The door creaked open to reveal a striking man—older, but with the kind of timeless face that hadn't aged a day since his prime. By the fireplace sat all three of her brothers, their presence as imposing as ever.
Of course. With her luck, it could only be all of them.
As Anastaria stepped into the room, she could feel their gazes settle on her like a second skin. Cool. Watchful. Judging.
"…Father," she said, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest. "You called for me?"
The shift was immediate. The atmosphere thickened, as if the very air had taken offense.
Only then did it hit her—the original Anastaria never called them that. Not "Father." Not "Mother." She used their first names, cold and formal, like strangers forced to coexist.
But things were different now. She had to survive.
Winning back their affection might be a lost cause, but if they could at least be civil—cordial, even—that would be enough.
The man in front of her blinked, visibly thrown off. Just for a second. Then his expression returned to its usual calm, unreadable mask. The demeanor of the head of the Noir family—controlled, composed, and never easily rattled.
"I heard you were injured. Are you well?"
"Yes, Father," Anastaria replied.
Her voice was steady, her expression composed. She kept her gaze level, her posture impeccable—playing the role the original girl never cared to maintain.
And yet… the room shifted.
Not loudly. Not visibly. But she felt it. A subtle tightening, as if the very air paused to listen.
Father.
The word had never passed the lips of the previous Anastaria. She had always addressed her parents by name—aloof, detached, unbothered by blood or bond.
But she didn't have the luxury of detachment anymore.
She glanced toward the fireplace—casual, as if bored—and nearly clicked her tongue.
Of course. All three brothers were here.
Cassian sat furthest from the fire, posture straight, one leg crossed neatly over the other. He wore a dark blazer, crisp and without a crease, paired with a simple button-down. Cool tones. Clean lines. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was sharp—measuring.
Darian sat like the chair belonged to him. Relaxed, confident. Black boots, fitted trousers, deep red shirt undone just enough to make a point. He met her eyes and raised a brow, something between amusement and challenge flickering behind his grin.
And then there was Lucien. He didn't say anything—he rarely did. But his presence lingered like smoke. Dressed in muted layers, one arm draped over the side of the chair, the other tapping idly against his chin. Observing. Thinking. Too quiet to pin down.
They were all handsome.
Not in the way people wrote about in silly gossip columns, but in the way that made people stop and look again—because there was something dangerous under the surface.
If her friend were here, she would've already lost her mind and whispered something unhinged.
Her father cleared his throat.
"The Coming of Age Ceremony is tomorrow," he said simply. "Be ready."
Anastaria blinked. "Ah—already?"
The words slipped out before she could stop them. She caught herself too late, lips parting slightly in quiet horror.
She rubbed her nose, pretending it was a cough. Elegant daughter, right? Flawless image?
So far, she was off to a humiliating start.
Silence lingered after her outburst. Not long—but long enough.
It wasn't the kind of mistake anyone else would think twice about. A thought spoken aloud. A bit of clumsy surprise. Harmless.
But the original Anastaria Noir didn't make those kinds of blunders.
Not ever.
She was cold. Composed. Every word measured, every glance calculated. The kind of girl who never let her guard drop, even in front of her own family.
So the slip was noticeable. And in this house, everything noticeable was noted.
Cassian's gaze sharpened slightly—not enough for most to catch, but enough for her to feel it. A flicker of scrutiny, like he was reevaluating a formula that no longer added up. He said nothing, but the silence he offered was far louder than words.
Darian was the first to break the quiet, a low laugh escaping him as he leaned back in his chair.
"Now that's a first," he murmured, voice smooth with a hint of amusement. "Didn't think you knew how to be surprised, sister."
She didn't respond. That would only make it worse.
Lucien, as always, said nothing. But his gaze stayed on her a moment too long. Not accusatory. Just… watching. As if he already knew something wasn't right—and was simply waiting to see where it would unravel.
She lowered her eyes slightly, brushing invisible dust from the hem of her sleeve. Calm on the outside. But her thoughts were already spiraling.
The Coming of Age Ceremony.
She remembered now why it startled her so much.
It was the day the original Anastaria was scheduled to meet only one person.
The Crown Prince.
The man who, in the final arc of the original story, would have her dragged before a crowd and executed—publicly, and without mercy.
She swallowed the tightness in her throat, forcing her hands to stay still.
The version of her in this timeline didn't make it past that meeting.
No matter how composed she played it… time was already working against her.
And the people in this room? They were watching every move.
Realizing the silence had stretched too long, she simply could not take the awkwardness any longer—accidentally allowing her original thoughts to slip through.
"Haha… I'm just surprised, that's all. I forgot all about the ceremony. Had I known, I would have faked my own death to get out of it."
It was like watching a noble lady glitch in real time.
Cassian slowly turned his head toward her, his expression unreadable—but the pause in his blinking said everything.
What did you just say?
Darian leaned back with a low whistle.
"Okay," he said, lips twitching. "Now I know something's wrong with you. Did you hit your head when you got injured?"
In fact, she did—but she didn't say this aloud.
Lucien didn't react at all. Just continued staring, silent and unreadable.
And her father?
He simply looked at her for a long, long moment. Then nodded once, cool and indifferent, as though saying, Very well. I won't address whatever that was.
But the silence afterward said more than words ever could.
She smiled wider, pretending she didn't feel the weight of the awkward tension strangling the room. Inside, she was dying.
Smooth. Very smooth. Next time, just throw yourself out the window and save everyone the trouble.