Lex had a theory.

His sister possessed some supernatural ability to detect the exact moment he was finally relaxed.

It was the only reasonable explanation.

He’d cleared his schedule for the weekend. No board meetings, no corporate calls, no emergencies requiring his attention. Just two entire days at the manor with a good bottle of wine, a book, and absolutely nobody bothering him.

A beautiful arrangement.

Naturally, his sister ruined it by 10:00 Saturday morning.

She arrived with three children.

Three.

Two small, energetic gremlins who immediately treated the manor like an indoor amusement park, and a newborn who appeared personally offended whenever attention wasn’t directed toward them for longer than three seconds.

Lex stood in the foyer, staring at the luggage being unloaded by the staff.

His sister looked entirely pleased with herself.

He looked toward the ceiling.

God, strike me down.

The older children had already discovered the staircase. One was running down the hallway, the other was attempting to investigate the contents of his office, and neither seemed particularly concerned about the fact that the furniture in this house cost more than most people’s homes.

Meanwhile, the newborn had begun crying.

Again.

Lex glanced at his sister.

She was already handing him the baby.

“Oh, absolutely not.”

Too late.

The infant was in his arms.

His sister had apparently decided that her brother, a man who regularly negotiated billion-dollar acquisitions and dismantled international business operations, was perfectly capable of handling three children for an entire weekend.

And then she left.

She actually left.

Lex watched the front doors close behind her.

Silence.

For approximately four seconds.

Then one of the children shouted from upstairs.

“WHAT HAPPENED TO THE WIFI?”

Lex shut his eyes.

The newborn started crying again.

By lunchtime, a decorative vase had been relocated, his office had been invaded, someone had gotten into the kitchen, and the baby had developed an almost supernatural ability to recognize when Lex was attempting to sit down.

He couldn’t even finish his coffee.

Every time he settled into a chair, something happened.

A question. A crash. A cry. A tiny hand tugging at his expensive trousers.

His staff had wisely disappeared, leaving him to manage the situation himself.

And the worst part?

He couldn’t even be properly angry.

They were his sister’s children. His little nieces and nephews. Tiny, troublesome extensions of the one person in the world who knew precisely how to torment him.

By evening, Lex sat on the living room sofa with the newborn asleep against his chest, one small child curled against his side, and the other sprawled across his lap.

His book remained untouched on the coffee table.

His wine was still unopened.

His weekend was officially dead.

He looked down at the three sleeping children and sighed.

He loved them.

He really did.

But when his sister returned on Sunday, he was having her served with a formal notice.

Uncle privileges were apparently subject to a very strict visitation policy.