She hadn’t taken offense to his coldness.
She had understood it as exhaustion.
She was looking out for his health.
“I…” Arian’s voice rasped slightly before he cleared his throat, forcing his tone back into a semblance of executive composure, though the slight tremble in his fingers as he picked up his chopsticks betrayed him entirely.
“Your logic is sound, Celeste. I will… I will adjust my evening caffeine intake accordingly. Thank you.”
He immediately picked up a piece of asparagus and ate it, chewing with an intensity that suggested it was the most important meal of his corporate career.
Before the table could recover from the sight of the icy twin blushing, Celeste’s chopsticks shifted target.
She selected two massive, sizzling, garlic-crusted lamb ribs, golden-brown, dripping with savory juices, and dusted with cumin and chili flakes, and transferred them onto a heavy ceramic plate, sliding them across the table until they came to a rest directly in front of eighteen-year-old Sebastian.
“Second Brother,” Celeste said, turning her dark eyes upon the rebellious racer.
She had noted his muscular build, his restless energy, and the slight calluses on his palms that came from gripping high-tensile steering wheels and mechanical torque wrenches.
“You stated earlier that your daily operations revolve around high-speed mechanical garages and competitive gaming rigs. Both disciplines require intense neuromuscular coordination and rapid physical recovery. White rice and dinner rolls lack the necessary amino acids for muscle repair. Eat the lamb ribs.”
She paused, her lips curving into a faint, challenging smirk that made her look like a cocky, untouchable underground street racing sovereign.
“You will need the grip strength and reaction velocity if you ever intend to challenge my lap times on a circuit.”
Sebastian’s breath hitched in his throat.
He stared at the mountain of sizzling, garlic-scented lamb ribs, which happened to be his absolute favorite dish on the entire menu, and then looked up at his sister’s challenging, smirking face.
‘How does she know I like garlic ribs?!
And did she just challenge me to a race?!
Is this girl actually a gearhead?!’
His face turned the color of a ripe tomato.
He aggressively shoved his hands out of his pockets, grabbing his chopsticks with awkward, clumsy haste as he scowled down at the plate to hide his massive, irrepressible grin.
“Who… who says I need grip strength to beat a girl who just got back from boarding school?!” Sebastian stammered out, his voice cracking an octave as he stabbed a lamb rib with his chopsticks and shoved it toward his mouth.
“You’re talkin’ big, Sister! But fine! I’ll eat the ribs! And tomorrow morning, I’m taking you down to the south garage! If you don’t know the difference between a twin-turbo and a supercharger, I’m never letting you live it down!”
Despite his aggressive words, he tore into the lamb ribs with the ferocious, happy appetite of a starving wolf, his tail metaphorically wagging so hard the entire chair seemed to vibrate.
Finally, Celeste turned her attention to the sixteen-year-old scholar sitting beside Sebastian.
She rotated the Lazy Susan one final time, stopping the dish of honey-glazed organic walnuts and a steaming, fragrant bowl of egg custard infused with brain-nourishing wolfberries directly in front of Lucas.
“Third Brother,” Celeste said, her tone dropping into a calm, analytical frequency designed to resonate with an academic mind.
She had observed the heavy medical textbook he carried, the slight optical indentation on the bridge of his nose from his glasses, and the nervous, rhythmic tapping of his fingers that indicated high-level cognitive overstimulation.
“Advanced biomedical memorization and surgical theory require sustained phospholipid synthesis and omega-3 fatty acid intake to maintain neuro-plasticity. If we are to honor our agreement regarding no loud noises after ten p.m., your neural pathways must be properly nourished so your REM sleep cycle remains uninterrupted. Eat the walnuts and the custard.”
Lucas sat completely paralyzed for four seconds. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
The young scholar pushed his silver-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose with a finger that was visibly trembling.
Behind the lenses, his eyes were shining with a bright, incandescent glow of pure scientific worship.
“A… an accurate biochemical assessment of synaptic fatigue,” Lucas breathed out, his voice filled with profound, clinical awe.
He looked at Celeste not as a stranger or an uneducated sibling, but as a peer reviewing a doctoral dissertation.
“Your understanding of neuro-nutrition and lipid metabolism is remarkably pragmatic, Eldest Sister. Most laypeople assume simple glucose is sufficient for cognitive study, ignoring the structural demands of the phospholipid bilayer! I… I accept your dietary hypothesis. I will consume the lipids immediately to optimize my evening retention rates.”
With absolute, surgical precision, Lucas picked up his porcelain spoon and began consuming the egg custard and walnuts with a methodical, reverent efficiency that would have made a laboratory professor proud.
In the span of five minutes, Celeste had systematically conquered the dining table.
She had fed her little brother; empowered her grieving mother; stroked down the ego of her billionaire father; and had shattered the awkward, defensive walls of her three older brothers by speaking to each of them in their own specific, individual language of care.
The atmosphere in the grand dining hall of the Hartwell Manor was now vibrant, warm, and charged with a collective familial unity that had been absent for eleven years.
The clinking of porcelain, the happy chewing of food, and the soft, comfortable murmurs of conversation filled the air like a healing symphony.
Only one person remained entirely outside the circle of warmth.
Rosalle sat at the far western edge of the mahogany table, her bowl of white rice completely untouched, her fingers gripping her silver spoon so tightly that her knuckles were drained of all blood.
She felt like a ghost.
This is not the kind of reunion she expected for Celeste to have, anything but this.