I stepped out of Chak's room reluctantly, closing the door quietly behind me.
The hallway felt different now — brighter, busier, less intimate than the warmth we had just left behind.
I crossed to the room I shared with Non and Taeng and pushed the door open.
Non was awake.
Of course he was.
He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, scrolling on his phone. The second he saw me, his eyes narrowed dramatically.
"Well," he said slowly, putting his phone aside. "Look who returns from his boyfriend's room."
Taeng, who was half dressed near the mirror, snorted softly.
I ignored them and walked to my suitcase.
Non shifted, sitting up straighter. "So?"
"So what?" I replied casually, unzipping my bag.
"How was it?" he asked with exaggerated innocence.
Taeng glanced at me through the mirror, clearly entertained.
I started folding my clothes neatly. "We slept."
Non gasped. "That's it? You expect me to believe that?"
"Yes."
He narrowed his eyes. "Details."
I rolled my eyes. "There are no details."
"We had breakfast in bed," I added before I could stop myself.
Non froze.
"In bed?" he repeated slowly.
I immediately regretted speaking.
Taeng turned around fully now. "Oh?"
"It was just breakfast," I said quickly, placing a shirt into my suitcase.
Non slid off the bed and walked toward me like a detective approaching a suspect.
"Define 'just.'"
I zipped a smaller pocket. "Food. Coffee. Calm morning."
Non crossed his arms. "Was there eye contact?"
"Yes."
"Soft touches?"
"Yes."
"Nicknames?"
I hesitated for half a second.
Taeng's eyebrows lifted.
Non pointed at me triumphantly. "There were nicknames."
I sighed. "He said good morning."
"That's not a nickname."
"He called me his artist."
Non clutched his chest dramatically and fell backward onto the bed.
"I cannot compete with this level of romance."
Taeng laughed quietly.
I continued packing, pretending I wasn't smiling.
Non sat back up again. "And you?"
"What about me?"
"What did you call him?"
I tried to stay serious.
"…Chaky."
There was a full two seconds of silence.
Then Non screamed into a pillow.
Taeng laughed openly this time.
"You two are unbearable," Non said, pointing at me. "Disgustingly cute."
I zipped my suitcase shut and stood up straighter.
"It's 8:30," I said. "We have to be ready."
Taeng nodded and reached for his jacket.
Non looked at me again, but this time his expression softened slightly.
"You look happy," he said more quietly.
I paused.
I hadn't realized it showed that clearly.
"I am," I admitted.
He studied me for a second longer — then smiled.
"Good."
For once, no teasing followed.
And as I picked up my bag, I felt that same warmth from the morning settle in my chest again.
Whatever today would bring—
I wasn't walking into it alone.
We left the rooms almost at the same time.
Suitcases rolling behind us.
Morning energy replacing last night's softness.
The hallway felt colder now.
Practical.
Focused.
We took the elevator down and headed toward the storage room to leave our luggage before heading out.
The storage room smelled faintly of dust and metal shelves. One by one, we placed our suitcases inside. I slid mine against the wall beside Taeng's.
But even while I was setting it down, I was searching.
Not obviously.
Just from the corner of my eye.
Where is he?
Chak wasn't standing near us.
He was a few steps away, near the half-open door, speaking to someone on the phone.
No.
Not phone.
His posture shifted slightly.
His tone was different.
I watched more carefully.
Kit stepped closer to me and leaned toward my ear.
"He's talking to his mom."
I stilled.
That explained it.
Chak's shoulders were tense. His jaw tight. One hand in his pocket, the other holding the phone close.
He wasn't raising his voice.
But the air around him felt sharp.
Something wasn't right.
He ended the call shortly after.
When he turned toward us, everyone felt it.
The temperature dropped.
Amara was the first to whisper, "He's extremely angry."
She wasn't wrong.
He wasn't loud.
He was worse.
Controlled.
Rigid.
And that's when he's most dangerous.
She nudged me lightly. "Niran. Change his mood."
I let out a quiet breath.
"It's hard," I murmured honestly. "When he's angry, he hides his emotions. And when he lets them out… he becomes different."
Different meaning colder.
More distant.
Less reachable.
"I don't know if I'll manage here," I admitted quietly.
Because this wasn't our home.
This wasn't morning light and soft coffee.
This was work.
Pressure.
Responsibility.
Chak stepped fully toward us.
His voice cut through the room.
"Let's go."
It wasn't loud.
But it was sharp.
No one argued.
We moved toward the exit.
As we walked, I slowed my pace slightly.
Waited until I was beside him.
He didn't look at me.
His gaze was fixed ahead.
I reached for his hand.
Just for a second.
My fingers slipped into his.
Warm.
Tense.
He didn't react at first.
Then his grip tightened — barely.
Just enough.
A silent acknowledgment.
I squeezed once.
Then let go.
Not here.
Not in front of everyone.
But enough to say I'm here.
We stepped outside and climbed into the van.
The ride to the pier was quiet.
The engine humming.
No music.
No jokes.
Even Non stayed silent.
When we arrived, the smell of salt and sea hit immediately. Boats lined the dock. Workers were already moving.
Chak stepped out first.
Authority returning like armor.
He turned sharply.
"Niran. Taeng."
His voice was firm.
We stepped forward immediately.
"Yes," I said.
He looked at both of us.
"You know what our tasks are. Get to work immediately."
There was no softness left in his tone.
Just command.
Taeng nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."
I held his gaze for half a second longer.
"Yes, sir."
And as I turned to move, I couldn't help thinking—
When he's like this…
Reaching him isn't about words.
It's about patience.
And today—
I might need all of mine.
The entire travel back to Bangkok was quiet.
Too quiet.
Chak sat near the window in the plane, his posture straight, hands resting on his thighs. He didn't scroll on his phone.
He only nodded when someone asked something work-related.
Short.
Controlled.
Minimal.
But I noticed something.
He kept looking at Anamarija.
Not obviously.
Just… checking.
Like he was measuring something in his head.
She noticed too, I'm sure. But she didn't ask.
None of us did.
When we finally reached Bangkok and the van turned into the familiar driveway of Chak's house, the air felt heavier than when we had left.
We stepped inside together — Chak first, then Anamarija, then me, Kit, and Taeng.
The house was quiet.
Too big for the silence inside it.
We moved to the living room and sat down. Anamarija and Chak took the larger couch. I sat beside Chak, close enough to feel the tension in his body. Kit and Taeng sat across from us.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Chak leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.
He exhaled slowly.
Then finally—
He looked at Anamarija.
"My mother," he began, voice steady but strained, "doesn't want you at the wedding."
The room froze.
Anamarija blinked once.
He continued before anyone could interrupt.
"She thinks you'll overshadow the entire ceremony. That the media will focus on you instead of Phalin."
He said her name without emotion.
Just fact.
Anamarija didn't react immediately.
She just stared at him.
I saw the slight tension in her jaw.
Not anger.
Shock.
"Chak…" she said quietly. "You know I don't even like that kind of attention. The media suffocates me."
I knew that. We all did.
She avoided cameras when she could.
Avoided headlines.
Avoided being seen as anything more than herself.
She swallowed softly.
"If that's what your mother wants," she continued calmly, though I could hear the faint crack in her control, "then I won't attend the wedding. It's fine."
It wasn't fine.
But she said it like it was.
Like she was already stepping back to make things easier.
For him.
Chak's head snapped slightly toward her.
"No."
His voice was sharper now.
"She doesn't want you there."
A pause.
"I do."
Silence fell over the room.
His words hung there, heavy.
Clear.
I felt something shift in my chest.
Because this wasn't about media anymore.
This was about position.
Choice.
Family versus expectation.
Anamarija looked at him carefully.
"You want me there?" she asked softly.
"Yes."
No hesitation.
"I want you beside me."
His eyes didn't move from hers.
Not protective.
Not commanding.
Just honest.
And in that moment, I understood something—
The anger from earlier.
The phone call.
The silence.
It wasn't just frustration.
It was conflict.
Between the life he was expected to maintain—
And the people he actually loved.
I reached for his hand again.
This time, I didn't let go immediately.
And I silently hoped—
That this time, he wouldn't be the only one fighting.
Anamarija held his gaze for a long second.
"Chak," she said quietly, carefully choosing her words, "your mother will be angry if she sees me there."
Not dramatic.
Not accusing.
Just realistic.
We all knew what that meant.
Chak didn't look away.
"I know."
"She already doesn't like attention shifting away from the family image," Anamarija continued. "If I appear and the media focuses on me instead of Phalin… it will create tension. I don't want to be the reason for that."
Her voice was calm, but I could hear what she wasn't saying.
"I don't want to cause problems for you."
Chak straightened slightly.
"You have every right to be there," he said firmly.
His tone had changed again — no longer angry, but resolute.
"You are a Phansprasit."
The name carried weight.
History.
Power.
Responsibility.
"And you are my sister."
The room went still.
Not half-sister.
Not complicated past.
Not something hidden.
My sister.
He didn't lower his voice.
He didn't soften it.
He declared it.
Anamarija's expression shifted.
Just slightly.
Her posture, usually so composed, wavered for half a second
Silence wrapped around us again.
I felt the tension in his hand — I was still holding it — but now it wasn't anger.
It was determination.
"She can be angry," Chak continued evenly. "That is her choice. But you will not be erased to make anyone else comfortable."
Kit glanced down briefly, impressed.
Taeng exhaled slowly.
Anamarija studied him carefully.
"You're ready to fight her over this?" she asked.
"If necessary."
No hesitation.
My heart tightened.
Because I knew what it cost him to stand against his mother.
He rarely did.
He was raised to comply.
To maintain peace.
To uphold image.
But this—
This was different.
Anamarija's voice softened.
"I don't want to create a war inside your family."
"You're not creating it," Chak replied. "You're simply existing."
That hit harder than anything else.
She looked down at her hands for a moment.
Then back at him.
"You really want me there?"
"Yes."
The word was steady.
Certain.
I watched her eyes carefully.
The shock from earlier had faded.
Now there was something else.
Emotion.
Not about the wedding.
About being claimed.
Chosen.
Recognized.
"I'll come," she said finally.
"But I won't stand in the spotlight."
"You won't have to," Chak replied.
And for the first time since that phone call—
The tension in the room eased.
Just slightly.
I squeezed his hand again.
Because today, he hadn't chosen status.
He hadn't chosen convenience.
He had chosen family.
And somehow—
That felt bigger than the wedding itself.