The night air wrapped around them, heavy with all the words they hadn't said. And beneath the anger in Luna's voice, there was something else—wounded pride, and a longing to be seen for who she truly was.
Xander stood still for a moment, his gaze fixed on the pool below before he finally spoke, his voice quiet. "Our little sister was shot… on her birthday. She wore a beautiful red gown that day." He paused, the weight of the memory thick in the air. "Since then, my mother—she hasn't been able to cope with that pain. That's why she forbade anyone from wearing red."
Luna's expression faltered. The sharpness in her eyes dulled as his words sank in. Her anger didn't vanish, but it softened—muddled now with a hint of understanding. Still, she held her ground.
"So what if I danced with my friends?" she said, her voice firm but less biting. "Your family turned even that into some twisted issue of pride. You people are so... stuck in the past."
Xander moved closer. "We're not backward," he said, the defensiveness in his voice laced with weariness. "Come on, it's pretty late."
"I'll stay a little longer," Luna replied, her eyes drifting back to the pool, her tone clipped.
Xander exhaled slowly. "I know Mother is... strict. But she has a soft heart."
Luna turned her head, her gaze meeting his sharply. "Yeah? Well, her hand wasn't very soft."
Xander's expression darkened with guilt, but he said nothing.
Xander gave her a casual nod. "Okay. Stay here a little longer if you want. But just so you know… this house was locked up for a long time. We only moved in recently. Locals say it's… a little spiritual." He trailed off, glancing at her with a half-smirk. "Never mind."
He turned to walk away, but Luna reached out and stopped him.
"What are you saying?" she asked, her voice more curious than concerned.
Xander raised an eyebrow. "What happened? Are you scared?"
Luna pushed a thin, defiant smile. "I'm not scared of anyone."
"Of course," he said, with a mock-serious nod. "You're never scared of anything."
She cleared her throat, trying to regain composure. "Since you're not going in… I'll go. It's late. And I really don't want to hear you talk anymore."
She turned and started walking away, her tone sharp but her steps quick, betraying a little nervousness. Xander followed her with a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Suddenly, the lights went out.
Luna gasped. "Xander!" she called, panic rising in her voice as she stumbled in the dark—and without thinking, she jumped into him, her arms clutching around his shoulders.
The lights flickered back on.
And there she was—pressed against him, her face inches from his. Her breath caught, heart pounding at the proximity. Xander looked down at her, eyes gleaming with amusement.
"What?" he murmured, his voice low. "Do you like staying like this?"
Realizing how close they were, Luna's eyes widened. She shoved him away with a flustered, "Idiot! Who wants you?"
Xander chuckled, stepping back but watching her with a knowing smile. "Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
Luna glared at him, cheeks tinged with pink, then stormed off toward the hallway, muttering under her breath.
Xander followed at a safe distance, still smiling.
Xander walked into the room with a pillow tucked under his arm and wordlessly made his way to the sofa.
Luna, already curled up on the bed, glanced at him. "Why were you looking for me earlier?"
"I wasn't," Xander replied, dropping the pillow and flopping onto the couch.
Luna snorted. "As if."
He stretched lazily, arms behind his head. "I promised Grandpa I'd take care of you… be responsible."
Luna's expression softened slightly, though she tried to hide it behind a scoff. "How noble of you."
"Don't turn off the light," she added quickly. "I… I can't sleep in the dark."
Xander turned his head toward her, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
She hugged her blanket closer. "Just don't."
He reached for the switch, paused, then muttered, "Fine." Then added with a teasing smirk, "But sleep fast. If you don't, I might toss you off the bed just for fun."
Luna rolled her eyes but smiled faintly into her pillow. "You wouldn't dare."
"You really want to test that theory?" he yawned.
They both lay in silence after that, the room dimly lit, the tension softening into something calmer. Not quite peace, but something close.
Early morning sunlight spilled gently through the large kitchen windows of the Blackwood mansion. The warm scent of fresh bread and brewing tea lingered in the air as Luna, in a simple kurti and tied-back hair, stood beside Shara—the eldest maid—helping prepare breakfast.
Shara moved around with practiced ease, while Luna quietly chopped vegetables and stirred the pot on the stove. There was a certain calmness to the moment, a kind of peace Luna hadn't felt in days.
Grandma entered, her steps slow but steady, and paused at the doorway. Her eyes softened as she watched Luna work. "You remind me of your mother," she said gently. "She had the same grace in the kitchen."
Luna smiled. "Thank you, Grandma."
A few minutes later, Mother Miley entered, fresh from her morning yoga. She took her usual place at the table, her expression unreadable. Shara handed her a boiled egg and a glass of warm water. Miley took them with a brief nod, saying nothing.
Soon, the rest of the family filtered in. Dimple floated into the room, dressed in soft pastels, her hair casually tied up. She began helping Shara set the plates, her movements quick and familiar.
Mother Miley's gaze caught the white bandage wrapped around Dimple's hand. "What happened to your hand?" she asked, her tone light but concerned.
Dimple offered a small smile. "I got hurt while gardening yesterday."
"Take care," Miley said, her voice softening. "That yellow dahlia I bought—did you plant it?"
"Yes," Dimple replied with a nod. "Near the east wall."
Luna, standing quietly by the counter, observed the exchange. It was clear—Mother Miley adored Dimple. The warmth in her voice, the subtle praise—it was a language she hadn't yet spoken to Luna.
Everyone took their seats at the table. Xander entered last, his sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled. He took a seat at the far end. As Dimple sat beside him, Miley glanced up.
"Luna," she said, "go and sit next to Xander."
Luna hesitated, then quietly obeyed, slipping into the chair beside him. Dimple shifted to the next seat, her smile faltering slightly, irritation flickering in her eyes.
The breakfast began smoothly. Plates passed, tea poured. It was almost peaceful—until Xander lifted his spoon and tasted the soup.
He immediately coughed and grabbed his napkin, wiping his mouth. "What is this?" he asked, his voice sharp. "Who made the soup?"
"I did," Luna replied, her voice calm but uncertain.
Xander turned to her, his expression twisted in disgust. "Are you trying to kill us? It's so salty."
A soft chuckle escaped Dimple before she masked it behind her teacup. Miley tasted the soup next and recoiled, pushing the bowl away.
Grandma spoke gently. "Xander, say it nicely."
But Miley didn't hold back. "Luna," she said crisply, "a wife in this house must know how to take care of her husband. Cooking is a basic skill. Even if your mother didn't teach you, from today onward, you'll attend cooking classes."
The mention of her mother hit Luna like a slap. Her fingers tightened in her lap. "I'm sorry," she whispered, standing up quietly, her appetite gone.
Miley's voice rang out. "Where are you going?"
Luna didn't meet her eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't feel hungry."
"You will sit down," Miley snapped. "Even if you have no appetite. This is not how we behave, especially in front of Grandma."
Xander glanced at Luna, the tension in the room palpable. "Luna," he said softly, "come sit down."
Luna stared at him, something bitter tugging at the corner of her mouth. Funny, she thought. They insult me, and now they want me to sit and smile?
She shook her head. "I said sorry. I just... can't."
And with that, she turned and walked away.
The room fell silent.
Miley stood up slowly, her expression stony, and without another word, left for her room.