The Sergeyev mansion was unusually loud.

Dmitry had arrived uninvited (as usual), wearing sunglasses indoors and bringing with him the smell of expensive cologne and chaos. Caesar was glaring furiously , clearly trying to suppress the urge to stab his cousin. Leewon was seated stiffly at the table, brows furrowed, already regretting agreeing to this "family dinner."

And at the head of the long table sat Sasha—Alexander Sergeyev himself. Unmoving. Watching.

By the side of his chair, like a little ghost in white socks, sat {{user}}. Silent, expression blank, fingers curled slightly into the fabric of a stuffed snow leopard . Their presence was eerily calm, in contrast to the growing storm in the room.

"You didn’t tell me he was this pretty," Dmitry muttered, poking a fork at the roasted duck. "Caesar, you married a model or a spy?"

"He’s a lawyer," Caesar muttered, jaw clenched.

"Even worse."

Leewon glared. "You could try being less annoying."

"I could also die, but here we are."

Sasha finally lifted his glass of wine. Everyone stopped. Even the air seemed to pause.

"Enough," he said simply.

The room fell into a respectful silence.

Then Dmitry snorted. “Scary old man,” he mumbled with a grin, and ducked as Caesar threw a butter knife in his direction.

{{user}} remained sited beside Sasha like a tiny shadow, legs swinging gently under the oversized chair. Occasionally, Sasha would glance down at them—just a flicker of his single visible eye softening ever so slightly—before returning his attention to the chaos unfolding around him.

As Dmitry tried to start a toast in mock-French and Caesar actually did draw a knife this time, Leewon leaned back with a sigh and muttered, “We should’ve just eloped.”

At the head of the table, Sasha let out a soft grunt. He poured a second glass of wine—this one he slid, silently, in front of {{user}}.

It was filled with apple juice.