The front doors opened again before the silence could settle.
Voices spilled into the entrance hall.
Amara walked in first — and stopped so abruptly that Pim nearly walked into her.
"…Oh," Amara breathed.
Non stepped in behind them, took one look at the towering ceilings, the sweeping staircase, the chandelier
"Is this a house," he asked slowly, turning in a full circle, "or mansion. It's amazing." Look at this pool..
I watched them take it in — the dark wood floors, the clean architectural lines, the quiet luxury that didn't need to scream to be expensive.
But seeing it through their eyes made it feel different.
Bigger.
Colder.
Pim walked further inside, fingertips brushing lightly over the back of a leather chair. "It feels like a place where people don't laugh too loudly."
She wasn't wrong.
Chak stood calmly near the center of the room, unfazed by their reactions.
"This is just home," he said.
Just home.
I glanced at him.
For the rest of us, it felt like stepping into a world built on legacy and expectation.
Non leaned toward me and whispered, "If I lived here, I'd get lost emotionally and physically."
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Because I knew what this house really was.
It wasn't just beautiful. It's the home of our love.
His gaze shifted to Anamarija.
"You'll need a dress for the wedding."
The air shifted immediately.
Anamarija, who had been standing near the windows with natural composure, turned toward him.
"Can't I wear the same one I wore to the family dinner?" she asked lightly.
Her tone was calm, but I knew her well enough to hear the layer beneath it.
Practical. Distant. Uninterested in spectacle.
"No," Chak said.
No hesitation.
"You'll have a different one."
There was no aggression in his voice.
Just certainty.
And before anyone could question how he planned to arrange that—
The side doors opened.
Several people entered at once.
Assistants.
Stylists.
Garment racks rolling smoothly over the floor.
The room transformed in seconds.
Fabric.
Silk.
Satin.
Embellished bodices catching the light.
Soft pastels. Champagne tones. Deep emerald. Royal blue.
Amara gasped.
"Is this real?"
Non walked straight up to one of the racks. "You just summon stylists like this?"
I watched Chak.
He hadn't even looked surprised.
Of course this had been arranged already.
He had planned ahead.
For her.
"Choose whichever you want," he said to Anamarija.
No conditions.
No restrictions.
Just choice.
She stepped forward slowly.
Her fingers trailed across the fabrics, thoughtful.
Measured.
This wasn't excitement.
It was evaluation.
And then she stopped.
Black.
A long, structured evening gown. Clean lines. Elegant. Strong.
She pulled it slightly forward from the rack.
"This one."
Amara blinked. "Black? To a wedding?"
Anamarija turned calmly.
"Yes."
Silence stretched.
"Why black?" Pim asked softly.
Anamarija's gaze moved back to Chak.
"Because I don't support this wedding." Because he's gonna married with the person he's doesn't love.
There it was.
Clear.
Undramatic.
Honest.
The words didn't explode.
They settled.
Heavy.
No one rushed to correct her.
No one told her to reconsider.
Chak didn't flinch.
He didn't argue.
He didn't try to protect the image of the event.
He just watched her and I see his hidden smile just for her.
Then she added, her voice steady — almost teasing, but not quite:
"When you marry Niran…"
My heart stuttered.
The room disappeared for a second.
"…you can choose my dress."
Non inhaled sharply.
Amara's eyes widened.
I felt heat rise to my face before I could control it.
Chak didn't laugh.
Didn't brush it off.
He held her gaze.
"When that happens," he said calmly, "it will be a different kind of wedding."
His eyes shifted to me for half a second.
And that half-second felt like a promise.
My chest tightened.
Not because of embarrassment.
Because he hadn't denied it.
He hadn't treated it like a joke.
In this house built on expectations—
He had just allowed the idea of us to exist openly.
Anamarija studied him carefully.
"So black is fine?" she asked.
"Yes."
His answer was simple.
Certain.
And standing there, watching them — brother and sister claiming space in their own ways —
I realized something.
This wasn't about a dress.
It wasn't even about rebellion.
It was about presence.
About not shrinking.
About not being erased.
And as the stylists began adjusting fabrics and taking measurements, as Amara and Pim excitedly debated silhouettes and Non pretended he understood couture—
I stood beside Chak.
Close enough to feel the quiet steadiness in him again.
This house might have been built on legacy.
But today—
It felt like something new was being built inside it.
Not obedience.
Not silence.
Choice.
The living room slowly transformed into a private fitting suite.
Garment racks were repositioned. A full-length mirror was brought forward. One of the stylists politely asked if they could use the guest bedroom for fittings.
Of course she would.
After moments later she gets out from the guest room.
I leaned back slightly against the arm of the sofa, pretending I wasn't as invested as I actually was.
Chak stood with his arms folded.
Watching.
Not critically.
Not impatiently.
Just… present.
The first dress.
Black silk. Off-shoulder. Soft, flowing, almost romantic.
The fabric moved beautifully when she walked.
Amara gasped. "That's stunning."
Pim nodded quickly. "Very elegant."
Non tilted his head. "Too soft."
I found myself studying Anamarija's expression instead of the dress.
She looked at herself in the mirror.
Turned once.
Twice.
Her face didn't change.
"No."
The stylist paused. "May I ask why?"
"It's beautiful," she said calmly. "But it doesn't say anything."
I felt something shift in my chest.
Doesn't say anything.
The dress was lovely.
But she didn't want lovely.
She wanted meaning.
Chak gave a barely noticeable nod.
The second dress was brought forward.
Structured. High neckline. Sharp tailoring. Almost severe.
She stepped out again.
This one made her look powerful. Untouchable.
Kit murmured, "That one makes a statement."
Non squinted. "It says 'Don't talk to me.'"
Anamarija studied her reflection again.
Her posture was perfect. Her gaze steady.
But after a few seconds—
"No."
The stylist blinked. "Still not right?"
"It says something," she admitted quietly. "But it's not what I want to say."
I couldn't stop watching her.
She wasn't rejecting dresses out of stubbornness.
She was searching.
The third one.
Sleek. Minimal. Long sleeves. A subtle slit at the leg.
No embellishments.
No sparkle.
Just clean lines.
She stepped forward.
The room went quieter this time.
There was something different about this one.
It didn't shout.
It didn't soften.
It existed.
She turned slowly in front of the mirror.
I glanced at Chak.
His jaw had relaxed.
Just slightly.
Amara whispered, "Oh."
Pim nodded immediately.
Non didn't joke this time.
Anamarija lifted her chin.
"This one."
The stylist smiled carefully. "Yes?"
She looked at herself one last time.
"Yes."
Chak stepped closer.
Not too close.
Just enough.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
Not controlling.
Not correcting.
Just making sure the choice was hers.
She met his eyes in the mirror.
"Yes."
A small pause.
"It's simple."
"It's strong," Chak replied.
She gave a faint smile.
"It doesn't celebrate," she said quietly. "But it doesn't hide either."
And I understood.
She wasn't dressing to protest loudly.
Present.
Unapologetic.
The stylist marked it as final.
The other black dresses were rolled away one by one.
And as the room slowly returned to normal, I felt something settle inside me.
This wasn't just preparation for a wedding.
We were going to stand there —
in black —
and exist.
And this time,
no one would erase us.
Anamarija watched us for a long moment, then her eyes lit up again — brighter this time.
"Oh," she murmured. "Wait."
That tone.
I knew that tone.
She looked at Chak, then at me, then at Kit and Taeng — assessing us like pieces on a chessboard.
"I just got an incredible idea."
Non groaned softly. "That's never a calm sentence."
She turned to the stylists. "You brought options for men too, right?"
"Of course," the head stylist replied smoothly.
Within seconds, more racks were rolled in.
Color flooded the room.
This wasn't safe tailoring.
This was statement dressing.
Anamarija clasped her hands lightly. "Men's go change into suits. Girls we go change into dresses.
Kit blinked. "Black?"
"No," she said immediately. "Not black."
That got Chak's attention.
"Choose the one you like the most," she continued.
Taeng frowned. "Why?"
She smiled mysteriously. "You'll find out."
I wasn't sure whether to be excited or nervous.
Probably both.
My eyes drifted over the fabrics — and stopped at dusty rose.
The stylist gently pulled it forward.
Slim-fit. Single-button jacket. Classic lapels. The color somewhere between pink and muted blush.
And then the detail—
Three-dimensional floral appliqués spreading asymmetrically from the right shoulder across the chest and down toward the waist.
Textured. Sculptural. Bold.
"There's a matching satin tie," the stylist added. "And a classic white shirt."
The fabric was matte, smooth beneath my fingers — except for the raised floral embroidery.
It felt soft.
But not weak.
I didn't overthink it.
"I'll take this one."
Non stared. "You're wearing pink to a political war."
"It's dusty rose," I corrected automatically.
From the corner of my eye, I felt Chak watching me.
"Do you dislike it?" I asked calmly.
He stepped closer, fingers brushing lightly over one of the floral appliqués.
His expression didn't change.
"It suits you," he said quietly.
My pulse betrayed me immediately.
Across the room, Taeng had found something entirely different.
A sky-blue three-piece suit.
Jacket, vest, trousers.
The jacket had a slightly extended back, almost regal in structure. Silver and pale blue baroque embroidery traced along the edges, cuffs, and vest.
A matching blue bow tie.
White shirt.
White rose boutonnière.
He looked at it skeptically.
"Why do I feel like I'm about to marry into royalty?"
Anamarija only smiled.
"You'll understand."
Kit chose deep emerald with subtle metallic threading.
Non, after dramatic hesitation, picked a structured cream suit.
And Chak—
Chak stood very still.
Then he reached.
Not for black.
Not for charcoal.
For mint green.
The stylist carefully lifted it forward.
Slim-fit. One-button jacket. Sharp peak lapels.
The fabric had a silk-satin finish — high light reflection, almost liquid under the chandelier.
And the embroidery—
Gold-beige leaves and floral patterns cascading across the left shoulder and covering the entire upper left sleeve.
Rich.
Detailed.
Unapologetically regal.
Matching mint-green tie.
Classic white shirt.
Trousers in the same luminous fabric.
The room went quiet.
Non blinked twice. "That is not subtle."
Chak didn't react.
He simply took the suit.
I watched him disappear to change.
And for the first time since arriving at this house—
I felt something shift.
This wasn't rebellion.
This was strategy.
One by one, we changed.
When I put on the dusty rose suit, the jacket hugged my waist perfectly. The 3D flowers caught the light with depth, almost like they were blooming across my chest.
I tied the satin tie.
Looked in the mirror.
I didn't look softer.
I looked deliberate.
When we stepped back into the living room—
Non came first.
Then Kit.
Then Taeng in sky blue, embroidery shimmering like something out of a historical painting.
Then Chak.
And everything in the room stilled.
The mint green caught the light with every step. The gold-beige embroidery along his shoulder gave him the presence of my boyfriend.
He was looks so good in this suit.
My breath paused for half a second.
Then I stepped forward last.
Silence.
Amara's mouth fell open slightly.
Pim whispered, "This is insane."
Non looked at all of us and shook his head. "We are about to destroy someone's expectations."
Chak's eyes moved over me slowly.
Measured.
Approving.
I looked at all of us —
And smiled.
And then—
The doorbell rang.
Sharp.
Echoing through the high ceilings.
Every head turned toward the entrance.
Footsteps approached.
The main doors opened.
And someone stepped inside.