I started toward the exit, but Kael’s long, measured strides brought him alongside me before I could disappear into the shadows of the alley. He made no mention of the last incident. His voice was calm, controlled—the low, steady rumble of a Don who had learned patience.
“It’s Alfred’s celebration tonight,” he said simply. “He’s invited the family and the crew for dinner.”
I paused under the glow of the streetlamp, watching him. “Very well,” I replied.
We walked in silence. The air carried a faint trace of jasmine from a nearby balcony, a subtle fragrance that clung to Kael like a quiet signature.
On impulse, I asked, “Do you like jasmine?”
His amber eyes flickered briefly, betraying a thought he didn’t voice. “It’s… acceptable,” he said.
I clenched my jaw. Then why do I always sense it around you? Why does it linger when you’re with her? I said nothing more.
When we reached the courtyard where Alfred’s gathering was held, I saw Via and the others waiting. Her eyes widened slightly at our approach, the faintest edge of surprise in her gaze.
“Good evening, Kael. Betty,” she greeted, voice smooth but measured. “We’ve been expecting you.”
I inclined my head lightly at Alfred. “Forgive me. I came in a rush and brought nothing.”
Alfred smiled. “I’ve already seen to it. There’s no need for apologies.”
Kael led me to the table. The seats were arranged so we faced each other directly. It was deliberate, a statement I did not need explained.
I released his hand and took my place across from him. Kael’s expression shifted for a moment, a subtle tightening around his eyes, but he said nothing. He sat beside Via instead, leaving a calculated space between us.
The unspoken judgment of the room pressed down on me. I had never truly belonged here. I had tried—careful gifts, gestures of respect, observing every rite, every tradition—but it had never been enough. Never recognized from the heart. I had been blind until now.
I did not speak. I ate in silence, tasting the food but feeling no warmth, no belonging.
Kael, by contrast, moved with the ease of a man born to command. He peeled small prawns for Via, his hands steady, precise. Normally he scorned such effort, letting subordinates handle it, finding the work beneath him. Yet tonight, he complained not once. When he finished, he cleaned his hands deliberately, every motion measured.