As Michelle walked down the grand staircase, the sound of her lonely footsteps echoed through the silent hallway, a stark contrast to the warm laughter and cheerful chatter that already filled the dining room. Her family-consisting of her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, her sister, Flora, and her brother, Ray-were all seated at the table, their faces glowing with joy, celebrating some recent success.

Michelle's eyes scanned the lively room, her gaze lingering on the familiar faces, but her heart felt hollow, stuck in a different, darker world.

"Why are you coming down now?" Mr. Anderson asked, his voice sharp and tinged with annoyance as he looked up from his plate. His pleasant mood evaporated instantly upon seeing her. "What were you doing upstairs?"

Michelle hesitated, her eyes darting around the table, before she finally found her voice. "I... I slept late," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mr. Anderson's expression turned openly skeptical, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glared at her. "You slept late?" he repeated, his tone dripping with disdain. "There's nothing you can do with your life. All you do is read, read, and eat my food. Look at your sister-can't you be like her? Or can't you be like your brother? Why are you so useless?"

The harsh words cut deep, and Michelle felt a familiar, searing ache in her chest.

Flora, sensing the escalating tension, quickly intervened, her voice soft and soothing. "Dad, I think you should calm down. Michelle has her own life. She can't always be like me or Ray." Ray, Michelle's brother, offered a small, warm smile of encouragement and beckoned her to come and sit down.

Just as Michelle was about to take her designated seat, the doorbell chimed, and one of the maids got up to answer it. A moment later, Greyson strolled into the dining room, a large bouquet of vibrant roses in his hand and a bright, charming smile plastered across his face.

"Flora, I heard about the contract you signed," he said, his eyes shining with admiration as he presented the flowers to her sister.

Michelle's heart plummeted to her stomach as she watched the sickeningly sweet scene unfold. She felt like she was trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake up. Greyson, her ex-boyfriend , was now openly fawning over her sister, and her family seemed to be lapping it all up like hungry, oblivious dogs.

She couldn't take it anymore. The atmosphere was suffocating. She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor, and mumbled something about not being hungry.

As she turned to leave, Greyson's eyes met hers across the room. For a brief moment, Michelle thought she saw a flicker of something there-perhaps guilt or regret-but it was quickly extinguished, replaced by a look of cold indifference. Michelle didn't care what he felt; she just wanted to get out of there, away from the pain and the blatant humiliation.

She rushed upstairs, hot tears streaming down her face as she collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in the pillow. Why did it always have to be like this? Why couldn't she just be good enough for anyone? The questions swirled in her head, taunting her, mocking her insecurity.

As she lay there, the tears eventually subsided, replaced by a cold resolve. Michelle realized that she needed to take control of her life. She needed to find a way to earn money, to prove to herself-and everyone else-that she was worth something.

She sat up, wiping away the last of her tears with determined force, and opened her laptop. She began to browse through online job listings, her heart filled with a renewed sense of purpose and determination.

The Anderson Residence

Downstairs, Mr. Anderson and Ray had already left for the company, leaving Mrs. Anderson, Flora, and Greyson in the dining room.

"Mom, I'm going out with Greyson," Flora said, wiping her lips delicately with her napkin.

"Okay. Why don't you go check on your sister to see if she would like to go with you?" Mrs. Anderson suggested.

Flora frowned internally at the suggestion but forced herself to go upstairs to Michelle's room, with Greyson following closely behind her. She knocked on Michelle's door but pushed it open without waiting for a response.

Michelle, who was focused intently on her laptop, turned around to see the intruders. It was none other than Flora and Greyson. Her brow furrowed in a brief frown, and she immediately turned back to her work, ignoring them both.

Flora was furious; if her mother hadn't asked her to come, she wouldn't have bothered seeking out her sister. She quickly adjusted her expression and spoke with an air of practiced superiority: "I'm going out with Grey. Are you coming?"

"No, thank you. I'm okay here," Michelle answered without sparing them another glance.

Flora snorted in disdain and walked out of the room. Greyson, however, remained in the doorway, watching Michelle. He felt a sting of irritation, realizing she didn't even bother looking at him. Was she playing hard to get? He scoffed internally and walked out, slamming the door shut with unnecessary force.

Michelle's fingers on the laptop paused for a moment. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, opened them again, and continued with what she was doing. Why should she care about them? Why should she go out with them? To watch them display how much they adored each other, or to be a third wheel? She let out a short, self-deprecating laugh.

The Jace Family Mansion

In a luxurious living room, a girl named Freeda sat on a plush couch, her eyes glued to her phone. Her short black hair framed her shoulders, making her look like a lively nineteen-year-old girl.

"Arrrrrrrrrrrgh!" she suddenly screamed, jumping off the couch and dashing upstairs. "Mom! Mom! Mom!" she called, bursting into her mother's room.

"Freeda, what is it?" Mrs. Jace asked, looking up with a puzzled expression.

"Mom, guess what?" Freeda asked, her gaze bright with expectation.

Mrs. Jace looked at her and shook her head with a weary smile. "Can you just say whatever you want to say? You are disturbing my rest."

"Mom, Konvensky is coming back tomorrow!" she screamed.

Mrs. Jace was stunned for a moment. When the news finally registered, she jumped out of bed and shook Freeda's shoulders, tears welling up in her eyes. "Are you serious?"

Freeda nodded wildly, hugging her mother tightly. It had been twelve long years since they had last seen Konvensky. Though he had lived with them for ten years initially, he was a hard nut to crack. Mr. and Mrs. Jace found it incredibly hard to control him, which eventually led them to send him to Singapore to live with his grandparents. His grandparents soon grew tired of his stubborn nature and decided to place him in a military school at a very young age.

Konvensky, being the rebel he was, refused to join the military because he wanted to be an artist. His grandfather, equally stubborn, made a deal with Konvensky: he had to serve in the military for three years. If he completed all the training and came out successful, then he could start his music career. Konvensky served for two years, but in a misguided attempt to escape from the military zone, he was caught. As punishment, he was given another three-year trial period, extending his service to six years.

After successfully completing his mission, he finally began his music career and quickly became one of the most famous and popular artists in the world, alongside his friends.

"Mom, I can't believe Konvensky is finally coming back," Freeda said, wiping away Mrs. Jace's tears of joy.

"Where are all the servants? Clean up the house immediately! My son is coming back!" Mrs. Jace exclaimed, fresh tears streaming down her face. Only a mother knew how hard it was sending her ten-year-old son away. She had tried many ways to reach out to him over the years, but Konvensky, with his cold personality, had blocked every avenue for her to contact him.

After staying away from his family for a very long time, he finally decided to contact his sister to tell her he was returning home.

Veejay Enterprise

In a spacious, high-floor office, two men sat across from each other. One appeared to be in his fifties, the other in his thirties.

They both wore serious expressions, seemingly deep in discussion about something important, when the office door suddenly burst open. They snapped their heads toward the intrusion, wondering who dared to come in without knocking.

A young boy with a perpetual "happy resting face" sauntered in, but his footsteps paused when he realized the deadly glare his father was giving him. He shrugged off the tension and sat down close to his older brother, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pointing his chin toward their father before finally announcing the reason for his visit:

"Konvensky is coming back."

Ryan and Mr. Jace were utterly stunned, their faces frozen in shock. Mr. Jace was the first to react, his composure cracking slightly. "What did you say?" he asked, his voice laced with a mix of surprise and trepidation.

Melvin repeated what he had said earlier, the words pouring out in a rush. Mr. Jace couldn't believe what he was hearing-Konvensky, his youngest son, was actually coming back home. Even Ryan found it hard to process the information; his younger brother, who had been away for twelve long years, was finally returning.

Mr. Jace looked at Melvin, who had brought the news, and asked, "How on earth did you know he's coming back?"

Melvin shrugged nonchalantly, his shoulders rising and falling in a gentle motion. "He told Freeda, and I overheard Mom and her talking about it," he answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mr. Jace sighed deeply, his chest heaving with a mix of emotions. He knew Konvensky would likely be angry at him for sending him away at such a young age, but he had had no choice. Konvensky was simply too stubborn; they had to change schools almost every term because he kept getting expelled for his rebellious behavior.

"Dad," Ryan called out, his voice soft and reassuring, "you don't have to feel bad for sending him away. It was for his own good. He's grown now; I'm sure he'll understand why you did that."

Mr. Jace took a deep breath before speaking, his voice laced with a hint of guilt and uncertainty. "I guess he'll understand when he comes. Go tell the general commander of the military to assign twenty soldiers at the airport to ensure his safety," he instructed.

"And make sure to clear the scene before he lands to avoid reporters and paparazzi," Ryan added, his voice firm and authoritative.

Melvin's mouth twitched at the princely treatment, but he knew this level of security was necessary for Konvensky, given he was a globally famous celebrity. He stood up, said goodbye, and went to execute the task assigned to him with a sense of duty and loyalty.

Airport

The flight from Singapore to New York had just landed, and everyone was disembarking in a flurry of activity. A young man in his twenties stepped out, his presence unignorable. He wore black baggy pants and a black hoodie, effectively concealing his identity while radiating an aura of cold detachment. His ocean-blue eyes swept over the waiting crowd, flickering momentarily when he saw the excessive number of soldiers in the waiting area.

He knew immediately this must be his father's or brothers' work, and a hint of annoyance crossed his face. He scoffed, turning in the opposite direction and eating up the distance with his long strides. A man was already waiting for him with a motorcycle, looking relieved to see him. Konvensky threw his luggage at the man, took the bike keys, and said, "Take it to those soldiers standing there. Tell them I've gotten home already."

He drove off into the city, leaving the man shivering in his wake, watching him disappear without any security. The man nervously relayed the message as he had been asked, filled with a sense of trepidation.

Later

Michelle was wearing jogger pants and a dark hoodie, walking by the side of a quiet road, lost in thought. She just wanted a little fresh air and some time alone from all the chaos at home. Walking slowly, her figure looked desolate as the night wind blew gently through her hair.

Unbeknownst to her, a powerful motorcycle was approaching from behind, its engine purring softly. The sudden sound of a piercing horn made her turn purely out of instinct, but the bike just drove past without stopping, its rider a blur of black. Michelle stumbled back, startled and annoyed.

"Annoying jerk," Michelle muttered, panting slightly as she tried to calm her racing heart.

Jace's Mansion

The large dining table was being set, the aroma of gourmet food wafting deliciously through the air. The family was sitting down to eat when they heard the distinctive sound of a motorcycle engine roaring outside.

"Are you expecting anyone?" Mr. Jace asked, staring at Melvin, who was the only one likely to bring someone to the house at this time.

"I'm not expecting anyone," Melvin said, his voice firm and reassuring.

The curious gaze of everyone turned to the door, waiting for the visitor to come in. The door opened, revealing a black sneaker first. Time seemed to freeze as everyone stood still, staring at the person who had just entered, a mixture of shock and wonder on their faces.

Konvensky's cold gaze swept over everyone's faces, the room falling silent as they waited for his reaction. Mrs. Jace immediately rushed forward and pounded on him, hugging him tightly as she cried, her body shaking with sobs of relief. Konvensky frowned slightly but let her hug him to her satisfaction, his expression softening just a fraction.

Pulling away from the embrace, Mrs. Jace cupped his face with both hands, asking a flurry of maternal questions: "How have you been? Have you been eating well? Have you missed me?" Konvensky frowned again, thinking internally that she hadn't changed despite his long absence.

"I'm fine," he said in a cold voice, his tone detached.

"Sky," Freeda called, pulling him for a hug and planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

Konvensky groaned, pushing her away slightly. "Stop calling me Sky. I'm not a kid, and stop kissing me, too."

Freeda scoffed, turning to her father. "Dad, I think he's even more cold-hearted now." She went back to her seat, her expression a mix of amusement and concern.

Melvin patted her head gently as he turned his attention back to Konvensky. "Konvensky, I thought you said you were coming tomorrow?" he asked, his voice gentle.

Konvensky simply strolled past him, taking his seat at the dining table, then turned to look at Melvin. "You're still so noisy," he muttered.