The long mahogany table was lined with gold trim, plates of steaming food resting neatly atop pristine linens. The chandelier above glowed softly, casting warm hues across the eager faces of the family gathered. Laughter and idle chatter filled the room as the final guest sat down.

“We haven’t had a family dinner in a while,” said a girl at the far end, her tone light and cheery. “What did you cook, Uncle?”

Claude, standing at the head of the table, smiled with theatrical pride. “Braised pheasant with fig glaze and saffron rice. Fit for royalty, as always.”

“Ooh, fancy,” she giggled.

Another woman, older, leaned in with curiosity. “And how’s it going with Stephen?”

Without missing a beat, Claude placed a possessive hand on Stephen’s shoulder, his grip firm but deceitfully gentle.

“He’s amazing,” Claude said, eyes gleaming with practiced charm. “Doing well in school and everything. He recently ranked up in his courses—top marks, actually. Even the instructors are impressed. He’s maturing, working hard, becoming a man I’m proud to call my son.”

He kept going—spinning stories so vivid they almost seemed real. Tales of achievement, discipline, ambition. None of it was true.

Stephen sat motionless, shoulders tight, his hands clenched beneath the table. His eyes were dull, barely focused, expression caught in that numb middle ground between fight and flight.

His step-sister beamed. “Oh, that’s amazing, Stephen! We’re so proud of you!”

He forced a smile, lips stretching thinly across his face. “Thx, sis… I really appreciate it,” he said, voice filled with practiced enthusiasm. His tone was bright, but his eyes never reached it.

Claude’s gaze fell to the faint red at Stephen’s wrist, just barely visible beneath the sleeve. His fingers tapped his own wrist once—calm, coded, silent.

“Go show your sister the watch I gave you,” Claude said with a glint in his eye. “Make sure it’s cleaned—you know how clumsy you are.”

Stephen understood immediately.

He stood up without a word, walking from the table with stiff movements, disappearing up the staircase to his room. The chatter resumed behind him.

“Stephen’s really grown into himself, huh?” said the woman again, spearing a cut of pheasant with her fork.

“Mmhmm,” another added. “I remember when he barely spoke. Now look at him, so confident!”

Claude gave a well-timed chuckle. “He needed structure. Someone to shape him. But he’s doing better than ever.”

“He’s lucky to have you,” said a man across the table. “Not everyone would’ve taken that responsibility.”