𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐍: 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝟏𝟗

Ding... ding...

The alarm rang softly. Elegant. Like silver tapping against glass.

Ren groaned into his silk pillow.

6:00 AM.

His hand shot out, fumbling for the sapphire button on his Cartier.

Missed.

Thud.

Crack.

Tinkle.

His eyes snapped open.

The $55,000 white-gold Cartier travel alarm lay shattered across the marble floor. Its mother-of-pearl face was spider-webbed, and the tiny diamond at twelve o’clock had popped loose, rolling beneath the bed.

Gone.

The door flew open.

“What was that noise?”

Ren froze.

His Pa stood in the doorway, tall and impeccably dressed despite the early hour. His expression, however, was anything but composed.

Pa's eyes dropped to the floor.

Then back to Ren.

Silence.

His gaze settled on the shattered Cartier.

“Was that... the Cartier from Paris?”

Silence.

“I believe I’m talking to a person?”

Ren said nothing.

Pa sighed.

“Whatever. Suit yourself.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

For ten seconds, Ren didn't move.

The room was so quiet he could hear a pin drop.

Finally, he dragged his exhausted self out of bed.

He stopped in front of the mirror.

Pale skin.

Dull white hair.

Freckles he tried to cover.

White eyes that never seemed to look back at him.

And a soft, chubby body he desperately tried to hide beneath oversized hoodies.

Ren pulled the hood over his head.

In this family, looking different had never been a compliment.

He glanced down at the broken alarm.

A maid quietly entered the room and began gathering the shards without a word.

Ren hurriedly got dressed.

A black hoodie swallowed most of his frame, and a pair of oversized glasses covered nearly half his face.

Better.

Invisible.

That was the goal.

The Cassian breakfast table was the same as always.

Long.

Cold.

Perfect.

His father sat at one end, reading the morning stock reports on his tablet. Pa was already on a call, speaking in a calm, clipped voice that made even the people on the other end sound nervous.

Oliver was busy with his phone.

James had AirPods in and looked completely uninterested in the world.

And around them, maids moved silently, bringing out an endless parade of food.

Butter croissants.

Pain au chocolat.

Almond danishes.

Sourdough and rye bread.

Truffle butter.

Fig jam.

Apricot jam.

Yuzu marmalade.

Eggs Benedict with wagyu beef and hollandaise.

Lobster omelette with chives.

Truffle scrambled eggs.

Wagyu steak.

Roasted potatoes.

Smoked salmon on blinis with crème fraîche.

Avocado toast topped with gold leaf and microgreens.

Dragon fruit.

Berries.

Grapes.

Yogurt parfait with honey and granola.

Fresh orange juice.

Green juice.

Espresso.

Earl Grey tea.

White tea.

Sparkling water.

Enough food to feed a small restaurant.

Ren stared at the table.

No one looked at him.

Not his father.

Not Pa.

Not Oliver.

Not James.

He quietly pulled out a chair.

Sat down.

And sighed.

Just another day.

Just another breakfast.

Just another day of being invisible.