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.

Melvin ground his teeth in anger, genuinely irritated by his younger brother's attitude. "Hey, kid," Melvin said, his voice laced with a hint of sarcasm.

Konvensky shot him a glare so cold it made Melvin instinctively raise his hands in mock apology. "Sorry, I forgot you're now a general," Melvin said, making a zipping motion over his lips.

Mr. Jace, who had been watching the exchange with an awkward expression, walked up to Konvensky and patted him gently on the shoulder. "You're welcome back, son," he said, his voice warm with genuine affection.

Konvensky's response was immediate and cutting. "Old man, stop acting so nice. I haven't forgotten what you did," he said, his voice light but laced with a clear hint of menace.

Mr. Jace's hand dropped awkwardly. Ryan, sensing the tension needed diffusing, cleared his throat. "Dad, you know how he is, so don't take it personally," he said, offering a reassuring smile.

As they sat down to eat, Freeda immediately bombarded Konvensky with questions about his twelve years in Singapore. But Konvensky barely responded, his attention focused entirely on his food. Freeda tried every angle to engage him in conversation, but it was like talking to a brick wall. Finally, she gave up and turned her attention to Melvin.

Later that evening, Konvensky walked out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped low around his waist. He strode into his expansive dressing room, looking for a pair of pajamas to wear. As he reached for a black pair, his mind wandered back to the girl he had nearly run over earlier on the road.

"Her face is quite enchanting," he muttered to himself, a rare flicker of interest crossing his otherwise stoic expression.

Just then, a knock came at the door. Before he could respond, Freeda and Melvin walked right in. Freeda collapsed dramatically onto the bed, while Melvin leaned casually against the bedpost, watching Konvensky with a mixture of amusement and wariness.

Konvensky's gaze turned instantly cold, and he muttered just two words: "Get out."

Freeda pouted, trying to wheedle her way into Konvensky's good books. "Sky, can't you be a little bit softer? We haven't seen you for so long, and you're just going to send us out?"

But Konvensky's expression remained unyielding. "I don't want to repeat myself," he said, his voice firm and final.

Melvin chuckled and shook his head good-naturedly. "He's still as toxic as ever," he muttered, guiding Freeda out of the room.

Not long after, Konvensky emerged from his room, dressed entirely in a sleek, all-black outfit-ready to leave the house again.

"Where are you going?" Freeda asked, her voice full of curiosity, leaning over the banister.

Konvensky glanced up at her briefly and said, "To get you a husband." With that, he strode out of the house, leaving Freeda red-faced and sputtering in anger.

Meanwhile, Michelle was having trouble sleeping. The previous chapters had left her restless and anxious. She got out of bed and began to look for something to wear, settling on blue baggy pants, a blue shirt, and a black hoodie. She slipped out of the house, craving the cool night air on her face. She didn't have a destination in mind; she just wanted to walk and clear her head.

As she walked, the streetlights cast long shadows behind her. She looked stunning in the dim light, her long black hair blowing gently in the wind.

Unbeknownst to her, Konvensky was driving his motorcycle in the opposite direction, his eyes scanning the road ahead. When his gaze landed on her solitary figure, he increased his speed, stopping abruptly in front of her. He killed the engine, removed his helmet, and their eyes met. Konvensky's interest was visibly piqued as he recognized her face.

"You're..." Michelle started to say, her voice barely above a whisper, recognizing the annoying jerk from earlier.

But Konvensky quickly interrupted her, his voice low and commanding, his eyes locked firmly on hers: "Keep your voice down."

e