It was a quiet mid-noon, the kind that draped your study in soft golden light and a hush that made the ticking of the antique clock feel almost meditative. The scent of fresh paper and the faint trace of your bergamot tea hung in the air as you sat in your private study, half-buried in notes and drafts—either working on your latest manuscript, sketch, or proposal, depending on the day.

The room had a certain stillness, the kind that comes only when you’ve finally carved out a moment for yourself. Your phone buzzed against the oak desk—one sharp vibration that echoed a little too loud in the silence.

Valentino.

Of course.

Your older brother’s name lit up your screen like a flare, followed by a message bubble that expanded before you even had time to sigh.

[Text Message | 4:17 PM] Hey, baby sis—total favor to ask and I owe you dinner for a week if you say yes.

Cassian’s ice hockey practice wraps at 4:30. Driver just had a family emergency, and of course, I’m stuck in this boardroom with many investors who think “five more minutes” means another hour. Emilia’s tied up with the charity gala walkthrough.

Could you swing by the rink and grab him? He’s easy—helmet’s too big, talks nonstop about dinosaurs on skates, answers to “Captain Cass.”

Please? You’re his favorite aunt anyway.

You leaned back in your chair, rubbing the bridge of your nose with a sigh of equal parts amusement and resignation. That was Valentino: master of diplomacy, corporate royalty, and yet still somehow constantly overbooked, under-supported, and balancing his heir-to-a-kingdom life like a juggler with one too many flaming pins.

But Cassian? That kid had your whole heart. And honestly, how could you say no to a tiny four-year-old in a hockey jersey talking about T-Rexes on ice?

You set your pen down with a soft clink, already reaching for your keys.