---
San's grip on the frying pan tightened like it was a sacred weapon passed down through generations.
"Fiancé?" he repeated slowly, voice as sharp as the blade he didn't have.
"Ex!" Hyme shouted, tail bristling to full puff. "Ex! Capital E, capital X, Ex!"
Veylor smiled calmly, like this was all a pleasant coincidence instead of an emotional ambush in a poor man's kitchen. "Your father arranged our engagement when you were ten. It was to be finalized once you turned eighteen."
"I'm seventeen!" Hyme screeched. "Still a year away from being legally tricked into doom!"
"You always were dramatic," Veylor said, eyes flicking toward San. "And this? Is this your attempt to rebel? A nanny? Or should I say… pet?"
"Excuse you," San growled, stepping forward, "I may be broke, but I'm not owned by anyone. Especially not a rich prick with better hair than me."
Hyme gasped. "You think his hair's better?"
"Focus, kitten."
"I am! I'm focusing on betrayal!"
Veylor raised a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "You're defensive. Is it because you like him?" He directed that at Hyme. Then, casually, to San, "Or is it you who's falling for your charge?"
San and Hyme both blanched.
Then exploded in opposite directions.
"AS IF!" Hyme yowled. "He's like a big dumb statue I keep around for heavy lifting and snack runs!"
"And he's a spoiled rich brat with too many collars and not enough manners," San spat back. "I'm here for the money. That's it."
Veylor didn't look convinced. He tilted his head, stepping closer—until the frying pan was between them.
"Last warning," San said coolly.
Veylor paused. "You would hit me? A noble hybrid? You must not know who I am."
San smiled—slow and dangerous. "No. And I don't care."
That was when Hyme stepped between them, shoving Veylor back with surprising strength.
"I don't want to marry you," he said clearly. "I don't even like you. You're cold, mean, and you made fun of my tail length in junior school."
Veylor blinked. "That was a compliment. I said it was small but elegant."
"It's a sensitive topic!" Hyme hissed. "Anyway, I've moved on. I'm an adult. I make my own choices now."
San scoffed. "Like kidnapping me into being your nanny?"
"Shush! I'm making a point!"
Veylor looked between them. "Very well. I'll speak to your father."
Hyme bared his fangs. "You do that."
As the tall hybrid turned and walked out, San finally lowered the frying pan. He exhaled.
Hyme turned to him, bright-eyed and smug.
"You defended me."
"You were about to throw yourself at him like a hissing raccoon. Of course I stepped in."
"Still counts."
San groaned. "Why do I feel like my life just got even messier?"
"Because it did," Hyme beamed. "Now go make tea. My heart needs healing from trauma."
"You caused the trauma!"
"And now I need you to fix it. Chop chop!"
San stared at him. Then sighed.
"…I better be getting overtime for this."
---