"He locked himself in his room and said he's 'not hungry.' Probably plotting revenge against the world."
Zoe frowned but didn't press further.
At the far end of the table sat Esme.
The girl looked almost too small in the large dining chair, her legs barely touching the floor.
Dressed casually in a cream sweater and denim shorts, she seemed unbothered by the tension around her.
Her hair was tied up loosely, a few strands falling into her face as she focused on the plate in front of her.
It wasn't that she ignored the atmosphere; she simply didn't acknowledge it.
Her spoon moved with neat precision as she ate, each bite was measured, and when she ate, her every motion was careful.
She didn't look up once as the others talked. It was as if she feared the food would vanish if she took her eyes off it for even a second.
Across the table, Dylan watched her with mild amusement. "Wow," he said lightly, "that's some dedication. Haven't seen anyone eat like that since I went camping with Kevin in college."
Esme didn't respond, though her fork paused for the briefest moment.
Dylan chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "No reaction, huh? Tough crowd."
He threw a wink at the others. "Kids these days, no appreciation for good humor. Guess my daddy jokes are too advanced."
Still, nothing.
She lifted her head then, finally, just a fraction, and gave him a look. Not rude, not cold… just flat.
The kind of look that drained all color from his grin in an instant.
Dylan's voice faltered, and he coughed awkwardly into his napkin. "Ahem… guess I'll stick to eating my eggs."
Jurion, sitting diagonally from Esme, raised an eyebrow slightly. He didn't say anything, but his lips twitched in amusement.
'She really shut him down with just a stare,' he thought, flipping the page of his newspaper.
Kevin, however, seemed entirely charmed.
He reached out now and then to place something new on Esme's plate, a slice of omelette, a spoonful of jam, a piece of buttered toast.
"Try this, Esme," he said warmly. "It's your mother's favorite."
"Eat some fruit too," Zoe added quickly, pushing a small bowl of grapes toward her.
"You need to eat well. You're still growing."
Esme paused mid-bite and looked up at them, her amber eyes steady. "Thank you," she said quietly.
Her voice was small, polite, almost too careful.
But the effect was immediate, and both parents smiled, visibly relieved.
Across from them, Jurion and Ace exchanged a brief glance.
Neither said it aloud, but both noticed the way their parents' attention lingered on her, the way their tone softened when speaking to her, the way Kevin laughed more easily, the way Zoe's hand unconsciously brushed Esme's hair once as she leaned forward to pour juice.
They noticed everything, but they didn't care to react.
Jurion continued eating silently, cutting his pancake with the same precision as always.
Ace scrolled through his phone beneath the table, occasionally tapping his fork against his plate in rhythm with the background music.
But their silence was not indifference; it was calculation.
Both were watching over her, even if they pretended not to.
Dylan, ever the peacemaker, tried again. "So," he began cheerfully, gesturing toward Esme with his fork, "how's your first morning in the manor, kiddo? Must be weird having a big house all to yourself, huh?"
Esme blinked, as if debating whether to humor him.
Then, in her small voice, she said, "It's quiet here."
"Quiet?" Dylan laughed. "You should've heard your brother last night! If this place were any louder, the neighbors would've called the police."
Esme's lips curved slightly, almost a smile, but not quite. "I like quiet," she said. "It helps me think."
Dylan chuckled again, though a flicker of discomfort crossed his face.
There was something about her tone, calm, precise, like a much older person choosing words with care.
"Well," he said, clearing his throat, "I suppose that's a good thing. Thinking's important."
Jurion looked up from his plate at that moment. "She's right," he said simply. "Most people don't think before they speak."
The faintest smirk ghosted across his face as he returned to his breakfast, ignoring Dylan's mock glare.
"Ha ha," Dylan muttered. "Very funny."
Zoe exhaled in exasperation but smiled faintly at the light banter. For a moment, the atmosphere felt almost normal.
Breakfast went on quietly after that.
The servants glided in and out, clearing plates and refilling juice glasses. Sunlight caught the silver edges of cutlery, dancing over the tablecloth like small fires.
Esme continued eating, seemingly unaware of the glances around her, though, in truth, she noticed everything.
The way Jurion's eyes flicked toward her plate every few minutes.
And the way Ace kept checking his phone whenever their mother spoke to her.
The faint crease in Tatiana's forehead when Zoe placed the last piece of dessert, a small strawberry tart, onto Esme's plate.
That last one, she noticed most of all.
Tatiana had been watching from her seat quietly, her smile polite but strained. She wasn't used to being overlooked, especially not by her mother.
Usually, Zoe would set that tart down in front of her, just as she'd done every other morning for the past five years.
But today, her hand had hesitated, her gaze sliding toward Esme instead.
And when she placed it down, it was as if she hadn't realized the shift herself.
But Tatiana did.
Her small, delicate hands tightened around her fork.
"Mother," she said suddenly, trying to sound casual, "may I go to the garden after breakfast?"
"Of course, darling," Zoe said without looking up, busy watching Esme eat. "Take one of the maids with you."
Tatiana nodded slowly, setting her fork down with a soft clink as she said, "Thank you."
Her eyes flicked to Esme once more, to the girl who now sat with that tart untouched, head tilted slightly as if pondering something.