Chapter 3: Confidence
Riven sat at the long dining table, staring at the extravagant breakfast spread before him, feeling both amused and mildly irritated.
He had been forced to sit beside Julius—not that he had much of a choice. His dear stepbrother had insisted, flashing one of those smug smiles that made Riven want to punch him in the face.
For the first time, Riven actually looked at Julius. He had rich brown hair, slightly tousled but well-maintained, and deep black eyes, glossy like polished obsidian. Objectively speaking, Julius was hot.
"Shame he’s such an asshole," Riven mused, sighing internally. "Otherwise, he’d be my type."
Unfortunately, Julius also had the personality of a particularly arrogant house cat, except far less charming and significantly more insufferable.
The table was grand—long enough for ten people, yet only four sat at it: Lord Lucian Veldrin, Lady Celeste, Julius, and Riven. The atmosphere was as cold as an abandoned graveyard. No one spoke, but Riven could feel the weight of their gazes.
His father, seated at the head of the table, ignored him completely, as usual. His stepmother, elegantly dressed and disinterested, sipped her tea gracefully, treating him like he was nothing more than dust on the furniture.
Then the food began to be served.
Well, for everyone but him.
The maids placed warm, steaming plates before Lucian, Celeste, and Julius, but when it came to Riven, they simply skipped over him as if he didn’t exist. The message was clear: he wasn’t meant to eat.
Julius, of course, noticed immediately. He leaned in close, his breath warm against Riven’s ear, and whispered,