[Jay's POV]
The dining hall of the Watson Estate was usually a place of quiet, regal dignity—a space where Pappa Keizer discussed global market shifts and Mamma Serina coordinated gala logistics. But tonight, with the return of the younger "K-Line" members, the atmosphere was more like a high-energy dormitory.
The table was overflowing with the results of the afternoon's "Kitchen War," and the air was thick with the scent of truffle mash, spicy paella, and the lingering warmth of the hearth. I sat between Keifer and Keiran, feeling a sense of belonging so profound it almost felt like a dream I was afraid to wake up from.
"Ate?"
I looked down. Keiran, the eleven-year-old bundle of energy, was looking up at me with his chin resting on his hand. He hadn't touched his fork. Instead, he pushed his bowl of creamy pasta toward me, his eyes wide and twinkling with a very specific kind of mischief.
"My hands are tired from all that whisking," he lied shamelessly, a pout forming on his face. "Ate, can you feed me? Just the first few bites? It tastes better when you do it."
I couldn't help it; my heart melted at a rate that defied all logical thermal laws. I picked up his fork, twirling a small nest of pasta, and fed him. He beamed, looking toward his brothers with a triumphant "I'm the favorite" expression.
"Hey! No fair!" Keigan, the sixteen-year-old, immediately interjected. He shoved his plate of seafood toward me, leaning in with a cheeky grin. "Ate, my wrists are actually sore from all that high-speed vegetable chopping. It's a sports injury. I need a 'Recovery Feeding' too."
I laughed, a bright, clear sound that felt like it was clearing away the last of the shadows in my mind. "Alright, alright. One bite for the Varsity Striker." I fed Keigan a piece of shrimp, and he reclined in his chair with a look of pure smugness.
But then, I felt a heavy, intense presence shift beside me.
I turned my head to find Keifer looking at me. His usual "Chill Prince" mask was nowhere to be found. Instead, his jaw was slightly set, and he was looking at my fork, then at my face, then back at his own plate of Wagyu. Slowly, with a deliberate, dramatic flair that I knew was a total performance, he pushed his plate an inch toward me.
"Jay," he said, his voice dropping into that smooth, low baritone that usually made my knees weak. "My hands... they're actually quite cramped from fending off these two monsters all afternoon. It's a very serious condition. I think I require assistance as well."
The table went silent for a heartbeat.
I looked at Keifer. He was twenty years old. He was a genius engineer, the heir to a multi-billion dollar empire, and currently the most feared student at our university. And he was pouting for a spoonful of truffle mash.
A playful, devious spark ignited in my brain. I set the fork down on the edge of his plate, but I didn't pick up any food. Instead, I leaned back and crossed my arms, a teasing smirk pulling at my lips.
"I don't think so, Keifer," I said, my voice light and mocking.
Keifer blinked, his eyes widening in genuine shock. "What? Why not?"
"Because," I said, gesturing toward Keigan and Keiran, "these two are children. They are my younger brothers, and they've been away at boarding school. They deserve a little 'Ate' pampering. You, however..." I scanned him up and down, my eyes dancing with mischief. "You are an adult. You are a fully grown man with perfectly functional motor skills. Eat by your own hand, Kuya."
The explosion of laughter that followed was deafening.
"OOHHH! DENIED!" Keigan roared, slamming his hand on the table in delight. "She called you 'Kuya'! You got 'Older Brother-ed' by your own fiancée!"
"The Empress has spoken!" Keiran cheered, pointing a finger at Keifer. "Eat your vegetables, old man!"
Even Pappa Keizer let out a deep, rumbling chuckle from the head of the table, shaking his head. "She has a point, Keifer. Your motor skills were top-tier during the archery tournament last month. I think you can manage a fork."
Mamma Serina was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "Oh, Keifer, darling. You look so disappointed. Do you want me to cut your steak into tiny little pieces for you? Should I get the high chair from the attic?"
Keifer's face was a magnificent shade of crimson. He looked at his family, then back at me, his eyes narrowing in a challenge that was half-annoyed and half-endeared. "Jay... you're supposed to be on my side. This is a betrayal of the highest order."
"The data doesn't lie, Keifer," I replied, leaning in and whispering so only he could hear. "Adults get to do a lot of things, but 'Ate feeding' isn't one of them. Now, eat your Wagyu before I give it to Keigan."
He let out a long, dramatic sigh, finally picking up his fork with a grumble that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "Fine. But I'm logging this as a 'Negative Interaction' in our relationship database
"Log it however you like," I teased, reaching over and ruffling his hair—something I would never have dared to do in public before today. "It's still not happening."
As the dinner continued, the teasing didn't stop. Every time Keifer took a bite, one of the boys would make a "Choo-choo train" sound, and Mamma would ask if he needed a bib. But through the laughter and the chaos, I saw Keifer looking at me when he thought I wasn't watching.
There was no anger in his gaze. Only a deep, radiating warmth. He wasn't just happy because the "K-Line" was home; he was happy because the woman he loved had finally found a voice—a voice that was strong enough to tease, to laugh, and to lead the table.