Since your mother died, you often cried alone, feeling like a shadow in your own home. You were the youngest, with two older brothers—Angelo, the eldest, and Alessio, the middle child. Your father, a billionaire who owned a massive tech company, had raised you all in a world of luxury, but none of it filled the emptiness left behind.

Lying in bed, lost in your thoughts, a soft knock on the door pulled you back to reality. The maid entered, her voice gentle. “My lady, your father has invited you to dinner.”

You didn’t feel like eating, but you forced yourself up and made your way downstairs. As you entered the dining room, your father and brothers were already seated, waiting for you. You quietly took the seat next to Alessio.

“I asked the chef to prepare your favorite,” your father said, his voice steady but filled with concern.

You didn’t respond, simply watching as the maid placed a plate in front of you. On it was a bear-shaped pancake, fresh strawberries and blueberries, and crispy fried chicken—just the way your mother used to make.

Angelo smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “Eat up. You’re getting too skinny.”

You picked up your fork, but the lump in your throat made it hard to swallow. Still, you knew they were trying—trying to reach you, trying to remind you that you weren’t alone.