Morning in the Valleria household was never quiet—
there were always footsteps from the servants, the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen, or muted conversations in the hallways.
But today, before any of that began, someone was already awake.
Aria.
She rose even before the sun fully touched the sky.
Her black hair fell loosely over her shoulders, her eyes as calm as frozen water. She got out of bed without hesitation, without laziness, without uncertainty—
as though her body had long been accustomed to a rhythm far removed from comfort.
She went downstairs to the kitchen.
The servants preparing breakfast ingredients froze the moment Aria entered.
"O-Oh—Miss Aria… good morning…"
Aria gave a slight nod.
She walked past them without asking for anything, took the kettle of hot water, prepared the black tea leaves herself, and poured it into a simple white cup.
Every movement was neat, precise—so precise that a few servants unconsciously held their breath.
None of them dared offer help.
They did not know whether Aria disliked being touched or simply disliked being approached.
What they knew was only this: Aria's presence was unlike anyone else's in the house.
Silent.
Cold.
Calm in a way that was unsettling.
As the senior servant finally mustered the courage to speak—to offer bread—Helena walked into the kitchen.
Her hair was not fully brushed; she still wore a soft white nightgown.
Her face was tired, like someone who had not slept well the night before.
When she saw Aria, her steps faltered.
"Aria… you're awake?"
Aria glanced at her.
"Yes."
Helena swallowed.
She wanted to speak like a mother.
She wanted to say she had missed Aria all these years.
She wanted to ask how Aria survived after disappearing.
But the words stuck in her throat.
"I… I wanted to prepare breakfast for you."
Her tone was awkward—like someone who had forgotten how to be a mother.
Aria looked at her cup of tea.
"I already made it."
Helena fell silent.
The answer was simple, polite… but it created a distance she had no idea how to bridge.
Helena panicked a little.
"I-I just… wanted to know if you needed anything. You must be tired from the trip yesterday. Or… maybe you—"
Aria looked at her.
Calm. Cold.
"No need."
Helena bit her lip.
She stepped back half a pace, as if Aria's gaze was pushing her away.
Silence fell so heavy that even the servants stopped moving.
Aria picked up her tea and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Helena standing alone—
like a woman who had just failed to connect with her own child.
---
The dining room was filled with the aroma of an expensive breakfast when Aria entered.
Adrian sat at the head of the table.
Leon and Ethan sat on either side.
Selena sat near Helena, as always taking the position of the "sweet daughter."
When Aria took her seat, all eyes shifted toward her—not staring, merely glancing—
as though she were a new variable that needed to be measured.
Adrian closed the file he was reading.
His voice was firm, giving no space for warmth.
"Starting today, Aria, you must follow the family rules. Curfew, school activities, performance reports, study schedule. Everything must be clear."
He said it like company policy for a newly hired employee.
Aria nodded slightly.
"All right."
No defense.
No refusal.
No gratitude.
And that, precisely, made Adrian look dissatisfied.
Selena offered a small smile beside Helena.
"Father's right. Our family has its own rhythm. I'll help Aria understand everything at school later."
Her gentle tone had an undertone—
the tone of someone who owned the territory known as "school,"
and Aria would be the outsider entering her domain.
Aria did not respond.
Helena attempted a fragile smile, though her eyes still carried strain from the kitchen encounter.
"Aria… I hope you can feel comfortable here. It's just… ten years is a long time, so we all need some time to…"
She stopped.
Her breath caught.
Aria looked at her.
Her gaze was too calm, too pale, too clear for someone who should have been hurt.
Helena exhaled shakily and continued without thinking:
"We didn't know if you were still alive. You were gone so long… your old room was even—"
She stopped herself, realizing her mistake.
Too late.
Aria set her spoon down gently.
The soft metallic click echoed through the room.
"So that was my fault?"
Helena jolted.
"N-no… I didn't mean that, I just… I just…"
Her voice trembled.
"We… we didn't know what to do, Aria…"
Strangely, Selena looked like she wanted to smile at the chaos—
but she hid it behind a mask of concern.
Leon tried to help, clearing his throat.
"Aria, Mother didn't mean to blame you. You have to understand that—"
Aria cut him off with a soft, blade-smooth voice.
"I was six years old when I disappeared."
Leon fell silent.
"I didn't choose to disappear."
Her tone held no anger; it was simply a fact.
"And I didn't choose to return."
The words froze the entire table.
Ethan put down his laptop.
"Well… yeah, I mean—it's understandable that things are… difficult. You showed up suddenly. The house changed because… of course it changed."
Aria looked at Ethan briefly.
Ethan swallowed.
Her stare felt like a mirror revealing too much.
Helena lowered her head, feeling guilty.
Adrian straightened his posture, frustrated he had lost control of the conversation.
Leon was at a loss for words.
Selena kept smiling sweetly—
but her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
Everyone turned to Aria.
Everyone waited for a reaction.
Everyone expected something Aria did not possess.
Then Aria spoke softly, almost like a whisper not meant to comfort anyone:
"It's fine. I'm not asking anything from you."
The words sounded gentle…
but somehow made the room feel even emptier.
Selena tilted her head in faux concern.
"Of course not, Aria. We just want you… to feel comfortable. Mother and Father are just afraid you might be offended, that's all."
Aria kept her eyes on the table.
No reply.
No defense.
Her indifference killed the conversation.
Adrian finally stepped in, attempting to restore order—
but instead making things worse.
"Aria, you need to be more… open. Don't be so cold like this. We want a good relationship."
Aria looked at her father for a long moment.
Long enough to make him hold his breath.
"Is this how you welcome a child who comes home?"
Her voice was gentle.
"With rules, expectations, and judgment?"
Adrian fell silent.
No one dared to counter the question.
Because Aria wasn't shouting.
Wasn't crying.
Wasn't demanding anything.
She simply pointed out a truth they didn't want to face:
This family had not welcomed her with love—
only obligations.
The dining room felt as empty as a vacant hall.
Aria pushed her chair back quietly.
"I'm done."
She stood and walked out without looking back.
Helena called softly, "Aria…"
But her voice wasn't strong enough to stop the girl's steps.
Leon said nothing.
Ethan closed his laptop in discomfort.
Adrian stared at the table, his jaw tight.
Selena smiled faintly—
a smile full of satisfaction and fear at the same time.
Because she had realized something crucial:
Aria did not want a place in this family.
And someone who does not wish to compete…
is far more difficult to defeat.
Aria walked down the long hallway toward the room that was not home.
Behind her, the dining table was filled with silence and regret.
And for the first time since Aria returned,
everyone understood that old wounds do not heal simply because someone comes home.
Those wounds had just been reopened.
And no one knew how to close them.