"Have you already decided to rebel against your elders?"
The voice belonged to an elderly man, calm yet heavy with authority, echoing through the study. He sat behind an expansive wooden desk, his posture straight despite his age. Most of his hair had turned white, though a few dark strands still remained, and fine wrinkles traced his face—but none of it diminished the air of command surrounding him. In his youth, he must have been undeniably handsome.
Valerian stood before him. His father stood slightly behind, silent.
"What do you think you'll gain by being with that boy?" the old man continued. When Valerian didn't respond, his tone sharpened.
"Look at him carefully. What does he have?"
"He can never give you an heir."
Valerian met his gaze, his expression distant—almost numb. He had heard these words too many times to count. Expecting acceptance from this family had long since become pointless.
"I already told Dad," Valerian said evenly. "If it's not him, then it's no one."
The room fell quiet.
"You can force me today," he went on. "Maybe tomorrow. Maybe even the day after that." His eyes lifted, steady and unyielding.
"But how long do you think you can keep doing this, Grandfather?"
His father frowned sharply.
"Valerian! Watch your tone—"
Valerian didn't even glance at him.
"As long as you don't cross my bottom line," he continued calmly, "I won't hold anything against you."
That was when his grandfather laughed—low, deliberate, and cold.
"You will get engaged," he said. "And I will make sure of it."
He leaned back slightly.
"Just as you said—I can force you today. Tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow. And that's exactly what I'll do."
Valerian's eyes darkened, but his voice remained composed.
"You can force me today," he said quietly. "But today won't last forever."
The old man scoffed.
"And what if that boy doesn't even love you?"
For the first time, Valerian paused.
"It's none of your business," he said at last, his voice heavier than before.
He turned toward the door.
"Don't corner yourselves so badly," he added without looking back, "that you leave no path open for the future—when you decide you want one."
His hand was already on the door handle when his grandfather spoke again.
"Do you think Eiran will still want you," he asked calmly, "after you get engaged to his own cousin?"
Valerian's fingers tightened.
Just for a moment, his hand trembled—barely noticeable. He steadied himself almost immediately and left without another word.
The door closed.
The main branch of the Delaire family consisted of only three people:
Lionel Delaire, his grandfather—unyielding to the bone;
Rowan Delaire, his father-concerned only with business;
and Valerian Delaire.
He knew them better than anyone else—and that knowledge weighed heavily on him.
Rowan stared at it for several seconds.
"Father, he—"
"He trusts that jinx far too much," the old man interrupted.
He looked down at the cane in his hand, slowly rubbing his thumb along its polished surface.
"Do whatever it takes, Rowan. Break that trust. Once it shatters, he'll wake up from his fairytale."
Rowan clenched his fists. Hesitation flickered across his face.
"He's my son," he said quietly. "I don't think we should be this harsh."
His father looked at him—cold, unwavering.
"You and I both married for business. Why should he be any different?"
He stood up.
"And if he refuses..."
His voice lowered.
"I'll change the successor named in my will."
Rowan lowered his head. After a long silence, he spoke.
"I understand, Father."
________________________________________________________________________________
Two days later, it was finally time to leave for their exam center.
They decided to go a day early—to study together, clear doubts, and ease the pressure.
He wore a simple light brown t-shirt and white pants. He didn't fuss over his hair, letting it fall naturally as always.
And yet... there was an effortless grace to him, a quiet kind of beauty that lingered even in simplicity.
As Eiran finished packing his books into a medium-sized suitcase, his mother called him.
"I'm heading out now," he said. "Vale's already waiting downstairs."
"Call me once you reach there, okay?" her gentle voice came through the phone.
"I will, Mom. Don't worry."
"I'll try to finish my work early. Take care of yourself-and Vale."
Eiran smiled softly.
"I'll take good care of your Vale. May I go now, ma'am?"
She laughed.
"This brat... fine. Go."
"Bye, Mom. Take care."
________________________________________________________________________________
Valerian leaned back against the seat, eyes closed. The faint crease between his brows hadn't smoothed out, even in rest.
He looked tired.
"Didn't sleep well?" Eiran asked, keeping his voice low—as if speaking louder might break him.
Valerian stirred. His fox-like eyes opened halfway, unfocused, heavy with exhaustion.
"Stay with me."
That was all.
No explanation. No demand.
He reached out, took Eiran's hand, and placed it over his chest. Warm. Steady. Alive. His thumb brushed over Eiran's knuckles in a slow, absent motion—unthinking, instinctive.
Eiran turned his face away.
How unfair, he thought. To look at me like that. To trust me like this. As if the world had never taught him what it meant to lose.
His heartbeat betrayed him—skipping, stuttering—caught between relief and fear. Between wanting to stay like this forever and knowing nothing this gentle was ever meant to last.
You don't even know, Eiran thought bitterly. How easily you undo me.
His every expression, every word, had a strange, undeniable effect on him.
And that face alone was enough to make him weak. He had no idea how he would survive the next few hours—let alone until the exam.
Sometimes, Valerian was so easy to read it almost scared him—but in the very next moment, he became a complete mystery.
Unbelievably unpredictable.
Valerian's breathing evened out again, soft and steady, sleep reclaiming him without permission.
And just like that, he drifted off—
leaving Eiran awake, holding a weight that felt far too much like love.
________________________________________________________________________________
It took almost two hours to reach their destination—they were going to stay in a hotel near the exam center. The area wasn't exactly remote, but it wasn't bustling either. Still, the hotel itself was huge and luxurious.
Just right—quiet and peaceful.
His room number was 372, right beside Valerian's.
As he started unpacking his books, his phone buzzed. A message from Kael.
Kael: Ran! You won't believe what I just found.
Kael: Where are you right now?
The first message had been sent five minutes ago, the second just now.
Ran: What is it? Why the rush?
Kael: Remember those girls at the restaurant? The ones gushing about tall, handsome guys?
Ran: Yeah...?
Kael: Well, I did some digging. That name they kept mentioning? I think I know who it is.
Ran: ...And?
Kael: They're talking about some Aurexiel boy. State-level basketball player, apparently. Big deal.
Eiran raised an eyebrow, half-amused. Could Kael really still be obsessing over this?
Ran: Uh-huh... what does that have to do with me?
Kael: Nothing... except that this boy? Isn't he the one who bought your very first painting? The one you were thinking of reclaiming?
Eiran's fingers paused over his books. His first auctioned painting... bought by someone from the Aurelian family. He remembered how Valerian had been furious back then—he wanted to be the first to own one of Eiran's works. Later, he had discovered it was the young master himself: Saelior Aurexiel.
Reclaiming it? Never crossed his mind—it would have been too unprofessional.
In fact, he was glad—someone actually understood his painting, and admired it.
If it had been Valerian who bought it, it wouldn't have been for the painting itself, but for him. And that was exactly what he didn't want. He wanted people to appreciate him for his work... nothing more.
Ran: Oh... right. Forgot about that. Go study, tomorrow's the exam.
Kael: You're no fun.
Ran: Bye.
Eiran set his phone on the bedside table and closed his eyes, letting thoughts drift.
Saelior Aurexiel...
Hm... the name had a kind of strange, quiet beauty to it.