Violette Ellis finally understood the lingering looks exchanged between Margaret and Emerson at the family dinner—the moment she had taken it upon herself to choose the dessert for Roman Griffin.

"My brother is really..."

Adelaide Griffin couldn't wrap her head around it either. "Not liking durian isn't exactly a national tragedy. Why on earth did he have to keep it a secret?"

She was right. A relationship didn't require two people to be clones of one another. Roman was an intelligent, clear-headed man; how could he not understand something so basic?

"I’ve got it!" Adelaide suddenly realized. "It’s not some grand act of nobility—he’s just been brainwashed by Grandfather!"

As the eldest grandson of the Griffin family, Roman had spent his entire life carrying the weight of generational expectations. From a very young age, he had been under the direct tutelage of Odin Griffin. The old man, having seen his fair share of highs and lows, had spent years drilling principles of stoicism into his grandson: be a gentleman, stay humble, keep your cards close to your chest. Those heavy, archaic chains had been shackled to Roman one link at a time, molding him into a stubborn, old-souled boy before he’d even hit puberty.

Ever since Adelaide could remember, she’d seen Roman as a carbon copy of their grandfather. While other kids were out running wild, he was busy playing the responsible big brother, speaking with measured precision, keeping his emotions flat as a board, and dissecting problems with the cold, meticulous logic of a machine. No one could deny he had class and poise, but to Adelaide, he was just plain boring. She wanted a brother who’d climb walls and dig for trouble on the golf course, not someone who acted like a retired senator.

Perhaps Odin eventually realized his grandson had turned out a bit too stiff. Years ago, the old man had tried to pivot, preaching the virtues of "living in the moment" to try and loosen Roman up, only to find himself getting lectured by the boy in return. From that point on, the family dynamic flipped: they had a "little grandfather" and an "old grandson."

Adelaide thought it was completely inverted.

But once a personality is set in childhood, it’s nearly impossible to recalibrate. Roman was baked into his role; he would never be the kind of man to live as recklessly as their cousin, Kaisen. Without even realizing it, he had fully embraced the mantle of the eldest grandson.

Adelaide still remembered the time Roman had secretly gotten his marriage license. When she saw that red folder, she’d felt a chill down her spine—she’d actually thought his "rebellious phase" was finally arriving.

Turns out, he was just as boring after the wedding.

Adelaide tried to comfort Violette. "That’s just how Roman is. Like a programmed robot, isn't he? Dull as dirt. He didn't tell you because he didn't want his own preferences to burden you. He didn't want you to have to worry about whether or not you could eat a durian in your own house."

Violette pressed her lips together. If Roman were a robot, that would be easy—robots come with manuals. You flip a switch, follow the program, and you know exactly how to handle them.

But Roman wasn't a machine.

Violette nodded silently. After a long moment, she said with a hint of guilt, "It’s my fault. I didn't ask about his preferences before ordering."

Adelaide waved it off. "Violette, I’m not blaming you!"

"I'll know for next time," Violette said, forcing a lighter tone. "Since he won't say it, I'll just have to ask you for tips from now on. Is that okay?"

"Of course it is!"

Violette took the box of durian mochi upstairs to share with her colleagues. The moment she left the room, Adelaide pulled out her phone and messaged Roman.

*Adelaide: So jealous. Violette loves you so much!*

She paused, her finger hovering over the send button. She glanced up at the reply Roman had sent earlier, one she hadn't bothered to read properly yet. She hadn't expected much—usually, his texts were useless, one-word replies like "Oh" or "Understood," or some comment about her wasting her time.

But her eyes caught a line that made her freeze.

*Roman: I love her, too.*

She blinked.

*Roman: When did she say it? Why? Was this truth or dare?*

*Roman: I'll call you later.*

...What?

Who was this? That wasn't her brother. Adelaide scrambled to delete her original message, replacing it with a string of question marks.

A few minutes later, he replied: *In a meeting.*

*Adelaide: ...*

Yeah, that sounded like the Roman she knew.

The meeting dragged on past 8:00 PM. The business expansion required some heavy lifting, and Bradley Harper was feeling the strain, relying entirely on Roman’s steady hand to close the deals. They were finally reaching the end.

Roman stepped out of the conference room, phone already pressed to his ear. The display glowed with the name "Adelaide Griffin." His assistant hurried over. "Mr. Griffin."

"Urgent?"

"Mrs. Griffin—"

The call connected. Roman gestured for his assistant to hold.

Adelaide was confused on the other end. "Wait, Roman, be reasonable. If you're too busy to talk, then—"

Her voice faded as Roman pulled the phone away. He pressed his palm against the receiver and signaled to his assistant, "Go ahead."

"The lady called fifteen minutes ago. She said she crashed the car into a guardrail. The police have already—"

Roman’s face turned deathly cold. "Where?"

By the time the assistant finished reciting the address, Roman was already at the elevator.

The end of his silk tie whipped against his forearm, snapping like a lash—the last shred of his calm, composed elegance vanishing into the gust of his own movement. His assistant stood stunned for a second before scrambling to keep up.

"Is she hurt?" Roman’s voice was trembling, though he didn't seem to realize it.

"She’s fine," the assistant said quickly. "She was likely shaken up, which is why she called you first. When I called back, she said she was fine and was just waiting for the police to finish their report."

Roman took a deep breath, but the storm clouds didn't clear from his face.

The elevator chimed, and he stepped in without looking back. "Next time something happens to her, interrupt me immediately."

The tone was flat, but the assistant felt a chill crawl down his spine. He knew he’d failed: he hadn't walked into that meeting the second the news arrived. It was clear who took priority in his boss's life.

Bringing up the meeting now felt impossible, but the board members were still waiting. After a moment of hesitation, the assistant suggested carefully, "I’ll have Mr. Harper lead the rest of the session. Will that be alright?"

It was as if Roman only just snapped out of his daze.

His reason started to return, and he remembered the room full of people he’d just abandoned. Rubbing the space between his brows, Roman sighed. "Fine. Inform him."