Chapter 21 The cold front
The air in the dining room was thick enough to carve with a knife. As we all settled into our chairs, the contrast was staggering. On one side sat Victor, a titan of industry even in a wheelchair, draped in charcoal cashmere that probably cost more than our family car. Across from him sat Vane, his presence filling the space like a mountain. And there Maya and I were, shimmering in designer silk, looking like we had been plucked from a magazine and dropped into a small house in the suburbs.
Maya and I kept stealing glances at each other. Her eyes were wide, darting toward the front door every time a car passed in the street. We were communicating in the silent shorthand of sisters: “He’s going to be here any second.” “I know, I’m dying.” “Look at Victor staring at you.”
Victor didn't seem to care about the protocol of a family brunch. His dark eyes were fixed entirely on me, tracing the line of the red silk against my collarbone. He looked proud, almost possessive, as if he had painted the picture himself and was now admiring the masterpiece.
The heavy thud of a car door echoed from the driveway, followed by footsteps that sounded far too heavy for the celebratory mood. A moment later, the front door swung open, and Liam stepped in, breathing loudly as if he had run a marathon. He was clutching a bouquet of white lilies—the same flowers that already dominated the center of our table in Victor's massive arrangement.
"Sorry I’m late! The traffic near the bridge was—"
His voice died in his throat as he stepped into the dining room. He froze, his eyes scanning the table. He saw my parents, he saw Leo in his Burberry, and then he saw the strangers. His gaze landed on Vane’s massive frame and finally slid to Victor, who sat at the head of the table like a king on a temporary throne.
The mood shifted instantly. The warmth of the room seemed to evaporate, replaced by a sharp, biting frost.
"Elena?" Liam’s voice was low, his knuckles white around the stems of the lilies.
"Liam, you’re here!" my mother said, her voice sounding a bit too high-pitched as she tried to bridge the gap. "Come, sit. There’s a chair right there next to Vane."
Liam didn't move for a long beat. He looked at the chair—his usual spot, the one right next to me. But today, I was sitting next to Victor. I had positioned myself there under the guise of necessity; Victor’s nerve damage meant that fine motor skills, like cutting a thick steak or navigating a heavy fork, were still a struggle. He needed assistance, and I was his "nanny."
Liam finally moved, his face a mask of barely contained irritation. He handed the lilies to my mother, who looked awkwardly at the already-full vases on the table. He slumped into the chair next to Vane, looking like a commoner at a royal banquet.
"You look... stunning, Elena," Liam said, his eyes finally landing on me. There was admiration there, yes, but also a deep, aching sense of loss. "You look elegant. Different. I almost didn't recognize you."
"She’s a chameleon, isn't she?" Vane added with a friendly grin, trying to lighten the mood. He gestured to my red dress. "But I have to be honest—I miss our colorful sunshine. This red is all 'business and mystery,' but the yellow raincoat? That’s the Elena who keeps us all sane."
Everyone at the table laughed—my dad, my mom, even Maya. It was a lighthearted jab at my usual wardrobe. But Liam didn't laugh. He stared at the red silk, then at Victor, then back at me. He looked like a man who had walked into his own house and found the locks changed.
"I think the red suits her perfectly," Victor drawled, his voice a low, smooth contrast to Liam’s ruggedness. "It shows the world who she really is when she isn't hiding behind a bakery apron."
The silence returned, heavier this time. We began to eat, the clinking of silverware against porcelain the only sound for a few minutes. I picked up the knife and fork, leaning toward Victor. I began to cut his portion of the smoked salmon and toast into manageable, bite-sized pieces. I did it with the practiced ease of someone who had done it a hundred times, my movements fluid and attentive.
I could feel Liam’s eyes burning into the side of my face. I could feel the heat of his anger radiating across the table.
"So," Liam said, his voice dripping with a forced, jagged politeness. "He can't even feed himself?"
The table went dead silent. My mother gasped softly, and my father’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. I felt a surge of pure, white-hot embarrassment.
"Liam! Stop it," I snapped, my voice trembling.
Victor didn't flinch. He didn't even look angry. He simply sat back, allowing me to bring a piece of salmon to his lips, his expression one of bored superiority. He didn't need to defend himself; he had me doing it for him.
"It’s a fair question," Victor said coolly, his eyes locking onto Liam’s.
"No, it's fine," Vane intervened, his voice calm but firm, the voice of a professional who had dealt with this kind of ignorance before. "I’m Victor’s therapist. The accident caused significant trauma to the cervical spine. While his upper body strength is returning, the fine motor control in his hands hasn't caught up yet. Some of the muscles don't work thoroughly. It’s a matter of biology, not effort."
"Right," Liam muttered, stabbing a piece of sausage. "Biology. Must be nice to have someone wait on you hand and foot because your 'muscles' are tired."
"Liam, that is enough!" my father growled, his voice a low warning from the end of the table. "We are celebrating Elena’s birthday. You will show respect to our guests in this house."
Liam slumped further into his chair, the "safe, steady" man I knew being replaced by a bitter, jealous stranger. Across from him, Victor took a slow sip of the water I held for him, his dark eyes never leaving Liam's face. He looked like a wolf watching a dog bark through a fence—unbothered, dangerous, and entirely in control.
I looked at Maya, who was staring at her plate, her jaw dropped. The "brunch" had barely started, and the war was already being waged. I reached for Victor’s hand under the table for a brief second, a gesture of apology, but I realized with a jolt of terror that Liam had seen it.
The air in the room didn't just feel cold anymore. It felt like a storm was about to break, and I was the only one without an umbrella.