she rushed after the little boy.
The four-year-old only laughed harder, his tiny feet pattering against the floor as he escaped down the hallway. His grandmother, Mrs. Vele, appeared from the opposite side, her elegant robe trailing behind her.
"Penila, you'll wear yourself out," she said with a small chuckle, scooping Ian up before he could fall. "You need eyes on every side of your head to handle this one."
Penila sighed with relief and smiled. "He has too much energy, Mama. Just like his uncle when he was young."
Mrs. Vele smiled faintly, but the mention of Andrew brought a visible heaviness to her face one that didn't go unnoticed by her husband, Mr. Vele, who was seated at the long mahogany dining table with his newspaper spread out before him.
"Speaking of Andrew," he began, lowering his glasses and folding the paper, "I've been thinking it's time I visit him at the office."
The room grew still. Penila looked up from serving breakfast. "Visit him? Why, Father?"
Mr. Vele leaned back, his expression stern but calm. "Because my son is forgetting his duties. He may run Vel's Corporation, but he seems to have forgotten what the name Vele stands for. It's not just about money — it's about legacy."
Mrs. Vele frowned softly. "Dear, Andrew has been through a lot. You know how hard it's been since—"
"Since Vanessa left?" Mr. Vele cut in sharply. "Yes, I know. But it's been two years, Amalia. Two years of pity and silence. He can't bury himself in work forever."
Penila exchanged a cautious glance with her mother-in-law. They all knew how much Andrew's breakup had affected him — how it had hardened him, how it made him cold even toward his family.
"I spoke to him last week," Penila said quietly. "He sounded... tired. Maybe what he needs is time, not pressure."
Mr. Vele's eyes narrowed. "What he needs is a wife and an heir. This family cannot continue without one."
Mrs. Vele's face tightened. "He will settle down when he's ready."
"And when will that be?" Mr. Vele's voice rose slightly, his patience thinning. "When he's fifty? When the company's board starts questioning his decisions? The shareholders already talk they think he's distracted. And they're not wrong."
He stood, walking slowly toward the tall window that overlooked the estate gardens. His reflection glimmered faintly against the glass.
"I built Vel's Corporation from the ground up," he continued, his tone quieter but heavier. "And one day it will be his but only if he proves worthy of it. If he keeps losing focus, he'll lose everything."
Mrs. Vele rose gently from her chair, her voice steady but firm. "You sound like you've already lost faith in your own son."
Mr. Vele turned, his gaze softening for the briefest second. "I haven't lost faith. But faith without action is wasted."
A moment of silence passed. Only Ian's small voice broke through it, tugging at his mother's sleeve.
"Mama, can I go play outside?"
Penila smiled faintly, brushing his hair. "Yes, but stay where I can see you."
When the boy ran off, Mrs. Vele sighed and sat back down. "You'll only push him away if you confront him with anger," she said quietly. "He's not a boy anymore, dear. He's a man carrying too much."
Mr. Vele didn't respond. Instead, he picked up his cup of coffee, his eyes distant.
Then, as if making a decision within himself, he said, "Still, I'll visit him tomorrow. Maybe he's forgotten what responsibility truly means. If his brother won't talk sense into him, then I will."
Penila glanced at him nervously. "Father, please don't be too hard on him. Andrew respects you, but he's not in a good place right now. You might make things worse."
He gave a low hum. "Sometimes, to save a man, you must first shake him."
Mrs. Vele met his gaze with quiet worry. "And what if shaking him breaks him?"
Mr. Vele said nothing. The only sound was the soft ticking of the antique clock on the wall.
..........
Later that afternoon, after the tension had eased, Mrs. Vele stood alone in the garden, pruning her roses. She thought of her eldest son — how cold he'd become, how rarely he called. She wondered if the rumors she'd heard — about him working late nights with a young woman at the office — were true.
Perhaps, she thought, there's still hope for him after all.
Back inside, Mr. Vele was in his study, looking over the old family portrait that hung on the wall — himself, his wife, his two sons, and Andrew standing tall beside them, smiling faintly. It was a smile he hadn't seen in years.
He set the frame down with a sigh. "Andrew, my boy," he murmured, "don't make me come and fix what's already yours."