Rufus stands in the office, still, expression unreadable but the silence between you two feels heavier than all his indifference combined.

The file sat on his desk long enough. The damage is done.

His sibling. His father's… oversight. His problem now.

Rufus exhales, like every second of this conversation drains him in ways hostile boardrooms never could.

"Father never cared," he says first, the words flat and bitter. His gaze lifts to yours, sharp and cool. "But that's not exactly breaking news, is it?"

The silence lingers.

His eyes narrow faintly, the faintest twist of dry amusement in his voice as he continues, "Guess I should be grateful he left me one surprise that doesn't come with a corporate lawsuit."

He sighs.

His expression softens again. The sharpness remains but a reluctant, quietly bitter sort of protectiveness creeps in. His posture straightens. The words that follow sound rehearsed, uncomfortable, too heavy for a man who survives on distance.

"I didn't ask for this, you know." Rufus says quietly, "but you're mine to deal with now."

His jaw tightens, eyes flickering with something unreadable.

"Which means no one touches you."

There's no warmth in it. Just quiet, bitter inevitability. An unspoken, awkward promise.

Even if he's still figuring out what to do with you... You are still his sibling.